“Who are all of these people?” Andrew exclaims. We pass a cup of Auntie Anne’s cinnamon bites between us and snake through a slow-moving mass of Mall Folk. The crowd reminds me of a jar of honey knocked over: oozing lazily, filling space.
I’ve not been to a shopping mall since……I don’t know. I never cared for the act of shopping, as I much prefer a stuffed trash bag of hand-me-downs. I mean, when was the last time that you went to the mall?
Malls, as I imagined them, were desolate victims to the rise of the internet. Online shopping! Shipped right to your door! Free returns! To shop in-person is an inconvenient intrusion to valued privacy during our most vulnerable moments — the harsh fluorescent lighting mocks you as you shimmy out of your jeans in the Madewell fitting room. I’m fascinated with this idea of the erasure of public space. In high school, going to the mall was an activity the same way that one might go to the movies or go out to dinner.
But just because I may not frequent the mall does not mean that the mall is not a bustling center of commerce. I thought this newsletter would be a reflection on a bygone era, an elegy for Cinnabon at the Woodbridge Mall Food Court. Instead, the Ross Park Mall was packed on Saturday. Packed! Our mouths hung agape, as we waited (waited!) in actual, live traffic as we exited the parking lot.
Many shopping centers have closed across the country, and I’m obsessed with the eerie images of overgrown abandoned malls. Obviously, the popularity of this one singular local mall is not indicative of a national trend. Plenty of malls in this area have closed in the past twenty years. Tonight, I sit at the kitchen bar as Andrew washes up the dishes. I ask — what did you think about our time at the mall?
“I loved it,” he responds with no hesitation.
“Really?”
“I love my new clothes. I love having a person to help me.” I press him for more information, but it doesn’t get much more specific. I know what he means. I’m still a bit buzzed from the easy warmth of the salesman at Joseph A. Bank, who urged Andrew to relax in front of the mirror for him to properly determine the length of his jacket sleeve, who suggested that he wear a necklace with an open shirt, who recommended that he purchase the full suit instead of separate pieces.
To the person who urged me to try on the one-shoulder black dress at Madewell, who coached me through the denim bar and then hyped me up as I sheepishly pulled back the fitting room curtain: I never would have clicked on that dress, I never would have agreed to try it on in that size. I can’t wait to wear it again.
We are losing something when we don’t shop in person. I’m not saying you shouldn’t shop online, I’m just saying….if you haven’t been to the mall in a while, maybe try it?
More reading for malls:
“The Most American Form of Architecture Isn’t Going Anywhere,” The Atlantic
Abandoned Malls, Seph Lawless
The Economics (and Nostalgia) of Dead Malls, New York Times
Speaking of nostalgia — Jenna Kunze wrote about buying our tickets for Maggie Rogers. Maggie HERSELF describes the essay as “so beautiful” and “everything I hoped it would be.”
I was at that very mall on a Saturday a few weeks ago! I felt like I was visiting another world, one from my childhood, but remarkably off in very specific ways. (One thing that hadn't changed was that nothing ever seems to fit, but maybe I should speak to more encouraging store clerks.)
Well done…made me want to go shopping and I don’t usually like to! :)