Walking down the streets of Manhattan or through the shopping malls of Northern Virginia, I notice the reflexive glance of women scanning my outfit for designer labels. A look of recognition comes across their face when they see my Kate Spade handbag or DKNY sunglasses. I am now regarded with respect. Maybe I’m more than just a stranger on the street. I could be worth something. Why is it that consumers are now so brand-conscious? It seems that what your label reads means more than what the actual garment looks like. The Burberry plaid or Tiffany’s jewelry is more than an accessory: it is a status symbol.

What is the true meaning of the polo horse, the leather tag, the back pocket label? For certain it indicates to the rest of the world that the wearer had more money to spend on the garment she wears than she would rationally have to spend on the item. We walk as mini-billboards—testimony to entitlement and excess and the need to purchase respect. Is it sadder that we are so concerned with others’ opinions of ourselves or that we only think highly of people who have money?

I, too, am guilty of this way of looking at things. I look at the back pockets of passersby’s’ jeans and can tell if they have the $150 and up to clad their legs in denim. We shell out the extra cash for "high-end" clothing despite being able to purchase a similar item for less. So what are we spending this money on? Is it the superior workmanship and better fit of the pant? Or is it the way the jeans make us and—perhaps more importantly—others feel?

Wearing designer labels gives a person self-confidence not necessarily because the product fits better, but because the wearer knows the product is recognizable and signals wealth and class. The Coach "c’s" on handbags show you have upwards of $100 to spend on a sack for your other possessions. It carries your wallet no better than a $15-bag from Target, but the show of wealth enhances the wearer’s sense of success and belonging.

We no longer trust ourselves to make decisions about what is stylish or even what we truly like. Designers make this decision for us. By putting their name on a product, they deem it fashionable. On my last birthday, I had relatives over to celebrate. While I opened presents, a very brand and wealth-conscience cousin followed each gift with the question of where it came from before she would allow herself to express her appreciation of its quality. Gifts of designer origin merited "oohs and ahhs", while others barely received a nod of recognition. Consumers fear their own taste because they are aware of the constant judgment others cast upon them.

Designers know this and take advantage of our weakness. They slap their logo on everything from shoelaces to sweaters because they know people will pay more. Corporations have discovered an aid to selling their products. By marketing an item as high-end and making it distinctive enough to be recognized, people will want it—willing to pay top-dollar for the combination of the product itself and the service it provides. A shoe is no longer just for walking, but also for talking. It communicates the fact that its foot belongs to a person with money and taste.

Will consumers ever stop paying exorbitant amounts for something so insubstantial? Hopefully, people will stop giving each other respect because of wasted wealth and will instead realize the error of their ways. The money spent on a well-known brand could have been used to supplement a family’s needs in a third world country. It is ironic when people fancy themselves socially concerned and yet emphasize class division through their product purchases. Maybe we will one day stop trusting the mercenary design sense of Ralph Lauren and Kate Spade and return to our own sense of what is valuable and the power of our dollars to express the individual and help the needy rather than line the pockets of the corporations.