AT THE Xiangyang Market, I am fingering strands of cultured pearls, wondering: pink or white?

A garlicky burp erupts behind me as the store owner leans in to inspect my choices, waving her rice bowl approvingly.

I set down the string. The spell is broken.

'I'm sorry I can't,' I mumble and flee. I can deal with the constant crush of humanity, the spitting, sniffling, scuffles, the false praise and the pressure. But the burping finally does it.

What ensues is a familiar scene in the flea market frequented by tourists. The store owner slams down her dinner and chases me down the block, tugging at my sleeve as she implores in Mandarin: 'How much you want?'

Even when I don't answer, she lowers the price by 5 yuan every metre, till I am impossibly far away from her store. Then she flashes her final sympathy card: 'Won't you buy, just for my sincerity?'

The wow factor is bargain basement prices, with personal shoppers thrown in, gratis.

As soon as we near the corner of Xiangyang Nan Lu and Huaihai Zhong Lu, touts, dressed head to toe in fakes as walking advertisements, swiftly encircle us, waving Gucci and Franck Muller catalogues and clucking 'Bao bao' (brand-name bags).

Sick of the stalking, we pick the most honest face in the crowd, a gangly teen from Guizhou called Anna. And we have hired ourselves a personal shopper.

She asks for our shopping list, then guides us on a whirlwind buying spree. She is a walking store directory. Be it Tiffany or Bvlgari knock-offs, DVDs or pashminas, she knows the best places, the widest selections, the last traded prices.

She waits for us to try, fetches, carries, re-stacks. No tipping required. She pockets a commission from each store later.

We are led, running, through a labyrinth of narrow side streets and five-foot ways, in the front door then out the back of dank bedrooms, kitchens, offices and storerooms, up and down several flights of rickety, almost vertical stairs.

Inside the stapled plywood interiors are an assortment of fake Cartier watches, Callaway golf gear, Hermes bags and Prada jackets.

The first level is for grade B fakes and the second, more discriminating, level for grade A ones. If you are not impressed, you are hustled up to the third, AA grade level.

Once there, keep your back against the wall, check that the passageway is clear, as you negotiate with a chimney-smoking tough guy. He growls: '1,000 yuan', you venture: '200 yuan'.

At 350 yuan, you are halfway down the steep stairs when he grudgingly grunts: 'Jiao ge peng you (In the spirit of friendship).'

You know you have hit rock bottom when the item is shoved at you with biting gallantry: 'Hao le, song gei ni (Fine, take it as a gift).'

These rough streets are a world away from CapitaLand's genteel, orderly, Raffles City shopping centre along Nanjing Lu.

It is now the place to be seen for young Chinese executives in their early 20s and 30s. It has BreadTalk, Starbucks and Levi's. Two years down, it is still charging one of the city's stiffest rentals - upwards of 41 yuan (S$8.30) per sq ft per month.

General manager Ong Hwee Eng, a Singaporean, points out: 'Young people here are prepared to spend, they want to feel they've arrived. In here, they feel safe, no need to jostle with others.'

Everywhere, at Meilongzhen Plaza on Nanjing Xi Lu and Ganghui Plaza at Xujiahui, other catchments for yuppies, there is a frenzied lust to own brand-name things.

Stores like Carrefour and Ikea are mobbed with bulk-buying customers.

Consumerism is at its best and worst, notes Shanghai-based Ms Reene Ho-Phang, managing director of BrandStory Inc, which helps brands make forays here.

'Value is based on perception. People see who you are by how you dress,' she says.

'Because it's such a huge population, everyone hates to just blend in. They express their individuality through consumer products. And they like patterns, colours and frills.'

According to Ms Heng Sheau Jing, a senior research analyst at Euromonitor International in Shanghai, despite a luxury tax of about 30 per cent and 17 per cent value-added tax, luxury products like cosmetics and fragrances are experiencing 30 to 50 per cent growth year on year.

No wonder China is the place where faded brands like Texwood, Amco, Avia and Jessica experience a revival.

Ms Ho-Phang, a Singaporean who used to be Banyan Tree Resorts marketing communications director, describes it as a marketer's dream. 'It's like a white sheet of paper. You can start to write your story. 'People have no previous impressions. They can't tell where a brand is from, so you can start from the beginning,' she says.

Many dowdy, unheard-of brands like Italy's Henry Cottons are enjoying a second, third wind in Shanghai.

Now in its third year in China, Henry Cottons has grown to eight outlets. With a look best described as Benetton meets Giordano, its selling point is a free mix-and-match service.

