Neo-cubism

Forget condos. Meet the new breed of real estate entrepreneur: the cubist.

Last October Hong Kong immigrants Nelson Mak, Donald Ong and Bernard Lee started a unique commercial retail venture: they rent cubes. Specifically, 40-centimetre Plexiglas cubes stacked inside a shop at Richmond’s Asian-style Aberdeen Centre.

The concept, imported from Japan, is simple and, according to the 26-year-old Mak, profitable. Got some merchandise to sell but nowhere to flog it? You can place your wares inside a cube at Cube Inc. for anywhere from $80 to $250 a month (depending on whether you want a premium eye-level storefront cube or a budget back-of-the-store spot). If you’re lucky, curious mall rats will wander in and take a fancy to whatever objects are in your tiny retail space. Cube Inc., which has about 204 cubes, doesn’t take a commission but will charge you extra if you want special display hardware for your cube or require a salesperson to give sales spiels about your products.

“It’s like a mall inside a mall,” explains Mak, who insists that people do make sales through his business, including a guy who offloaded a $600 replica of a Darth Vader mask. Many cube renters, he added, use the space to promote their businesses. “Some people might have a shop in areas where there aren’t so many people around, so half of the purpose of renting the cube is to sell the products and the other half is to promote their products, kind of like advertising.”

On a late March visit to Cube Inc., about 70 per cent of the cubes were rented, filled with an eclectic mix of goods on offer. There were jewellery boxes realistically shaped like fruit-covered cakes ($28 to $48); a Japanese Ma Mail “message plant,” which unfurls a bean inscribed by laser with the words “I love you” ($12); plum and blackberry vinegar ($16 for 375 millilitres or $29 for 750 millilitres); and a vast array of Hello Kitty and Juicy Couture items.

Mak admits he has been surprised with some of the stuff people want to sell. “There was some rubber jewellery, but that didn’t really sell,” he recalls. “And then there was some wine jelly, like a jam that you eat with bread.”

Not that he cares whether the stuff sells or not: after all, he’s just the landlord.