I confess — I own counterfeit merchandise. After my January Term course in Shanghai, I will possess even more. Before I sleep, I imagine huge stores filled with Valentino, Chanel and Louis Vuitton wannabe originals. I can smell leather mixed with plastic and hear the sound of bubble wrap between my fingers. I am supposed to hide my passion, even when I have no intention of pretending that I am wearing originals. I should be ashamed, right? We think of fake merchandise as something that will make us appear of a higher social status than we actually are — trying to belong to a class we are not a part of — yet, in fact, wearing counterfeits can be a form of a costume, an innocuous game for art and fashion lovers.

If we trust Plato, humans are prone to mimesis — a critical Greek philosophical term meaning to imitate. This need is a part of our nature and we cannot suppress it. Art, as it is based on ritual, has a special significance and social status that can be reduced to mere business in the presence of copying. Just think of all the Gustav Klimt and Leonardo da Vinci posters — they don’t have the aura of the original, but we still want them. Fashion, in my opinion, can be seen as a form of art and should therefore be available to everyone. Not all of us can posses pricey art pieces, but most of us can visit museums and admire them. Window shopping is not an equivalent; fashion requires ownership in order to be fully enjoyed. So what can broke college students resort to? Mimesis, of course — a combination of counterfeit merchandise and H&M. It is logical to assume that those who cannot afford real designer brands want to carry them around anyways, but even for those who can there’s something else at play. Buying off-brand merchandise is satisfying because of the hunt. There is no adrenaline rush in being welcomed into an all-white showroom by the doorman and being handed a pricey handbag off the shelf. The real fun is in doing it for yourself.

At home in Serbia, women — whether they are singers, actresses, models, working women or students — are obsessed with fake handbags. Of course, many wear them to impress others and appear richer than they actually are, but for some it is merely a matter of fun. Successfully navigating the industry of counterfeits is more complex than knowing the originals — replicas have different grades and the differences between them can appear to be minor, yet they make a huge difference to a connoisseur. When you spot a girl with a 1:1, all you want to know is where she managed to get it. This is the most pleasurable part of counterfeit culture — getting a connoisseur to reveal their secrets to you and exploring the semi-clandestine warehouses and home stores in search of the perfect piece.

The secrecy and adventure-like hunt outweighs the appeal of exclusiveness of high-end stores and keeps customers addicted. Even in the UAE, a country with one of the highest GDPs per capita, the counterfeit industry is growing. If people who can afford to buy authentic goods still choose fake merchandise, wearing fakes is not inextricably linked to social climbing. There is something more to it.

Most of the industry in Serbia relies on what is called a Šaner. During the ’70s, Šaners were smugglers of Italian jeans, selling their merchandise on Belgrade’s open markets. Today, most of the Šaners are women who bring counterfeits from Hong Kong and Shanghai and sell them in their houses, only to well-known customers who still need to announce themselves prior to coming. Some shops are open to public, but only at certain times, so you still need insider information to navigate them. Recommendation is everything, yet women rarely reveal their contacts. Admitting to have undertaken plastic surgery is more common, I’d say. So, when someone opens up and takes you to their Šaner, you know you’ve found a true friend.

Once you make it to a secret shop, the adventure begins. You examine each piece carefully, bargain, pinpoint what reveals the piece as a fake, bargain some more. You have a coffee with the owner and listen to her stories about her husband and children. You make friends. Belgrade suddenly turns into Fez, a cluster of glittering souqs. Finally, you leave happy, with your dream Chanel in your hands.

The adventure does not end the day you leave, still high on adrenaline. It happens every time you open your closet, because instead of one gorgeous handbag, you have ten, each of which tells a different story. Rather than investing in one sterile piece, you are able to exploit a different kind of luxury, offering you an ironic sense of authenticity.

In Shanghai, I will buy my Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Givenchy. Not because I want to appear wealthy, but because I look forward to haggling in the famous fake markets, integrating into Chinese culture in my favorite fashion.