I’ve been told the easiest way to distinguish an authentic designer bag from a knock-off is simply by picking it up; evidently there’s a major weight differential between the real Louis Vuitton and his more economical, lighter and equally hideous cousin Louis II. Which brings up such obvious questions as: Why can’t phony cousin Louis get his act together and put on some weight? Why would anyone want to replicate such an ugly bag in the first place? And is the difference in weight simply a matter of the personal belongings which can be found inside a real versus fraudulent Louis Vuitton handbag? Because I’m thinking a gold watch outweighs food stamps.
Questions aside, I find myself wishing there was an easy trick to distinguish between real and fake in all life scenarios. I’m not just talking about products, though this is obviously a useful skill; if I do in fact have Italian ancestry they were probably wholly offended by my wholly distasteful purchase of wholly bogus Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses a few months back but in my defense…it was quite sunny and they were quite cheap. If they were appalled I’m hoping there’s an Olive Garden in the afterlife so I can smooth things out over warm and buttery peacemakers, also known as unlimited breadsticks. And if you’re questioning the authenticity of Olive Garden you should know old Italy was just bursting with green aprons and those small vibrating Thank God, It’s Finally My Turn For A Table devices.
What I really need is some sort of easy way to differentiate all the genuine things in my life from the not-so-genuine things. Take, for example, Kampala this past weekend when I thought I stepped off a genuine curb onto a genuine, solid street and ended up in a genuine hole. Or when I thought a group of women on the street were simply a group of friends, albeit scantily clad friends, until they offered to “serve” the genuinely funny man who let me fall in the above-mentioned hole in the first place. Now I’m not entirely without a doubt sure what they wanted to serve him but I’m guessing that experience would be less than genuine.
It would be especially convenient if I could just use the handbag trick on people. And no, that’s not a new term I learned from the prostitutes in Kampala, although ‘the handbag trick’ does sound like it could bring in top dollar. Or top shilling. What I mean is it would be nice to be able to pick someone up as if they were a questionable handbag and know who they really are and what they’re all about. But the thing about living here and being an outsider is people inevitably change when you’re around. I suspect they’d also change behavior if I tried to hoist them off the ground. It seems the only time I get to see people in an authentic state of being is when I’m traveling and can watch a Uganda pass by my window that’s for the most part completely oblivious to and unaltered by my presence. Luckily, I have ten genuinely sweaty, genuinely bumpy hours of travel time to the capital where I can do exactly that…and not a whole hell-of-a-lot else.
Oh Sammy!
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