I n 2023, UK-based Reddit user “pacacinnoscafe” wrote that they endured chemical burns after reordering their usual sunscreen from Amazon. Chemical burns cause symptoms that are similar to those of a first-degree burn: red, swollen, and painful skin that may develop blisters. Although the product appeared legitimate, it turned out to be a fake. Pacacinnoscafe was wondering what recourse they had, if any, given their excruciating pain.
Fake products have become a feature of digital environments. In 2017, twenty Toronto police officers gathered $2.5 million worth of fake goods: makeup that caused rashes, fake Thomas the Tank Engine toys, a Bluetooth headset that overheated, and a Magic Bullet blender that smoked when turned on. When shopping online, sometimes you just get ripped off, but other times, your skin might get seared.
The gap between what we believe we’re purchasing and the reality of what finally lands on our doorsteps has become a celebrated expectation-versus-reality meme. Hilarious examples of misshapen Halloween costumes, flimsy fashion, or furniture better suited for a dollhouse are shared online for a laugh. These are often framed as “online shopping fails.” But this mismatch shouldn’t be normalized or blamed on shoppers duped by fake reviews and convincing images. Too often, a counterfeit knock-off is masquerading as the real thing, and these imitations can have grave consequences.