They're not hard to find if you know where to look: on Manhattan's street corners and busiest thoroughfares, often in the vicinity of fanny pack-toting tourists. You'll find them on display, or sometimes tucked away beneath a bulky tarp, vendors suggesting in a tight-lipped murmur that you take a look at their wares. They present a compelling bargain: quilted Chanel totes, Dolce&Gabbana shades, Balenciaga motorcycle bags, and a seemingly endless assortment of luxury goods, all to be had at a sliver of their usual prices. Granted, the products aren't actually manufactured by the fashion houses whose logos they boast and the quality of the merchandise is questionable, but it's still a tempting offer at first glance. A second glance, however, will reveal that if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. Counterfeiting - in all its forms, and not just that of luxury goods - has been estimated to cost the city $1 billion a year in unpaid taxes, and its profits are often linked to organized crime.
New York police have long been engaged in an active campaign to quell the deluge of fakes, and though you can't do jail time for snagging a faux Louis Vuitton, they are encouraging the public to direct their money away from supporting such dubious enterprises. Unfortunately for designers, Canal Street-style counterfeiting and its clear-cut parameters and consequences are anomalies in the world of knockoffs. Replace city street commotion with an air-conditioned mall, and even if the fakes are just as egregiously copied from the runway, it's a rare occasion when designers have the unmitigated support of the law on their side. If a well-established retailer like Forever 21 turns out a reworked Fendi clutch or Mayle dress, the onus of protecting creative intelligence often falls upon the designer and not the government, as fashion design has yet to enjoy the protection of copyright laws. The Bush administration was once staunchly opposed to a bill guarding intellectual property, claiming that it would create "unnecessary bureaucracy." Displaying an apparent change of heart, the president recently signed the Prioritizing Resources and Organization for Intellectual Property (PRO IP) Act, "a bill to enhance remedies for violations of intellectual property laws." While its stipulations include an appointed enforcement official and greater consequences for violators, the act's direct effects on the fashion industry remain to be seen.
But where police commissioners and city comptrollers bow out, industry watchdog blog Fashionista steps in, with plenty of posts dedicated to outing knockoff purveyors, including a popular feature called Adventures in Copyright. The blog's anti-knockoff stance has drawn both supporters and detractors, while shedding light on just how subjective the entire debate is. Some visitors to the site are offended by Fashionista's "pretentious" and "sanctimonious" disdain for knockoffs, calling attention to their hypocrisy in "fawning over Zara and J.Crew's Balenciaga blazer knockoffs" and instructing readers on how to create Prada-like earrings, while simultaneously bashing Forever 21 for bringing runway style to the masses. Where exactly is this thin line between inspiration and knockoff?
ABS founder and design director Allen B. Schwartz has said, "There is no such thing as an original design.... To me a spaghetti strap is a spaghetti strap, and a cowl neck is a cowl neck." His viewpoint serves his own purposes well, considering that ABS has long been the go-to brand for affordable versions of the red carpet gowns worn by celebrities on Oscar night. But these sentiments also ring true for the average consumer, who isn't necessarily willing to make a research project out of each personal shopping trip, and therefore may not be able to determine whether or not the A-line shift she's bringing to the fitting room has been copied from another designer. The government appears to be similarly perplexed by the question of inspiration versus copying, with the U.S. Copyright Office stating in 2006 that it "does not yet have sufficient information to make any judgment whether fashion design legislation is desirable." Even so, timing is everything. Maybe designers can't stake a claim to a particular garment feature, but the success of labels like ABS and ASOS - which stands for As Seen On Stars - is grounded in their ability to produce a knockoff quickly after a design originator has created something new. In other words, Allen B. Schwartz isn't going to try out spaghetti straps or cowl necks in any season unless Valentino or Christian Lacroix has done it first.
