The delusion of Amazon Haul
Browsing Amazon Haul, the online shopping giant’s new $20-and-under bargain bin section, I immediately recognize not just a product, but a specific image. The photo is on a listing for “Timeless Black Dress for Both Casual and Formal Gatherings,” and it is stolen.
The image actually belongs to a New York-based independent brand called Mirror Palais, which sold the “Daisy Dress” for $545 a few years ago. Elevated by social media algorithms and its celebrity fans, Mirror Palais’ images have traveled from the brand’s website, to tweets, to Pinterest mood boards, and finally, to the discount section of the world’s largest online retailer, where it is — obviously — not for sale. On Amazon, it’s listed for $7.49. When I add it to my cart, I realize it’s even cheaper: inexplicably and improbably, it is an additional 65 percent off.
This one image of a black mini dress does not just appear on random listings on Amazon Haul — you can find it on Walmart and AliExpress as well as smaller sites with names like Mermaid Way and VMzona — all selling dupes (short for duplicates) of the original Mirror Palais dress. I even find a separate listing on Amazon, in the typically but not unbelievably cheap section, where this same image is used to sell the LEZOOEY Womens New Lace Halter Slim Sexy Bodycon Spaghetti Strap Black Mini Dress for $19.99. The listing on normal Amazon has a bit more details about the item, including a video of close-up shots of the straps and hem. If I didn’t know about the original dress, I might assume the Haul version is a dupe of this dupe.
When Amazon announced its ultracheap Haul section in November, it made clear what shoppers already knew: Americans love junk, and the cheaper the better. Amazon Haul joins a constellation of other online retailers that offer the widest possible selection of products for the lowest possible price, exploiting shoppers’ apparently bottomless appetite to consume. But whether it’s Amazon Haul, Temu, Shein, AliExpress, or any number of other retailers, what they sell is the same — both literally and philosophically. The public’s shopping options are themselves dupes of something else.
Over the past few years, as e-commerce companies with roots in China like fast fashion brand Shein and online superstore Temu have gained popularity in the US, the tenor of how we shop shifted — instead of quick shipping, shoppers were happy to wait a couple of weeks while packages full of items made their way stateside from China. Amazon’s moniker, Haul, is indicative of this. A haul, in internet parlance, necessitates purchasing a bunch of stuff. (Recall Temu’s “Shop like a billionaire” motto.) Even if a package takes a week or two to arrive, the ability to purchase more is, for many shoppers, worth the wait.
The black imitation dress is not the only thing I purchased in my Haul haul: I threw in a salt and pepper grinder ($1.95); a protective case for AirPods ($6.99); a sweater ($19.99); a neon light that says “Love” ($6.99); a pleather handbag ($6.99); and a hat with fake distressing that, confusingly, reads “BICTH” ($7.99). With the 65 percent discount, the total came to $27.05.
Like the dress, I was able to locate many of these items for sale on other platforms. On Shein, the handbag is listed for $8.60 and uses the same product images as the listing on Amazon Haul. On AliExpress, more than a dozen listings from different storefronts use the same images, priced anywhere from 99 cents to $15. The listings and prices are arbitrary: in the past, when I’ve purchased the same item from multiple AliExpress shops, the physical product is identical. They’re just packaged and presented slightly differently, repeated until it’s unclear where the product even originated from or what the “real” price is. I’ve come to think of all of these ultracheap retailers as front doors leading to the same backend of suppliers and manufacturers, using the same set of lifted images — a Potemkin village of superstores operated across the globe, shrouded in secrecy.
In many ways, online shopping has always required the shopper to suspend their disbelief: that donated clothing actually gets redistributed, that “free” shipping is real, or that a startup is using a magic AI tool to complete your purchases. The advent of ultrafast fashion brands like Shein has pushed these delusions even further, dangling deals in front of customers and betting (often correctly) that a low, low price will be enough for them to take a chance on a product that, five years ago, would have perhaps seemed like an obvious scam. The mantra of “if it seems too good to be true, it probably is” almost feels quaint now — impossibly “good” deals are not a warning sign for consumers, but the expectation.
“Items in Amazon Haul are from vetted Amazon sellers and are backed by Amazon’s A-to-z guarantee so customers can shop with confidence that the products they’re purchasing are safe, authentic, and in the condition expected,” company spokesperson Maxine Tagay told The Verge in an email. Tagay added that Amazon has a “zero-tolerance policy” for counterfeit products and that the company is investing in measures to “protect customers from fraud and other forms of abuse.” Action taken may include removing counterfeit listings and blocking accounts. After The Verge reached out to Amazon for comment, the image of the black dress disappeared from the Haul listing, though it remains elsewhere on the site.
The thing about gimmicks that seem too good to be true is that, eventually, the fantasy fades. Sometimes reality sets in when that product an influencer promoted finally arrives and it sucks, and it eventually makes its way to a landfill. Other times, it’s because the company producing the item admits child labor is involved in its creation. And then, there is what appears to be coming down the pike: the systems that allow for cheap binge shopping come undone.
Packages valued under $800 — like my Amazon Haul order or your Shein impulse purchases — are able to enter the US import tax-free under the de minimis rule, and the White House says more than a billion parcels a year claim the exemption. In September, the Biden administration proposed overhauls of the de minimis loophole that would cut down on the number of small packages that could claim the duty-free exemption. President-elect Donald Trump has threatened to impose tariffs of 60 percent or more to products coming in from China, which would likely cause the price of goods to go up for consumers. The ultracheap product offerings of Temu, Shein, AliExpress, and Amazon Haul might start to look like not such a great deal.
My Haul package arrives about a week and a half after placing the order, traveling from China’s Guangdong Province all the way to New York. Seeing these half a dozen random products shoved in a small paper mailer, everything feels much more pathetic than the pictures online suggested. The sweater is shrink-wrapped in a lump, giving it the look of a package of frozen fish. The dress is thin and flimsy and appears to be incomplete: the ends of the straps dangle in the back instead of being secured on the inside of the bodice. Is it a design choice? Possibly. But each side is a different length. The handbag has a mysterious closure on the handle, which makes it feel like someone asked AI to design a trendy bag and the robot got confused. The hat does indeed read BICTH, which amuses me but really makes you wonder what normal person would buy this. My boss accidentally shatters the plastic battery case for the neon light with his bare hands trying to open it. If you are a shopper enticed by the promise that buying a mountain of $3 products will make you feel rich, you may be disappointed. The items themselves are not made to last — and perhaps the industry itself isn’t, either.
