The Rise of the Walmart Birkin
when capitalistic hedonism is rebranded as refined elegance
Images courtesy of @diet_prada on Instagram.
Walmart’s Birkin dupe, aka the “Walmes Wirkin,” has become a flashpoint in the conversation around luxury, exclusivity, and accessibility. Nicknaming it the “Wirkin” bag – a portmanteau of “Walmart” and “Birkin” that also evokes “working class,” TikTok users have championed the bag as a symbol of working- and middle-class solidarity. Costing $78, a fraction of an authentic Birkin, it sparked a debate about dupe culture and class identity. However, after its sudden rise in popularity, the product was removed from Walmart’s website on January 2nd, with some buyers reporting canceled orders. While speculation swirls about whether Hermès intervened, the more pressing question is what this moment reveals about the shifting nature of luxury.
The Birkin bag has long been synonymous with status and exclusivity. The cost of the Birkin bag can exceed six figures, but its exorbitant price tag is only part of its allure. You cannot simply walk into a Hermès store and purchase a Birkin bag. The subreddit r/TheHermesGame, with over 37k members, is a testament to the lengths people will go to secure a Birkin, spending thousands on other Hermès products just to earn the privilege of buying one. It goes so far as to outline specific strategies and nomenclature dedicated to helping users score a Birkin or a Kelly. This ritualistic process reinforces the Birkin’s status as a “quota bag,” a symbol of elite access and cultural capital. Spending an already ludicrous amount of money to demonstrate your dedication to a billion-dollar brand for a chance to spend a mindboggling amount of money possibly sounds insane, but the culture disagrees. It’s gotten to the point where two US consumers have even filed a lawsuit against Hermes for this exact “game.”
Traditionally, luxury was synonymous with exclusivity, high price points, and limited accessibility. It was a marker of wealth and social class, with gatekeeping mechanisms that ensured only a select few could participate (e.g., designer boutiques requiring purchase history, private shopping experiences, and invitation-only fashion shows). In contrast, the Wirkin offered a democratized alternative, accessible to those who reject the rigid structures of luxury’s gatekeeping. However, the Wirkin represents a democratization of luxury, where status is no longer dictated solely by financial capital but by cultural capital—taste, identity, and access.
The Birkin’s proponents insist that real Birkin owners can easily distinguish the copycat design from the Hermès variety. But just about everyone else sees the design offered up on Walmart’s site as a mockery of elitism. It’s sort of oxymoronic – the ultimate gatekept status symbol reduced to a website we - the dirty, unwashed masses - can buy an exact copy of. In both cases, the bag now objectively symbolizes class strife. Could the Wirkin burst the bubble of Birkin hype, or will it make aspirational shoppers covet the genuine bag even more?
The Foundations of Luxury’s Influence
Luxury has never been solely about products; it has been about the narratives, philosophies, and traditions behind them. Fashion houses once dictated how people dressed, creating timeless styles that transcended trends. As the luxury industry faces these new challenges, the traditional symbols of status and exclusivity are being redefined. The luxury industry is at a crossroads. While market analyses continue to emphasize macroeconomic trends, geopolitical shifts, and financial growth strategies, luxury’s real issue lies elsewhere. Luxury is facing a cultural crisis—one that has unbundled price from perception of value, leading to a decline in its intangible influence, or what can be called its soft power.
Historically, luxury’s economic strength was deeply intertwined with cultural capital. The desirability of luxury goods was not merely about material wealth but about identity, artistry, and exclusivity. The Veblen effect—where demand for a product increases as its price rises—depended on this perception of value. No one questioned the cost of a Chanel tweed suit or a Rolex Daytona because these items were cultural artifacts, embodying craftsmanship and taste rather than just monetary worth. Chanel’s tweed suit, introduced by Coco Chanel, revolutionized women’s fashion with its blend of elegance and comfort, becoming a symbol of refined taste and timeless style. Similarly, the Rolex Daytona, originally designed for professional race car drivers, has gained legendary status due to its precision, rarity, and association with prestige. Both items represent more than just expensive goods—they are cultural artifacts that signify history, exclusivity, and the highest standards of craftsmanship, making them enduring symbols of luxury.