Though many shoppers might purchase knockoffs unwittingly, there's a growing number of consumers who, as fashion becomes increasingly visible and accessible, prowl their local stores in hot pursuit of them. High prices combined with ever-changing trends leave several fashion-forward girls with practically no other choice. New York City's anti-counterfeiting campaign warns that buyers' money is funneled towards criminal activity, but what can prevent fast fashion's worldwide consumer base from acquiring knockoffs? Since knockoff profits don't fund corruption in the same way that counterfeits do, it's principally the original designers' profits who stand to suffer. Or does it? If Topshop and Forever 21 stopped copying runway looks tomorrow, would Marc Jacobs' profits see a significant jump? Probably not. With such drastically different price points, it's not likely that someone who buys knockoffs can easily make the leap to high-priced designer apparel.
The artistic value of original design remains a worthy knockoff opponent. For the time and effort that goes into creating and showcasing the looks seen during fashion week, in magazine spreads, and draped upon the lithe bodies of Hollywood starlets, a cheap, poorly-made imitation hanging limp on a store hanger amounts to nothing less than piracy. Unfortunately, the designers whose artistic merit we seek to uphold and protect are not always above such acts of plagiarism. Earlier this year, Marc Jacobs paid an undisclosed amount to Gösta Oloffson's son Göran, who discovered that Jacobs had blatantly copied his father's 1950's scarf design depicting the Swedish county of Härjedalen, simply replacing the original red script logo with his own name. A tipster informed Fashionista that a handbag used in Anna Sui's Fall 2008 Ready-To-Wear show appears to be an exact replica of a vintage piece. Designers like Zac Posen and Diane von Furstenburg went to Washington, D.C. in 2006 to argue for a three-year protection staute on fashion design. If this statute were to come to fruition, vintage pieces would be fair game for copying. Yet until then, when Anna Sui sues Forever 21 for ripping off her work, her own apparent lack of artistic integrity makes her claim a bit hard to take seriously.
One of the most valid arguments against knockoffs and counterfeits may be that of sweatshop and child labor. Counterfeit goods are almost exclusively manufactured in unsafe and unregulated conditions, and for retail chains to churn out runway rip-offs while the current trend is still hot, retailers sometimes resort to quick and dirty methods of manufacture as well. Sadly, buying well-made, higher-priced goods does not erase the possibility of sweatshop labor. Several high-profile fashion houses including Gucci and Prada have come under fire for outsourcing work to companies where illegal immigrants work for less than minimum wage.
And with that, the wildly indignant protests of designers are lowered to a muddled and grumbling din. At its core, the fashion industry is built on a foundation of business, and the supposedly vast gap between original design and lowly knockoff is, in reality, not all that large, and a guilt-free buy is hard to find. Curiously enough, some theorists have proposed that knockoffs serve the unexpected purpose of pushing the envelope and enabling design originators to increase innovation. After all, hackneyed trends die quickest, leaving it up to designers to create the "next big thing" each season, further affirming their collective status as tastemakers and arbiters of style. Fueling the creative process by generating a desire for something new, the knockoff - for better or worse - has acquired its very own position in the fashion hierarchy.
i remember scolding her for wearing shoulder pads, which i hated with a passion. i remember riding to school in the backseat singing along to "i will always love you" at the height of its popularity. my brothers, aged eight and thirteen, would always change her adult contemporary radio station to something a bit more youthful, and that's how i began my hip-hop journey.
mtv was on fairly often in the house, and i can still recall mama pandora, tsk-tsking about the hypersexualized music videos while i developed a deep appreciation for the body-conscious, boldly colored ensembles on display. i harbored this appreciation over time, and from about sixth grade to junior year, it erupted into a full-fledged obsession. though i always maintained my love for all music and fashion - this is the same period in which i really started fawning over the fifties - i remember longing for fitted caps and a jersey dress (shudder). my passion culminated in seriously contemplating becoming a b-girl with megan, and then my affinity came to an abrupt halt.
