For about a year now I and countless other silly people across the world have kept a digital obsession. To me, it’s superficial, light-hearted and fun; to everyone else it’s self-indulgent, annoying and distasteful.
I do not speak of those annoying 'likes' on facebook (those ambiguous jokes that dumb friend of yours keeps clicking on); I speak of Louis Vuitton; and since discovering louisvuitton.com I haven’t been able to give up my obsession with a particular 'Keepall 45 with adjustable shoulder-strap in Monogram Canvas’ I jump back to that page every few minutes some times, just checking that it’s still there, that they haven’t lowered the price nor have they sold out permanently. I stare at all £815 of that bag for hours at a time; always with the seasoned conviction of a meth addict at an Iggy fest circa ’73.
There is something about the label that means the best, whenever Louis Vuitton is flashed in front of us we end up in total awe at it, we demand to check the lining, see the proof card, hold it, grab it, squeeze it, cuddle it. But why? Essentially it’s no different from the bags you see anywhere else, my mother furtively reminds me whenever I muse about owning one. The most in-demand ones are essentially lacquered canvas with some leather stitched over it, unlike the incredibly unique look of the colourfully woven Damier Geant Canvas which was originally fabricated exclusively by Louis for the Empress of Montijo alone back in 1888. However, next to an LV monogram the Damier variant might as well be from New Look.
Everybody wants a slice of Vuitton, owning it means that you can, somehow spare to shell out hundreds of pounds simply to boast your own ability to shell out hundreds of pounds. People will do almost anything to get their hands on Vuitton, meaning that often shipping their product demands an armed convoy for its protection; unable then to procure the genuine article by force the next best thing is to resort to making their own, but for fakes they’re really good.
It was a few weeks ago when I found myself at a friend’s ‘Return from Holiday in Hong Kong’ dinner and after the second course came the knock off show-and-tell. “You’d never know, not even if you looked at the lining!” “It was only £30!” “It even got through counterfeit customs!” I was astounded, it was this season’s Boétie bag, and it was completely convincing, down to the polished LOUIS VUITTON chrome badge on the front, the buckle, the stitching, the entire thing was mind-blowingly perfect. It felt like real Vuitton, the smell of the leather, the whole bag was real, immaculate. I guess it was genuinely fake.
“You literally find shops in the shopping centre selling them” She explained loudly, her phony sitting proudly in the centre of the table. “They’ll ask you if you’re interested then they’ll usher you into a little room and show you around, or they’ll give you this catalogue and tell you I get you anything for twenty minutes, yes? And sometimes they simply stand on the side of the road yelling LOUIS VUITTON FORTY DOLLARS! FAKE DESIGNER! FAKE DESIGNER!” The last remark eliciting pealing laughter from the dinner guests.
It’s not a stretch to imagine that with the entire world screaming for Vuitton in any shape or form that LV monogrammed fakes account for nearly a fifth of all counterfeit accessories seizures in the EU alone, and some even claim that fakes could represent almost 60% of Louis Vuitton items currently in circulation right now.
I decided to chime in, when the laughter died down, and fly the flag for the real deal. “I wouldn’t ever buy a fake” A look of revulsion met me on the faces of everyone else there. “Even if no-one else ever found out, I would know. I would always know that my bag started its life in a sweatshop somewhere in China. It would never have seen the inside of a Louis Vuitton store. It would mean nothing. Having the real thing would mean that I would walk out the doors of Louis Vuitton carrying it in a Louis Vuitton carrier bag (everybody on Oxford Street would be staring at me carrying it around and think you lucky bastard.) I don’t want the bag for its iconography; I want to have earned it.” They all shut up.
I have recently given up my Vuitton-crazed habit. After months of mindless indulgence I have begun to realize that no matter how much I gawk at it I will never be able to reach into the screen and pull one out. I will never open my closet to magically find one waiting in the corner. Sadly, I really will have to earn it. Damn.