This balance between exclusivity and desirability fueled luxury’s soft power, making price secondary to perception. When a product became too accessible or lost its aura of rarity, luxury brands would discontinue it, preserving the delicate equilibrium between demand and exclusivity. However, the industry’s modern trajectory has eroded this distinction, transforming many luxury products into commodities rather than symbols of identity and aspiration. Today, luxury is facing an identity crisis. Mass production, aggressive marketing, and influencer culture have stripped away much of its exclusivity. The dominance of "Big Luxury" conglomerates such as LVMH and Kering has further emphasized scale over storytelling. Instead of reinforcing their unique identities, many brands have leaned into relentless production cycles, social media-driven hype, and celebrity endorsements. As a result, their products, rather than being symbols of refined taste, have become ubiquitous status symbols with diminishing cultural weight. As Abby Cox summarizes, “we can begin to see how Hermes has lost control of the narrative surrounding its ethical business practice and inspirational storytelling. And it's being spun into something a lot more ugly and more reflective of fast fashion.” She furthers that “the reputation of those who are consumers of the brand and claim to be fans of the brand is that of greedy over consumers.”
The Rise of Dupe Culture: Buying into Resistance?
The viral embrace of the Walmart Birkin dupe reflects a broader cultural shift, as consumers increasingly reject the rigid structures of luxury’s gatekeeping. “The shame of buying [dupes] has gone,” Alice Sherwood, author of Authenticity: Reclaiming Reality in a Counterfeit Culture, told Wired. “Luxury prices have skyrocketed while the trend cycle has rapidly accelerated. People no longer want to spend upwards of [thousands] on the latest ‘it’ bag that might be out of vogue within a year.” For some, purchasing dupes is an act of defiance in an era of extreme wealth inequality, blurring or challenging class distinctions. Sociologist Dr. Tressie McMillan Cottom argues that buying a Wirkin is a “political act,” symbolizing a way to resist the exclusivity and elitism of traditional luxury.
Others question whether dupe culture truly undermines luxury’s status or merely reinforces the desire for the real thing. While the Wirkin may democratize access to the Birkin’s aesthetic, it also highlights the enduring appeal of the authentic product. To some extent, it’s also worth noting that knockoff sellers, whether Walmart or Canal Street, aren’t cannibalizing the big design house’s customers. They’re in a strange symbiosis. The Canal St sellers need the luxury houses for product marketing (making a certain style or brand popular with consumers.) On the other hand, the big luxury houses view the knockoff sellers as a means to measure their cultural caché.
While these copies are far from ethical, purchasing them from an official and legal platform adds a slight air of legitimacy, as explained by Alli Elmunzer, a trademark attorney and founder of Influencer Legal. "People feel more like it’s Walmart creating and selling it, which almost legitimizes it as a counterfeit," she told BoF. They think, "Okay, it’s from Walmart. If Walmart is doing it, it must be legal." Dupe is within the bounds of social acceptability, but knockoff is not. At this point, it’s most commonly used in our vernacular as an insult (ex. her bag looks like a cheap knockoff). Applying Min-ha Pham’s framework, the difference is a racial one—white remix culture is celebrated and plastered on Vogue, and knockoff culture is chastised and delegitimized as illegal. Buying fake Bottega shoes from Santee Alley is desperate and shameful, but a rich white girl on TikTok showing off her “viral amazon skims bodysuit dupe” is thrifty and clever.
Examples of Shanzai.
This ties into a larger cultural shift – whereas counterfeits were previously viewed pejoratively, they have now been rebranded as “dupes” and actively encouraged and embraced. We associate knockoffs with moral grayness, cheapness, and poor taste. It’s a classically American belief—the conflation of wealth with good morals and poverty with ethical deviance. Copies of designer goods certainly isn’t a new concept; misspelled luxury knockoffs have long been products of China’s shanzai industry and are the primary racialized scapegoat. Images of these off-kilter copies trouble the binaries that grease the LVMH machine: real vs. fake, Europe as the creative genius vs. Asia as the robotic laborer. Italian designer houses are highly glorified in Western fashion. “Made in Italy” remains a signifier of European luxury tastes that Americans are encouraged to emulate, while “Made In China” carries the connotation of cheapness—despite there being a wide range of labor practices in both countries.
The language used to describe counterfeits is highly intentional because anti-counterfeit messaging is extremely racialized. On luxury consignment store TheRealReal’s campaign website, they argue that counterfeit bags are dangerous because some are traced back to “cartels and crime syndicates that fund illegal firearms, narcotics and terrorism.” The reference to cartels tap into the belief that Latin America is an inherently dangerous place and plays into nationalistic xenophobic ideals. By this logic, you are doing your patriotic civic duty by buying a “real” LV bag.
This immediate and overt availability of counterfeits could well initiate a vicious cycle: luxury replicas are available in large quantities and high quality, consumers snap them up, the pieces (real or fake) go viral on social media, more consumers decide they must have them at any cost, they turn to the extensive counterfeit market, and so on. The focus is no longer on owning a quality bag or a timeless piece; instead, consumers are driven by the desire to acquire social status, even at the expense of ethics and legitimacy.
