The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty

Before I started my talk, Freeda treated me to a quick fashion tutorial as we sipped our lattes in a balcony café overlooking the escalator in the big downtown Manhattan building. Freeda gave me a rundown of the outfits worn by every woman who passed us, including the brands they were wearing and what her clothes and shoes said about her lifestyle. I found her attention to every detail—indeed, the whole fashion analysis—fascinating, the way I imagine expert bird watchers are able to discern minute differences between species.

About thirty minutes later, I found myself on a stage before an auditorium full of fashion mavens. It was a tremendous pleasure to be surrounded by so many attractive and well-dressed women. Each woman was like an exhibit in a museum: her jewelry, her makeup, and, of course, her stunning shoes. Thanks to Freeda’s tutorial, I was able to recognize a few of the brands when I looked out into the rows. I could even discern the sense of fashion that inspired each ensemble.

I wasn’t sure why those fashionistas wanted me there or what they expected to hear from me. Still, we seemed to have good chemistry. I talked about how people make decisions, how we compare prices when we are trying to figure out how much something is worth, how we compare ourselves to others, and so on. They laughed when I hoped they would, asked thoughtful questions, and offered plenty of their own interesting ideas. When I finished the talk, Valerie Salembier, the publisher of Harper’s Bazaar, came onstage, hugged and thanked me—and gave me a stylish black Prada overnight bag.

AFTER SAYING OUR good-byes, I left the building with my new Prada bag and headed downtown to my next meeting. I had some time to kill, so I decided to take a walk. As I wandered, I couldn’t help thinking about my big black leather bag with its large Prada logo displayed. I debated with myself: should I carry my new bag with the logo facing outward? That way, other people could see and admire it (or maybe just wonder how someone wearing jeans and red sneakers could possibly have procured it). Or should I carry it with the logo facing toward me, so that no one could recognize that it was a Prada? I decided on the latter and turned the bag around.

Even though I was pretty sure that with the logo hidden no one realized it was a Prada bag, and despite the fact that I don’t think of myself as someone who cares about fashion, something felt different to me. I was continuously aware of the brand on the bag. I was wearing Prada! And it made me feel different; I stood a little straighter and walked with a bit more swagger. I wondered what would happen if I wore Ferrari underwear. Would I feel more invigorated? More confident? More agile? Faster?

I continued walking and passed through Chinatown, which was bustling with activity, food, smells, and street vendors selling their wares along Canal Street. Not far away, I spotted an attractive young couple in their twenties taking in the scene. A Chinese man approached them. “Handbags, handbags!” he called, tilting his head to indicate the direction of his small shop. At first they didn’t react. Then, after a moment or two, the woman asked the Chinese man, “You have Prada?”

The vendor nodded. I watched as she conferred with her partner. He smiled at her, and they followed the man to his stand.

The Prada they were referring to, of course, was not actually Prada. Nor were the $5 “designer” sunglasses on display in his stand really Dolce&Gabbana. And the Armani perfumes displayed over by the street food stands? Fakes too.^*

From Ermine to Armani

Let’s pause for a moment and consider the history of wardrobes, thinking specifically about something social scientists call external signaling, which is simply the way we broadcast to others who we are by what we wear. Going back a way, ancient Roman law included a set of regulations called sumptuary laws, which filtered down through the centuries into the laws of nearly all European nations. Among other things, the laws dictated who could wear what, according to their station and class. The laws went into an extraordinary level of detail. For example, in Renaissance England, only the nobility could wear certain kinds of fur, fabrics, laces, decorative beading per square foot, and so on, while those in the gentry could wear decisively less appealing clothing. (The poorest were generally excluded from the law, as there was little point in regulating musty burlap, wool, and hair shirts.)