The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty

Some groups were further differentiated so as not to be confused with “respectable” people. For instance, prostitutes had to wear striped hoods to signal their “impurity,” and heretics were sometimes forced to don patches decorated with wood bundles to indicate that they could or should be burned at the stake. In a sense, a prostitute going out without her mandatory striped hood was in disguise, like someone wearing a pair of fake Gucci sunglasses. A solid, nonstriped hood sent a false signal of the woman’s livelihood and economic status. People who “dressed above their station” were silently, but directly, lying to those around them. Although dressing above one’s station was not a capital offense, those who broke the law were often hit with fines and other punishments.

What may seem to be an absurd degree of obsessive compulsion on the part of the upper crust was in reality an effort to ensure that people were what they signaled themselves to be; the system was designed to eliminate disorder and confusion. (It clearly had some signaling advantages, though I am not suggesting that we revert back to it.) Although our current sartorial class system is not as rigid as it was in the past, the desire to signal success and individuality is as strong today as ever. The fashionably privileged now wear Armani instead of ermine. And just as Freeda knew that Via Spiga platform heels weren’t for everyone, the signals we send are undeniably informative to those around us.

NOW, YOU MIGHT think that the people who buy knockoffs don’t actually hurt the fashion manufacturer because many of them would never buy the real thing to start with. But that is where the effect of external signaling comes in. After all, if a bunch of people buy knockoff Burberry scarves for $10, others—the few who can afford the real thing and want to buy it—might not be willing to pay twenty times more for the authentic scarves. If it is the case that when we see a person wearing a signature Burberry plaid or carrying a Louis Vuitton LV-patterned bag, we immediately suspect that it is a fake, then what is the signaling value in buying the authentic version? This perspective means that the people who purchase knockoffs dilute the potency of external signaling and undermine the authenticity of the real product (and its wearer). And that is one reason why fashion retailers and fashionistas care so much about counterfeits.

WHEN THINKING ABOUT my experience with the Prada bag, I wondered whether there were other psychological forces related to fakes that go beyond external signaling. There I was in Chinatown holding my real Prada bag, watching the woman emerge from the shop holding her fake one. Despite the fact that I had neither picked out nor paid for mine, it felt to me that there was a substantial difference between the way I related to my bag and the way she related to hers.

More generally, I started wondering about the relationship between what we wear and how we behave, and it made me think about a concept that social scientists call self-signaling. The basic idea behind self-signaling is that despite what we tend to think, we don’t have a very clear notion of who we are. We generally believe that we have a privileged view of our own preferences and character, but in reality we don’t know ourselves that well (and definitely not as well as we think we do). Instead, we observe ourselves in the same way we observe and judge the actions of other people—inferring who we are and what we like from our actions.

For example, imagine that you see a beggar on the street. Rather than ignoring him or giving him money, you decide to buy him a sandwich. The action in itself does not define who you are, your morality, or your character, but you interpret the deed as evidence of your compassionate and charitable character. Now, armed with this “new” information, you start believing more intensely in your own benevolence. That’s self-signaling at work.

The same principle could also apply to fashion accessories. Carrying a real Prada bag—even if no one else knows it is real—could make us think and act a little differently than if we were carrying a counterfeit one. Which brings us to the questions: Does wearing counterfeit products somehow make us feel less legitimate? Is it possible that accessorizing with fakes might affect us in unexpected and negative ways?

Calling All Chloés

I decided to call Freeda and tell her about my recent interest in high fashion. (I think she was even more surprised than I was.) During our conversation, Freeda promised to convince a fashion designer to lend me some items to use in some experiments. A few weeks later, I received a package from the Chloé label containing twenty handbags and twenty pairs of sunglasses. The statement accompanying the package told me that the handbags were estimated to be worth around $40,000 and the sunglasses around $7,000.^*