Europe’s richest man, Bernard Arnault, has found himself at the center of a heated debate that could reshape France’s economic landscape. As the founder and chairman of LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton, Arnault’s immense fortune—estimated at $169 billion—has made him both a symbol of French luxury and a lightning rod for those seeking new sources of public revenue. Now, a proposed 2% wealth tax on fortunes exceeding €100 million, championed by economist Gabriel Zucman, threatens to cost Arnault over €1 billion and ignite fierce controversy across the nation.
In a statement to The Sunday Times and echoed by The Guardian, Arnault warned that the proposed tax “aims to destroy the liberal economy, the only one that works for the benefit of everyone.” He didn’t mince words, calling the idea “an offensive, fatal for our economy.” For Arnault, who has built LVMH into a global powerhouse through acquisitions of iconic brands like Bulgari, Tiffany & Co., Christian Dior, Celine, and Glenmorangie, the stakes are personal and national.
The timing of the proposal is no accident. France is grappling with a political crisis and the government is under pressure to push through unpopular budget cuts. Earlier this month, President Emmanuel Macron appointed Sébastien Lecornu as the new prime minister after centrist François Bayrou failed to secure support for an austerity-driven budget. As fiscal tensions mount, the idea of a wealth tax—dubbed by some as the “Zucman Tax”—has gained traction as a potential remedy for France’s squeezed finances.
Gabriel Zucman, the Paris School of Economics and École normale supérieure professor behind the proposal, is no stranger to the spotlight. Last year, he published a major study on wealth taxation for the G20, and in June 2025, he argued in The Guardian that “the unprecedented concentration of wealth—and the unchecked power that comes with it—has distorted our democracy and fuels social and economic tensions.” Zucman estimates that a 2% tax on fortunes above €100 million could generate up to €20 billion for the French state—a tempting sum for a government searching for ways to balance the books.
But not everyone is convinced by Zucman’s optimistic projections. According to both BGNES and The Guardian, some economists argue the real windfall could be far less—perhaps as little as €5 billion—if the super-rich respond by leaving France. The fear of capital flight is not unfounded; in 2012, Arnault himself sparked a national debate when he sought Belgian citizenship, a move widely interpreted as a response to France’s tax climate. He later withdrew the application in April 2013, explaining that it was “a gesture of attachment to France and faith in its future,” as reported by Bloomberg.
Arnault’s opposition to the wealth tax is rooted in more than personal interest. He insists, “I am without question the largest individual taxpayer and one of the largest corporate taxpayers through the companies I lead” in France. His companies, which employ thousands and help define France’s global image, contribute significantly to public coffers. For Arnault, the wealth tax is not just a technical adjustment—it’s an existential threat to the economic model that, in his view, has served France well.
“This is clearly not a technical or economic debate, but an open desire to destroy the French economy,” Arnault declared, according to BGNES. He added, “I cannot believe that French political forces, whether currently in power or in government in the past, could lend any legitimacy to this offensive, fatal for our economy.” These are strong words from a man whose business decisions have often set the tone for France’s luxury sector and, by extension, its economic fortunes.
The debate over the wealth tax has exposed deep divisions in French society. On one side are those, like Zucman, who see the tax as a way to address inequality and ensure the ultra-wealthy contribute their fair share. “Unprecedented wealth concentration—and the unbridled power that comes with such wealth—has distorted our democracy and is driving societal and economic tensions,” Zucman wrote in June 2025. For supporters, the tax is a necessary correction, a way to restore balance and fund vital public services without further burdening ordinary citizens.
On the other side are business leaders and fiscal conservatives who warn that punitive taxation will drive investment and talent abroad, undermining France’s competitiveness. Arnault’s own history—his brief flirtation with Belgian citizenship—serves as a cautionary tale of what could happen if the environment becomes too hostile. The memory of past tax exiles, and the fear of losing flagship companies and their jobs, looms large in the minds of policymakers.
The political context is equally fraught. President Macron’s appointment of Sébastien Lecornu as prime minister signals a search for stability amid budgetary chaos. The failure of François Bayrou to push through an austerity budget highlighted the government’s vulnerability and the public’s resistance to further belt-tightening. Against this backdrop, the wealth tax proposal has become a proxy for broader debates about fairness, growth, and France’s future direction.
Even the projected revenues from the tax are a matter of dispute. Zucman’s €20 billion figure is eye-catching, but critics point out that it assumes the super-rich will stay put and pay up. If, instead, they decamp to friendlier jurisdictions, the revenue could shrink to €5 billion or less—hardly enough to close France’s budget gap, and potentially offset by lost investment and jobs.
For Arnault, the risks far outweigh the rewards. He argues that the liberal economy—one that rewards entrepreneurship, innovation, and risk-taking—is the only system that “works for the benefit of everyone.” A punitive wealth tax, he believes, would undermine that system and set a dangerous precedent.
Supporters of the tax, meanwhile, counter that extraordinary wealth brings extraordinary responsibility. In their view, those who have benefited most from France’s stability and infrastructure should contribute more to its upkeep, especially in times of crisis. The debate, then, is not just about numbers, but about values—about what kind of society France wants to be.
As September draws to a close, the fate of the wealth tax remains uncertain. What’s clear is that the conversation is far from over. With France’s political and economic future hanging in the balance, the decisions made in the coming months will reverberate far beyond the gilded halls of LVMH or the corridors of the Élysée Palace.
