Corporations all across our county, indeed around the world, are wrestling with the disturbing rise of counterfeit goods flooding the market. Estimates suggest that counterfeiting is a $650 billion business. It’s an appalling practice, which is as foul as plagiarism. However, in truth, it is our own fault. We brought it on ourselves. America has sacrificed the sanctity of its unions, in deference to producing its goods in slimy off-shore operations. Which is why when you call information for the phone number for the tour desk at The Empire State Building, someone with an Indian accent in New Delhi will ask you where it’s located. Beyond the crass economic benefits to producing overseas, the darker side of the counterfeiting trade is that most manufacturing facilities in China, Pakistan, India and Indonesia (there are many others) often practice slavery. Often subjecting women and children to insufferable conditions. Lets agree that counterfeiting is wrong. I do take it seriously.
While I don’t lose sleep that conglomerates may loose sales, counterfeiting and piracy demeans the artistic integrity of great institutions. These great institutions like Rolex, Versace, Burberry, Coach, Kate Spade, Nike and Chloe, once exercised control over their own factories, but they, as have their colleagues, in an effort to raise their bottom lines, (i.e., profits) begun to rely on overseas manufacturers that use that cheaper labor base. Out of sight, out of mind. Counterfeiting will only get worse despite frequent crackdowns, raids and custom inspections.
That being said, I must confide I am a hypocrite. I’m as phony as the Louis Vuitton bags, two for $35, one for $21 on Canal Street in lower Manhattan. I appreciate the artistry of a good fake. Several museums have curated shows on fake masterpieces. Like Dolly Levi, “I have extravagant tastes, and a modest pocketbook,” which is why I love NY. I love the “Going Out Of Business Sales” that run for years; I love the free movies in Bryant Park. I love the TKTS Booth in Duffy Square, where you can always score 2 for 1 tickets for a Broadway Show. I love the street peddlers with designer cologne for $10. I stop by the guy at the card table presumably selling Tag Huer and Cartier tank watches, his and hers, for $25. You can get a Pashmina scarf for $5, or two silk ties. I have a white and lavender toile necktie that I’ve worn to death. New York is a bargain driven city. It’s these little pleasures that make this often tough city quite tolerable. We justify our naughty little purchases because of the rental of our miniscule studio apartments and the fare hikes on the subway.
Which is why today I found myself in a moral quandary. On the corner of 38th and 8th was a practically authentic, almost real, copy, of a copy, of a copy of a Chanel, boucle jacket for just $4.99. Granted slightly reduced from the original version $1,500, which can be purchased at the Chanel Boutique on Prince Street. My fashion pulse began to race. Rest assured, Coco is writhing in her grave, and Jackie O is moaning from heaven, but their pain cannot compete with the squeals of joy as evidenced by tourists picking up a Chanelish treasure in saffron, bubblegum pink or butterscotch. Jackie was a New Yorker and would forgive me my trespasses. Gabrielle Coco Chanel is another matter; I’ll deal with her when I get to heaven. Christmas is just 126 days away, and my nieces from Cranford, N.J., will be as well dressed as Ashley Tisdale in “High School Musical in their faux Chanel jackets. I picked up three and still had enough change for a Venti Awake tea with soy at Starbucks. But wait, it gets better. In NY city we have a pesky 8.6 percent sales tax, which is why we penny-pinching New Yorkers schlep to N.J., to The Newport and Garden State Mall, to avoid our oppressive 8.6 percent. Please do not share this with Mayor Bloomberg, but the purveyor I purchased my Chanelized fashion treasure from didn’t even charge me sales tax. I practically got the vapors!
--Ron Knoth, Guest Blogger