To Faux or Not

As she stood on the Park Slope station platform waiting for the Manhattan bound train, she looked up at the arrival clock for the fifth time and sighed as her train was still seven minutes away; it had been seven minutes away the last time she checked. She hated taking the F line on the weekends as it was always hit or miss. She looked at her Longines watch calculating she would be a few minutes late to brunch. Her watch had been a special treat she had purchased for herself and was one of her favorites. Yellow and white gold with a black face, she had bought it off what some call ‘the gray market’, but the heavily reduced price didn’t stop her feeling like a million dollars every time she wore it. She was a bargain hunter and while fashion was her friend, the price tags associated with it were not. They mostly mocked her from the other side of the glass from where she stood to admire what she could not afford. If you wanted to feel like a first world poor person, New York City was ready and waiting to facilitate that feeling.

The train approached and she was one of the first of eager passengers to board. She sat down on the bench seat by the door and took in the eclectic mix of people sharing this moment in time with her. Passengers grateful to get a seat, others choosing to stand, some taking this opportunity to close their eyes and get some reprieve from their lives. She was in a good mood today. The weather was warm after a long winter and that always meant people were in a better mood, to the point it was palpable. She was always fascinated that the change in weather impacted a whole community and how they treated one another. How the warmth of the sunshine lifted people’s spirits to the point it was contagious.

She was dressed comfy casual but still chic with her Louis Vuitton bag. And not a fake, this was real. As she placed her classic monogram hobo style bag on her lap, she recalled the day she had parted ways with almost a month’s salary to assume ownership. She had been wandering canal street in early spring the year before and after countless offers by a plethora of street vendors, she stopped to peruse the merchandise. Could her desire for a brand name bag without the price tag be tempted? How would she feel carrying around a fake? Would anyone really know the difference? Probably not.

She had sifted through the various versions on offer, hung them on her shoulders already heavy of burden, and ran her hands over the faux material both inside and out. Her cell phone rang and she stepped away from the man who was half helping her and half yelling out to other passersby. She answered when she saw it was her friend Aurora. She had met Aurora at a college bar on Bleecker Street when they were both in school. They went to different colleges - Aurora went to NYU, and she spent her days at the state college. They formed a fast friendship in a bathroom lineup and became inseparable ever since. Aurora was raised with privilege, while she was raised with a promising future. Aurora wasn’t expected to achieve greatness, but was asked to put in a good effort. She was expected to work hard, and hope for the best. Aurora's parents lavished her with expensive gifts, her parents lavished her with thoughtful items.

Aurora asked if she wanted to meet at P.S Kitchen in Hell’s Kitchen. She was going through a vegan phase which meant all non-vegan stores were off limits. However this had not extended to the real leather handbags she continued to use and purchase. It was ironic to everyone except Aurora who didn’t even recognize the hypocrisy. She looked at her watch and estimated that by jumping on the N at Canal Street Station it would take her around 30 minutes to arrive at her destination. She told Aurora she would be there by around 1PM should the MTA Gods be kind today and to grab a table if she arrived first.

She walked away from the street vendor who was busy occupying another customer’s time and walked west toward Broadway to get to the subway station. She spotted the round green and white globe and quickly descended underground, avoiding trash that had been carelessly thrown onto the steps. She smiled and shook her head as she passed by a panhandler near the turnstiles. She quite often gave a dollar bill or two to those less fortunate but today she didn’t have any cash and the N had just pulled into the station and she hurriedly activated her cell to use the Omny pay system. She raced onto the N right before they announced ‘stand clear of the closing doors please’.

She rode the three stops to 49th Street station and skipped up the stairs to emerge into the bustling midtown. Heading west again, it was a short six minute walk amongst locals and tourists alike. It was a comfortable 75 degrees on a Saturday and New Yorkers were making the best of it, while visitors were confused about what they could only call a myth that New Yorkers were rude, as on this day, like every turn-of-the-season, they were floating with delight in pre-humid air and smiling like they had just won the lottery.

She strolled down 48th Street toward 8th Avenue and saw the black lattice door of the restaurant. Stepping into the exposed brick and white trimmings of the elegantly designed establishment, she spotted Aurora on a stool at the bar. The bartender was placing two lavender martini’s in front of her like they were a new masterpiece, eagerly awaiting her response. She gave an appropriate squeal of delight. She embraced her friend who excitedly announced she had ordered for them, not only the drinks but their food too. It was for the best, she was not a vegan and she trusted her friend to choose the best food to trick her into thinking it was real meat. While she was skeptical at first, she had to admit that the food was delicious and if you didn’t know you were in a vegan restaurant you could be mistaken for thinking otherwise.

