There is something charmingly blatant in the way Puccini rips off the Italian designer. Here is a real Pucci by way of comparison:
Girlish pink, check. Relatively unstructured cut, check. Varied, hand-drawn geometric print, check. Belongs on my body, check.
Also, if you get up close to a Pucci, you will see:
a tiny little "Emilio" popping out to say hello.
Let's take a closer look at Puccini:
Hi, Emilio! I mean... "Eduardo."
It's like, "Yeah, you thought we were knocking off Pucci, and as it turns out, you are absolutely correct! Va bene, let's have a snack."
The only person who has ever been fooled by Puccini was a homeless man I passed on the street once.
He said, "I like your Pucci dress!" I said, "Thanks, but it's a knockoff." I think he appreciated my honesty. I don't remember if I gave him any money, but I should have. He would probably have appreciated that more.
I think everyone else I know falls into two categories: those who do not know or care about Pucci, and the much, much smaller group of people who would never be fooled by such an obvious fake.
I think there is maybe one person in that second group.
When I get my real Pucci, dear readers, I will still wear Puccini just as often. It'll be like those obscenely rich women you hear about sometimes, who wear paste because they know everyone will assume the diamonds are real.
Of course, for me it will probably be reversed: everyone knows I can't afford designer clothes, so they'll assume it's another Puccini.
But I will know.
All photos by Claire Loeb!