Because more than lists of rules and appreciation of the way the skylight forms the sun onto its walls, my love of malls is about other people’s stories. I visit to absorb them, to reimagine them, to collect them. What the mall teens wandering in packs are talking about. What the woman at the MAC counter with a saddlebag of makeup brushes does when she clocks out from showing people the best way to apply eyeshadow. I go to the mall because I want to be that old lady on the bench, absorbing life as it goes by. There are a million places I could do this, but the light, the plants, the shiny floor tiles, the people: it’s a little slice of perfection for me. It’s easy. It’s society under one roof. It’s social commentary. It’s both futuristic and nostalgic. It’s heaven.
Zan McQuade, “How I Learned to Love the Mall”
I grew up in a small town where, quite literally, the only thing to do was go roam a slowly dying mall. (Home to pretty much the only Starbucks in town, and that was in Mall Target. #RIPLeesburgMallTarget)
Malls kind of give me anxiety sometimes, but this essay makes them almost sound beautiful.
(HT Austin Kleon)