Counterfeit goods and reality!

NhThe real issue isn't the counterfeit goods themselves, but the mentality that makes people willing to spend money, even borrow, to flaunt the image of designer brands. This is the obsession with brands – and, more fundamentally, the desire for recognition, to be seen, and to be respected.

Not everyone who buys counterfeit goods is poor. Not everyone who uses fake goods doesn't know they're fake. But many choose to do so because they want to enter a world where simply carrying a Chanel bag, whether real or fake, is enough to be considered "luxurious." They buy a small dream, packaged in the logo, in the fleeting admiring glances of others. In a society that increasingly values ​​appearances, owning a designer item becomes a silent "passport" that helps one pass through the doors of prejudice.

Why do we crave recognition so intensely? Perhaps deep within each of us lies a void, a place waiting to be filled by the nod of others, a look of approval, or an unintentional compliment? This psychology isn't unique to anyone. It's instinct. It's the search for a sense of worth, of belonging to a certain group, of being more prestigious, more beautiful, more worthy of pride. And in a world where human value is often measured by what they consume, branding becomes the quickest "language" to assert oneself.

The French philosopher Baudrillard once said that in a consumer society, people no longer consume items out of necessity, but for the symbolic meaning they represent. A bag is no longer just for carrying things, but to show that one "belongs" to a certain class. A phone is no longer just for communication, but to prove that one is not behind. And these things, whether real or fake, can create a temporary illusion: I am valuable, I am seen. According to Yuval Noah Harari, author of the famous book "Sapiens – A Brief History of Humankind," luxury goods and brands are a "collective fiction," that is, things that do not exist objectively in nature, but are believed and recognized by all of us as having value. A Louis Vuitton bag is just a few pieces of leather and stitching, but because millions believe it is luxurious, it becomes a symbol of status.

A young person might skip breakfast for a month to buy a pair of fake shoes that look exactly like the original. A girl might buy a counterfeit Dior bag just to take photos for social media. They don't do this out of ignorance, but because they believe that without that item, they will be left behind. They won't be as beautiful as others, as outstanding as others, as worthy of admiration as others. And so, real or fake designer goods become a mask. It's beautiful, it shines, and it helps us get through days when we feel so small in a world that seems to be staring at us.

Polish sociologist Zygmunt Bauman called modern society a “fluid society,” where everything is fluid and uncertain. In such a world, people cling to consumption as a way to affirm: “I exist.” I have a fancy bag, I have a new phone, I have shoes like a famous singer – that means I’m not invisible. But sadly, that recognition is often fleeting. After the flattering photo comes emptiness. After the admiring glance comes the weariness of having to keep buying, keep chasing, keep maintaining one’s image from fading.

We live in a society where social media and advertising have taught us that if we're not beautiful, not classy, ​​not stylish, then we're not worthy of being heard, seen, or remembered. Brands have become symbols of success. And so, people are willing to accept the fake, as long as it looks real. It's a painful compromise – between self-respect and the desire for recognition. But what happens if we stop, look at ourselves, and ask: "Am I still me without those things?" That question is simple, but it can be shocking. Because sometimes, behind the facade of a brand is an individual who has become too accustomed to living for the gaze of others. We no longer eat to be full, or dress to be warm, but eat to show off, and dress to impress. We no longer live as ourselves, but as the version society wants us to become.

The obsession with brands, if not properly understood and enlightened, can lead us to a life of pretense and chasing illusions. Counterfeit goods may be cheap, but the price paid for a borrowed identity is not cheap at all. Because once we allow others to define our value by what we wear, we have voluntarily given up the right to be ourselves.

And perhaps the bravest thing in this world full of illusions is not owning expensive possessions, but daring to live authentically, simply, without striving to prove anything. Because then, we will realize: true value lies not in the bag we carry, but in the way we walk, whether or not we have a famous logo by our side.

But if consumers are one side of the picture, the other side—those who produce counterfeit goods—also has a story worth pondering. Who are they? Are they simply unscrupulous individuals driven by profit? Or are they people forced to survive in a system where honesty leads to poverty, while deception provides a means of livelihood?

Many counterfeit workshops are located in dark alleys and impoverished rural areas, where people have few options. A young worker might be hired to assemble "Chanel" bags without ever having seen what a real one looks like. They work according to molds, patterns, and orders from invisible intermediaries. For them, it's just work – a way to earn a living, feed their children, and pay off debts. They don't think much about the concept of "fake," only about having a meal today.

There are also those who run sophisticated, large-scale, and highly profitable counterfeit production lines. At that higher level, counterfeiting is no longer a matter of livelihood, but a business strategy. They exploit consumer psychology: wanting to be prestigious, but lacking the money; wanting to stand out, but lacking the legitimacy. And they offer substitutes that look similar, are cheaper, and are easier to obtain. A silent but effective deception. In a society where brands are a facade for prestige, counterfeiting is also a product of an unbalanced system. There, those who sell counterfeit goods are not necessarily bad people; they contribute to maintaining a collective illusion in which both the producers and buyers are playing a role to survive, to be recognized, or simply to exist. And let's not forget that those who make counterfeit goods are often also consumers of other counterfeit goods. A worker assembling "LV" bags in a factory might be wearing fake Nike shoes bought from a night market. A counterfeit factory owner might be using a "imported" phone labeled as a foreign product, but assembled with cheap components. The cycle of counterfeiting is both a supply chain and a psychological one, where those who create the illusion are also living within it. Because when genuine value becomes a luxury, both sellers and buyers are forced to seek a substitute, even knowing that it is not the real thing.

We need a more balanced perspective: not just criticizing counterfeiters, but also asking why they exist? Could it be that society itself has created such an excessive demand for counterfeit goods? And if we want to eradicate counterfeiting at its root, we need not only laws but also a change in how we define success, beauty, and human value.

Counterfeiting is a physical imitation. But more dangerously, it reflects a fracture in trust in genuine values, both among consumers and producers. To heal this, we must begin with the truth—by daring to live and act authentically, and believing that what is genuine, however unpretentious, possesses an irreplaceable weight.

Tran Hoai