i've never cared about street cred or battle wounds. keep the guns at home. i want to know about the kicks you've got on, and better yet, the kicks you'll be wearing tomorrow. black is safe. i want clashing prints and bright bright brights or i've already lost interest. i want caps to the side and copious amounts of gold. and the best part about this rediscovery of 1990's glory is that the revival is occurring all over the place, and not only just in my head. there's a crop of fresh females that totally embody this fierce boldness that i love, and though i've written about a few of them before, i never noticed the pattern. in any case, they're always getting more and more exposure, which means that maybe we'll see nikes and rope chains in the pages of vogue sometime soon (hah).
professional comedians steve byrne, jordan carlos (of the colbert report), and julian mccullough are performing, and all proceeds go to the american social health association. the show takes place at Sanders Theater during the weekend of the 44th head of the charles regatta, "the world's largest two-day rowing event." Feel free to spend a picturesque day ambling along the Charles, topped off by a hilarious comedy show across the river at night. Tickets are $25 for the general public; shoot me an e-mail for more information.
secondly: if you happen to be in the area on november 15, this the date of project east, which i've spoken about before in a previous post. bottom line, it's one of the most professional student-run campus fashion shows i've ever laid eyes on, and i feel privileged to be working on it. every day, i get a little more excited about just how awesome it's stacking up to be. among the designers who will be presenting pieces are jen kao (about whom the lovely Jill of Couture Salope wrote a wonderful post a little while back), giuliano fujiwara (recently confirmed!), lu kun (who i believe has never before presented in the us), manish arora, and - wait for it - ISSEYfuckingMIYAKE. as in, this is the first time he's shown on a runway other than his own in paris. as in, this man, a veritable genuis of design, has decided to grace us with his pieces. as in, this is HUGE. and as if the show wasn't enough, there's an amazing auction and reception to be held right after the show. and when i say awesome, i'm talking lanvin-necklaces-up-for-bidding- awesome. ticket information to come soon, but again, e-mail e-mail e-mail me if you're interested in coming - and you should be.
and really, why would you want to talk about it? i'm certainly in no rush to return to a life of papers and exams, responsibilities and stress. my summers are a time for three r's of a different sort: relaxation, recovery, and reflection. still, there's something that keeps me and people like myself talking at length and ad nauseum about the upcoming season. haute couture and ready-to-wear shows, displaying the fall collections before spring has even sprung, keep the fashion-conscious abuzz for months with talk of autumn trends and the like. while the idea of a great coat has been known to get me going, i'm the type of girl who spends long winters yearning for the days when i'll be able to walk outside without one. i adore muggy city afternoons and searing sunlight, and i somehow feel like i'm squandering my precious summer days by daydreaming about fall fashion. not to mention that viewing and reviewing the collections for fall during spring and summer makes its realization feel a bit.. stale. it might be considered ancient history now, but what about lanvin's billowy brights? chanel's denim americana? by the time i'm ready to whip out tailored black pants or heavy necklace layering à la givenchy, i'll have already been dwelling on it for months. so what's a girl to do, especially now, during this "weird limbo phase between seasons where most of the designer pieces from spring are sold out, and fall collections have yet to hit stores"?
actually, i can tell you why: i'm a disney addict. it's kind of a problem. almost every summer, i simply pull the birthday card, declaring that there's nothing else that i want more than to go to disney world, and come july, my family is standing in front of cinderella's castle, for a third, fourth, fifth, seventh, and ninth time. i've actually lost count of how many times i've been there, though i'm sure the number hovers somewhere below my age. in my senior year of high school, i decided that it was necessary for my scholars science class to take a trip to disney world, even though the program had never even taken a trip to six flags before. i researched the options and found that disney offers programs for youth groups, including science classes. i wrote a proposal and pled my case to the school principal. luckily for me, sister antonia was a disney fanatic, as well. she said that we could go, as long as she came along as a chaperone. since my parents will rarely go to the parks anymore (i'm their third child, and i'm sure they'd had their fill of mickey long before i came along and made a hobby of it), i've gotten creative and recruited all kinds of new companions to share the experience with me, including, but not limited to, boyfriends, friends, and extended family members.
