to the ire of Louis Vuitton
A friend asked if I'd pick up a Louis Vuitton bag from Canal Street for her. Yeah, sure, okay. Brown bag with the gold initials, right?
I'm staying right in Chinatown, two blocks from Canal Street. It's a shopping orgy on an early Saturday morning. I drift from food vendor to food vendor, wondering what my stomach can handle this early, pre-coffee. Hot dog, no. Pretzel, no. Chinese congee soup with rice, mmm. Yes, thank you.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman quickly shove what I suspect is a Louis bag into a plain, black trash bag. I walk up, look around the booth, and see no Louis bag. I ask if she sells them. She tosses a thin, plastic photo album with xeroxed drawings of various bag styles and dimensions. I point to a large shoulder bag. "How much?"
"45 dollar."
Much more than I expected. I point to a medium-sized one. "And this?"
"35 dollar."
Let's try it this way. "What's the cheapest bag?" knowing I only have $29 in cash after the train and cab fare the night before.
She points to the smallest bag, a cute, thin shoulder bag for $25. After feeling around the large, black garbage bag hooked to the side of the counter, she reveals the bag from the drawing.
I hand her the money and go on my way. Shoving my way through Canal Street, I see more and more Louis bags. Two small Asian women on the sidewalk are squawking to a small crowd, "Good deal on bag, look! Is a expensive, but we sell for cheap!" Their bags are hidden in large, black garbage bags as well, and the potential buyers are pushing their way to get a closer look.
"How much?" the women demand.
"$45 dollar. $35 dollar. $25 dollar." I'm happy to note the price was the same for the one I bought.
I focus the lens on my camera. One of the ladies spots me, glaring at me as she steps out of my viewfinder. I snap quickly, shrug my shoulders in apology. In a cloud of naivete, I hadn't realized these are illegal knock-offs, thought they just hadn't had a chance to properly display them.
Further down Canal Street, a vendor quickly yanks down his metal gate, the Louis bags vanish behind the paneled metal. Someone in the crowd hoots, "Cops. There must be cops around. Oh yeah, honey, that's what those gates are for!"
A few steps away, vendors quickly cover their flat boxes of shiny watches. Folks are looking around for the spotted threat in uniform. Two Asian women, selling black market CDs and DVDs from carts on wheels, quickly cover their ware with a black cloth and take off running, wheels squeaking, their Nikes pounding pavement.
Everywhere, women are carrying different versions of these Louis bags. I wondered what the allure is, buying knock-off bags, shoes, belts, all monogrammed with LV. To add, the bags are quite ugly, something my grandmother would carry if her big, white plastic purse ever needed replacing. Maybe it's like being in a secret club. The women who buy them, they can spot each other on the street, wink and say "Hey-hey we got a good deal, huh?"
I'm staying right in Chinatown, two blocks from Canal Street. It's a shopping orgy on an early Saturday morning. I drift from food vendor to food vendor, wondering what my stomach can handle this early, pre-coffee. Hot dog, no. Pretzel, no. Chinese congee soup with rice, mmm. Yes, thank you.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman quickly shove what I suspect is a Louis bag into a plain, black trash bag. I walk up, look around the booth, and see no Louis bag. I ask if she sells them. She tosses a thin, plastic photo album with xeroxed drawings of various bag styles and dimensions. I point to a large shoulder bag. "How much?"
"45 dollar."
Much more than I expected. I point to a medium-sized one. "And this?"
"35 dollar."
Let's try it this way. "What's the cheapest bag?" knowing I only have $29 in cash after the train and cab fare the night before.
She points to the smallest bag, a cute, thin shoulder bag for $25. After feeling around the large, black garbage bag hooked to the side of the counter, she reveals the bag from the drawing.
I hand her the money and go on my way. Shoving my way through Canal Street, I see more and more Louis bags. Two small Asian women on the sidewalk are squawking to a small crowd, "Good deal on bag, look! Is a expensive, but we sell for cheap!" Their bags are hidden in large, black garbage bags as well, and the potential buyers are pushing their way to get a closer look.
"How much?" the women demand.
"$45 dollar. $35 dollar. $25 dollar." I'm happy to note the price was the same for the one I bought.
I focus the lens on my camera. One of the ladies spots me, glaring at me as she steps out of my viewfinder. I snap quickly, shrug my shoulders in apology. In a cloud of naivete, I hadn't realized these are illegal knock-offs, thought they just hadn't had a chance to properly display them.
Further down Canal Street, a vendor quickly yanks down his metal gate, the Louis bags vanish behind the paneled metal. Someone in the crowd hoots, "Cops. There must be cops around. Oh yeah, honey, that's what those gates are for!"
A few steps away, vendors quickly cover their flat boxes of shiny watches. Folks are looking around for the spotted threat in uniform. Two Asian women, selling black market CDs and DVDs from carts on wheels, quickly cover their ware with a black cloth and take off running, wheels squeaking, their Nikes pounding pavement.
Everywhere, women are carrying different versions of these Louis bags. I wondered what the allure is, buying knock-off bags, shoes, belts, all monogrammed with LV. To add, the bags are quite ugly, something my grandmother would carry if her big, white plastic purse ever needed replacing. Maybe it's like being in a secret club. The women who buy them, they can spot each other on the street, wink and say "Hey-hey we got a good deal, huh?"
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