Ms Vicky Yang, 38, vice-president of its sole agent Carnival International, says its best promotional gimmick is that it never offers discounts.

Another plus: Scarcity. 'Every two weeks, we bring in new products in small quantities, only 10 to 15 pieces per design. Here, anything with a New Arrival sign is hot,' she says.

I flip desultorily through the racks, catch a peek at the prices and almost faint. Jackets cost about 6,780 yuan (S$1,400), sweaters 3,390 yuan, trousers 1,890 yuan and T-shirts 1,590 yuan.

Stiff prices that never get slashed evoke exclusivity to Shanghainese shoppers like Ms Janering Fang, 23, an assistant manager in a public relations firm.

In a land rife with copies, her worst fear is 'wearing a fake without knowing it'. Apparently, shopping for knock-offs at places like Xiangyang is only indulged in by thrill-seeking tourists and expatriates, not locals.

Over a meal with some retail bigwigs, I mention that we spent a morning scouring Qipu clothing wholesale market, also known as Fake Central.

Dead silence. Then some sniffles and scorn from among the Shanghainese. One later confides that no one ever admits to going there.

The market along Qipu Lu, near Henan Bei Lu Zhabei district, is the city's guilty little secret.

Resembling a wet market almost, the aisles spill over with crates of stockings, jeans, jewellery and windbreakers, many of them manufacturers' overruns with clipped labels.

With S$10 and some merciless bargaining, you can buy yourself a whole outfit - hey, maybe even next season's Mango or Banana Republic.

At Qipu, the cleavers are out. Tempers run amok. Everything is sold 'pifa' (in bulk).

When talking up a sale, the vendors ingratiate with comments like 'meinu' (pretty girl), or how 'yangshi' (Westernised) you look.

Be warned though. Abuse can range from 'you want so cheap, go and pick from the dustbin' to 'if you're so poor, don't bother to come out and shop'.

Off the mean streets and inside the malls, the disconcerting habit of flinging continues.

At convenience stores and supermarket chains like Hymall, change is sometimes strewn at such velocity you have to duck.

Even at the high-end, avid Shanghainese shopper and analyst Alisa Gu, 25, bemoans that service standards vary.

'It all depends on whether you are local or foreign, or wearing jeans. If you're a tourist or Shanghainese, they assume you have a fatter wallet. They don't like Chinese from other provinces or students. They're not happy if you browse but don't buy,' she says.

And when all else fails, I discovered what works.

At the Nokia shop at Hong Kong New World complex at Huaihai Lu, we asked politely in Mandarin if we could recharge my mobile battery.

We were pointed to the common charging unit.

When we asked again in English, a counter girl shot up from her seat and agreed to charge it behind the counter so that we could go to lunch instead of waiting there for an hour.

Therein lies the good service stimulator in Shanghai - a foreign language.

WHERE TO GO

• Shanxi Nan Lu, Huaihai Zhong Lu, Changshu Lu and Changle Lu
  Rummage in the shops dedicated to outlet fashion on these streets and you'll be surprised at the number of factory overruns or samples you can find for under 50 yuan (S$10). Gems include a Marc Jacobs dress for 250 yuan. For odd sizes, drop in at 95, Xiang Yang Pei Lu for brands like Timberland and Next. But look out for manufacturing defects.

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• French Concession, Lane 210, Taikang Lu
  Home to a cluster of industrial warehouses converted to galleries and artists' studios, this area is well worth a visit if you like modern art and photography. There are also quaint shops selling pop art Mao T-shirts and chic cafes which serve a mean tiramisu.

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• Foxtown Factory Flagship Store, 899, Ling Ling Road
  An outlet-style clearing house for Zara, Armani, Hugo Boss and Nike that is the new haunt for young, brand- and price-conscious Shanghainese. Worth a dig if you have a spare day, but merchandise can be outdated.

EXPERT SAYS

'The draw of Shanghai today - cheap fake goods - is short-term. As China becomes more affluent, people will want to move on to buying the real stuff.
 
Tourist shoppers who can afford to visit Shanghai will usually come from a certain income bracket. They buy a few fakes just for a thrill, to see if they can grab a look-alike at a great price. Because of luggage space constraints, most would prefer to take back merchandise that lasts.
 
Shanghai needs to stamp out fakes so more real brands will come. Otherwise, it risks being shunned by fair traders and consumers who lack confidence in what they're buying. If nothing changes, it is likely to attract only price-sensitive, wannabe consumers.' -- Dr Lynda Wee