PRATO, ITALY — The "Made in Italy" label conjures images of little old men and women in aprons and spectacles, stooped over wooden tables, cutting leather and sewing by hand in workshops that dot the hills of Tuscany.
It certainly doesn't make you picture Chinese immigrants toiling long hours in ramshackle, poorly illuminated sheds, and then sleeping in small rooms behind thin plywood right there in the factories.
These days, the coveted "Made in Italy" label on those Prada bags and Gucci shoes, which can quadruple a price, may not mean what it used to.
Thousands of Tuscan factories that produce the region's fabled leather goods are now operated and staffed by Chinese. Though located in one of Italy's most picturesque and tourist-frequented regions, many of the factories are nothing more than sweatshops with deplorable conditions and virtually indentured workers.
Chinese laborers have become such an integral cog in the high-fashion wheel that large Chinatowns have sprung up here and in Florence. Signs in Chinese, Italian and sometimes English advertise pronto moda (ready-to-wear). At the main public hospital in Prato, the maternity ward on a recent morning was a cacophony of 40 squalling babies, 15 of them Chinese. "Mi chiamo Zhong Ti," one of the crib tags said -- "My name is Zhong Ti."
In Prato, Tuscany's historic and industrious textile center 10 miles northwest of Florence, Chinese who are legal residents make up about 12% of the population (and probably close to 25% when illegal Chinese are counted, police say).
For the big-name clothing labels, Chinese-staffed workshops provide an important way of keeping costs down by supplying cheaply and quickly made purses, shoes and other products. It helps the fashion houses compete and, many argue, it's better than the alternative: moving all production offshore.
But for legions of Italian craftsmen and -women who try to maintain painstaking but costly old-style practices, the cheaper Chinese labor is deadly.
"It's a crazy competition. In fact, you can't compete," said Andrea Calistri, whose third-generation family business has been making handbags for top designers from voluptuous leather and buttery suede for more than half a century.
In a way, this is representative of the dilemma facing Italy as a whole: How do you compete in a hard-edged global economy while maintaining the standards that give a native craft its panache?
Three categories of problematic production plague the Italian fashion industry.