The New Wealth Signifiers: Beyond Consumption
Images courtesy of @thefakerothko on Instagram, satirizing these common new wealth signifiers.
Among the elite (and those looking to emulate them), traditional logo-driven status symbols are declining in favor of lifestyle-based markers of privilege; status isn’t earned just by having money or owning things; it’s about mastering the lexicon of luxury — an exclusive vocabulary polished between Michelin-starred dinners and summers on the Cote d’Azur. Desirability became linked to taste, access, belonging, knowledge, story, and personal betterment. Most coveted became low-tech displays of human originality and creativity - limited edition items, unknown yet discerning brands, work of human hands, uniqueness, exclusivity, good food and wholesome life.
It’s now tacky to flaunt your wealth with designer logos or private jet selfies. Instead, you drop subtle signals during dinner-table debates about which Aman resort has the best amenities or whether Soho House was becoming too plebeian compared to San Vicente Bungalows. Travel and experience-based luxury now take precedence over traditional material goods, with exclusive retreats, cultural immersion, and bespoke itineraries becoming highly desirable. Trips to Art Basel or the Amalfi coast have taken precedence over Alexander Wang or Acne Studios.
Simply choosing to engage in leisure activities and having the luxury of downtime puts the upper class in stark contrast with the working class. Silvia Bellezza, an associate professor of business at Columbia Business School, found that leisure activities can denote status. In her 2023 study, she said there is a connection between active or passive downtime pursuits and wealth expression. How one chooses to spend their free hours is tied to their social perception—and Bellezza has found that even in off-hours, rich individuals are “often using physical or mental energy to pursue wellness, health, and personal development.” This could entail playing pickleball at a country club, reading entrepreneurial and self-help books, and baking fresh bread without preservatives.
Fitness has emerged as a new wealth signifier, with boutique wellness experiences like private pilates, Dogpound, Barry’s Bootcamp, luxury gyms like Heimat and Equinox, longevity science, and biohacking taking center stage. Touting all the ways you are artificially turn back the biological clock is so in. Similarly, food has become a cultural currency, with farm-to-table dining, Erewhon smoothies, organic sourcing, and “clean” eating representing status. Even the rise of ozempic marks another shortcut for the upper class to achieve the new trending body type, shedding the implants and BBL of just 5 years ago.
When makeup techniques and products were democratized to the public instead of gatekept to people who could afford professional makeup artists, the beauty standard changed to a focus on skincare and wellness. Out are full-coverage matte foundations, rainbow cut creases, and glitter highlighter, replaced by dewey skin tints, lash extensions, and soap brows. While this new era of wellness and skincare culture may appear to be a mainstream acceptance of natural beauty, it is so much more harmful and insidious. To me, obvious, unabashed inauthenticity is so much more genuine than the facade of authenticity. Five years ago, almost anybody could learn how to contour their face or overline their lips, give or take a few days of practice; now, the beauty standard is nearly impossible to achieve unless you are extremely wealthy or genetically blessed. There’s nothing “real” about spending $400 on serums or toners or moisturizers from La Mer, La Prairie, or Valmont - beyond all the pointless justification, it’s simply a purity ritual. No matter how it's repackaged, this new standard just seems to further entrench, like never before, the idea that some are just better than others naturally.
Image courtesy of @thefakerothko on Instagram.
Conspicuous consumption never left; it has simply evolved. Aesthetic minimalism, often termed "quiet luxury," emphasizes refined design over obvious branding, as seen in brands like Kiton, Brunello Cuccinelli, Loro Piana, or even bespoke clothing. Moreover, knowledge in art, architecture, and cultural fluency has become a new elite language, signifying social capital beyond material wealth. Whether it's understanding the terroir of small-batch wines or mastering the nuances of Japanese blade craftsmanship, the focus has shifted from ownership to mastery.
Closing Thoughts: The Future of Luxury
It brings me back also to this chapter, ‘The Problem with Tastefulness’, in Natalie Olah’s book, and I will leave you with this quote: “Crucially, it isn't just wealth, but wealth coupled with a sound understanding of the subtle signifiers of the establishment, that now serves as a guarantee of social acceptance. As a result, we begin to see how taste serves as a proxy for submission; an external indicator of how far an individual is willing to be subsumed by the pervasive modes of power, and play the game of incremental class ascension.”
Ultimately, the Walmart Birkin dupe moment is not just about a $78 bag—it’s about the changing nature of luxury and what it means to aspire, belong, and resist in an increasingly unequal world. Whether this shift is good or bad depends on one’s perspective, but it is undeniably reshaping the way we think about status, identity, and access in the 21st century.