Counterfeiting, from the Hermès Bag to the Throne of Saint Peter

When the fake slips into the real

There is a discreet yet destructive phenomenon eroding even the most discerning consumers’ trust: counterfeits infiltrating official distribution channels. Today, some counterfeiters no longer settle for selling their imitations on the black market. No — they aim higher. Armed with forgeries so perfect they deceive both the eye and the system, these fraudsters order a genuine Hermès or Louis Vuitton bag from the brand’s official website, then return a fake and demand a refund. Overwhelmed by the logistics of returns, brands don’t always take the time to scrutinize the returned item. The fake then enters official stock and may, without the slightest suspicion, be resold to a legitimate customer — via the brand’s own website. Thus, deception infiltrates the chain of truth.

The consumer, believing they’ve purchased a symbol of authenticity and prestige, instead receives an object without soul or value, yet stamped with an official seal.

This disgraceful commercial ruse now finds a strange reflection in the political and spiritual realm. The announcement of the election of Pope Leo XIV — an American Franciscan at heart, a fervent advocate for the poor and for migrants — has exposed a spiritual fault line, revealed through a familiar figure in American politics: Vice President J.D. Vance.

Both men invoke the same name: Saint Augustine, bishop of Hippo (present-day Annaba, Algeria), born in Tagaste (Souk Ahras) nearby, a founding father of Western Christian theology. But what they do with his legacy is as different as an authentic Hermès bag and its pale imitation. Vance instrumentalizes Augustine to prop up a political ideology of retreat, moral hierarchy, and rejection of otherness. He invokes grace to justify exclusion, and faith as a shield of identity. By contrast, Leo XIV embodies a living, vibrant Augustine, rooted in grace freely offered to all, in charity, justice, and the universal message of the Gospel.

Like a fake bag sold at the price of a real one, the faith brandished by J.D. Vance is a counterfeit. It has the appearance: the quotes, the rhetoric, the posture of conviction. But it is emptied of substance. It does not build — it excludes. It does not unite — it divides. It is not the fruit of inner conversion, but the tool of an external strategy. In contrast, the faith of the new pontiff — grounded in silence, service, and struggle for the invisible — may be less media-savvy, but it is authentic. It costs something. It cannot be bought; it must be lived.

In both cases, the tragedy is the same: the loss of trust in what is supposed to be reliable. The deceived consumer no longer trusts the label. The sincere believer begins to doubt the Church when public figures distort its message. The fake, injected into the real, corrupts even the source. The only defense is a demand for truth — even when it takes time. For luxury houses, this means stricter controls, even at the cost of delays. For the Church and politics, it means discerning — with rigor and humility — the true fruits of every professed faith.

Saint Augustine, more than sixteen centuries after his death, continues to lay bare the soul. Not because he offers easy answers, but because his thought demands inner honesty. Where the vice president parades a version of Augustine in stiff, glossy leather — but hollow — Pope Leo XIV embodies the version worn smooth by trial, woven from genuine prayers, hands washing the feet of the poor, and wounds borne with humility.

Faith, like luxury objects, shares a vulnerability: its value lies not just in appearance, but in authenticity. In a world where illusion sells for a high price, it has become urgent to relearn how to recognize what is true — and to protect it.