Charles Khabouth, CEO and founder of INK Entertainment.SAM SINGH/The Globe and Mail
Charles Khabouth virtually created Toronto’s King Street West club scene and has championed a ton of DJs who’ve gone on to international stardom. We talked to the nightclub king, hotelier, restaurateur and CEO of INK Entertainment about growing up in war-torn Lebanon, getting his start with the Studio 54 of Canada, COVID-19 and how to run a successful party spot.
I lived through the civil war for three and a half years. I saw things nobody should see. War is atrocious. It’s not like sending rockets—it’s house to house, building to building. I get goosebumps thinking about it.
We left Lebanon on a fishing boat to Cyprus when I was 15, and from Cyprus we went to Greece, where the Canadian embassy was, and then on to Montreal and Toronto. We landed with US$90.
You couldn’t get as much as a chocolate bar from the Canadian government then. Maybe that helped shape me. I’ve never collected a dollar from anyone.
I knew I was going to be one of four things: a race car driver, a fashion or interior designer, or a dancer. I started a clothing line at 21 called CK. I had stuff made at small sewing houses on Spadina, and I’d go from store to store on Queen Street showing samples.
I had three jobs while going to school—as a carpet cleaner, stocking shelves at IGA and at McDonald’s, so I bought an Audi. I took that to the bank as collateral, and they gave me $22,000. My partner put in $10,000, and we built Club Z.
Right after Club Z, I opened the Studio 54 of Canada, Stilife. We’d get 3,000 people showing up and handpick 300 or 400 to come in.
If you were involved in owning clubs, you were considered a drug dealer, a womanizer. It took about 10 years before I was recognized as a businessman.
I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. It’s not in my DNA.
What makes a great concept is research. What’s missing in the market? How can we do something different?
It’s not about having the best pasta in town. It’s about the experience. When I walk around my venues, I ask, “How is your experience this evening?” I don’t go, “How is your chicken?”
I grew my business based on word of mouth, and I still live by it. The whole world now is social media–driven. I don’t mind using it to get you there, but when you get there, it better be good. It has to be exactly what you promised—if not better.
The pandemic was the worst thing that happened to me. Financially, it was devastating. Emotionally? I don’t think I’ll ever recover. I was one of the first people in Canada to get sick, the day before we shut down. I almost died. But the worst damage was that I lost maybe 40% of my team that had been with me for years.
I can’t go to a table and say, “Tariffs are up 25%, so now this dish is $39 instead of $30.” We had to take a decision to make less profit but maintain volume. If a restaurant isn’t full, it just doesn’t have the vibe and energy.
I didn’t bring Danny Soberano in. It happened accidentally. He brought something to the table I didn’t—a lot of the legal stuff, leases, contracts. I’m more of the operator creative.
I had an exotic car in Miami that I brought home to Toronto in July. The car landed here on Monday. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I had it detailed. I picked it up Thursday. By 9 p.m. it was gone—stolen. A $470,000 car. I was on the phone with the police for maybe two minutes.
If I wake up one day and I’ve lost my passion for the business, I’ll retire. Otherwise, never. I wake up at 6:30 or 7, and I’m excited for my day.