3. 2003
The first time I came to New York was on a family vacation. My mother arrived with a list of people she needed to buy designer knock-off bags for. She took me and my sister to Chinatown, where the fake bag market was much more prevalent then than it is now. Lots of short Asian women chanting “ChanelVuittonPrada” tried to court my mother, but she ended going with a woman who simply nodded and beckoned us to follow her with a finger. We entered her kiosk, where she opened a door that was disguised as a wall. From there we went down a set of stairs into a basement. Then we went into a small room, filled with bags and also, a toilet. My mother and her new friend communicated through a calculator and series of nodding and shaking of their heads. We didn’t return to daylight for an entire hour.
2. 2006
The next time we returned, it was just my mother, sister, and me. My mother went straight to Chinatown and found her friend again. They remembered each other. Her friend had a new set up this time. We went to a strip mall and up a flight of stairs. She led us to a store whose windows were boarded up with black trash bags. She locked the door behind us. Again, my mother waded through bags. I tried to peek through the garbage bags to see outside, and my mother’s friend made a disapproving snarl. When my mother was finished, they sealed the transaction with more nodding and patting of merchandise. As we left, we told our mother we never wanted to do that again.
1. 2008
My mother and I were only in New York for three days. I was visiting the art school I had just been accepted to, and I was giddy. But then my mother proposed dim sum for lunch, and I knew what that meant. By then, the bag ladies were slim in numbers. A few of their storefronts had been closed with signs saying they had been shut down by the counterfeit police. We found my mother’s friend in the same place as usual. This time the route was much simpler; no stairs, no basements. She simply took us behind the door disguised as a wall. Her stock was pithy, and my mother wasn’t impressed. Still, she was happy to see her friend again. They both knew it was the last time. My mother bought a bag, mostly for posterity. When I go down Mott Street now, I sometimes see my mother’s friend, eating noodles from a cup. She doesn’t recognize me, and I’m glad she doesn’t.