After lunch and several cocktails, Aurora had asked her to accompany her to Bloomingdale’s. They decided to walk as the weather was too good to pass up. The city entertained them as they walked her streets, and 30 minutes later they were pushing open the doors of the ionic store on the corner of 59th Street and Lexington Avenue that was opened in 1886. This was Aurora’s version of her Macy’s. 20% off in this store was still 100% more than she could afford. She didn’t feel intimidated but she couldn’t pinpoint what the emotion was she was feeling. They wandered through the shoe section that had been labeled as The Heart of Shoe York, and made their way to the handbag section. The decadence and choice was overwhelming and she recognized she was feeling guilty. But she wasn’t sure why and made a mental note to revisit it. For now, she was going to unashamedly enjoy the beauty of the bags calling to her to be held in her arms. Aurora had grabbed her hand and giggled as they fell into the Louis Vuitton store. She realized they had probably had a few too many cocktails at lunch and could be liable for damages to credit cards in their possession. Mesmerized, she had walked over to the wall of monogrammed handbags under bright spotlights.

The sales associate asked her if she’d like help with anything, not knowing she should be asking Aurora instead. At that moment, Aurora had planted herself next to her side and answered for her. “She’ll try on that one, please” and pointed her perfectly manicured nail to the bag she had on her lap today. Smelling a sale, the associate moved into next-level customer service and promptly took down the handbag and handed it to her like it was a rare jewel only certain people would ever have the privilege to hold. And she wasn’t wrong. It was out of her price league and she didn’t belong here. Time was suspended as her tipsy self draped the bag over her shoulder and she posed in front of the mirror. She was a new version of herself and in that moment she liked it. She felt a smile spread across her face and she misunderstood the weight in her belly for excitement instead of trepidation. Why shouldn’t she have what the billboards say she can own, she questioned. She worked hard and she deserved this, is what she told herself. That day Aurora had left empty-handed. And for the first time she had been the one to walk out with the big brown bag that had become a global status symbol. That brown bag is still stuffed in the back of her closet as an extension of her purchase that day.

When she had gotten home, she had unwrapped her bag that was safely encased in another bag and admired what was now hers. It wasn’t long before guilt set in. Not the guilt she had felt while in the store, but the guilt of doing something she shouldn’t have done and was about to get caught for. Although there was no one to catch her but herself. And that evening she fell asleep still struggling with the waves of emotions she knew Aurora didn’t experience after a day of shopping.

The next morning she woke and picked up her new bag and took stock of her somewhat drunken purchase the day prior. She can’t entirely blame the booze, she knew what she was doing when she handed over her Citibank credit card, taking note that this would provide a sizable increase in her points. You can justify anything you want. She smiled as she ran her hand over the branding that was emblazoned on the leather. She had a feeling of satisfaction that she couldn’t deny. Some spend their money on vacations, some on concerts and shows, others on shoes or clothes, more responsible folk save and invest in their future. She had made a decision, this one time, to buy what she had been told most of her life she should want. It wasn’t entirely lost on her that she had just become part of the problem. She was another cog in the wheel of consumerism that was driving fast fashion and unethical practices that we get to forget about after we put away our credit card statements.

“This is West 4 Street station” she heard the conductor announce and was snapped out of her daydream. She dashed for the door and walked the long platform to the exit by the basketball court on the corner of 6th Avenue and 3rd Street. She paused for a few minutes to watch a game in play. She knew nothing of the rules but found a sense of belonging as she joined the others watching the players. She secured her handbag under her arm as she gathered in the crowd. For all the money she had spent on it, it didn’t even have a zip to ward off would-be pick pockets. Should someone reach inside to steal what is not theirs, they would find themselves holding an imitation wallet she had bought from a Canal Street vendor the month before. She laughed at herself and the irony. She knew that while she felt some sort of accomplishment when she paraded around the city with her designer handbag, she had never been complimented by a stranger on her extravagant purchase that hung from her shoulder. She wasn’t even sure that many people noticed what she carried, let alone believed it was real when they did spy the iconic symbols. She did not regret she had spent her money on a gimmick and felt assured when she wore it that she deserved it as much as the trust fund kid who doesn’t appreciate it.

What she had learnt in the last year was that the guilty feeling she had felt in the store that day, and had checked to revisit later, was a feeling that derived from community. She lived in a city of the haves and have nots and as she had walked through the great landscape of things that day, deep down she knew there was more to life than filling our homes with purchases instead of people. However, learning from those lessons is harder to do. All we can do is try. For now, she had her handbag that could carry her consciousness as she navigated what New York City threw at her.

The end.