It’s a mall world

By: Jill Pertler
I don’t go to the mall much. It hasn’t always been this way. I used to be an experienced and proficient shopper. Hobnobbing at the mall was one of my main talents and preferred hobbies. Then, I got out of the habit, I guess. Kind of like I did with running, except with running I never actually started
My change in retail routines had to do with kids. More specifically, the kids living at my house. After giving birth, I quickly realized taking rug rats to the mall is – in a word – a heck of a lot of work.
My shrinking shopping skills can further be blamed on the Internet. Online shopping is just so darn convenient. You don’t need to drive or use gas or look for a parking spot or battle the crowds. And you don’t have to bring your kids. But I guess I already mentioned that.
Whatever the reasons, I fell off the shopping mall matrix. I gave up even trying to go; stopped attempting to bend the spoon, you might say.
There are times, however, when I must venture back onto the grid. When I do, I feel like a visitor to a foreign country who’s forgotten her passport – and the dress code.
Mall shoppers are trendy hipster fashionistas. They wear make-up, including lipstick. Their hair is combed and often contains styling product. I’m a mom in last year’s jeans, last year’s shoes and a purse from the last millennium. If I’m lucky I’ll have a half-used chapstick in my purse and my overall level of dishevelment varies from day to day.
Mall shoppers linger over the costume jewelry display, leisurely stroll over to the perfume counter and contemplate where to eat lunch. I buzz in and out, grab the item I need and hope the perfume lady doesn’t spritz me in the face – again. I’ve got a bottle of water and generic fishy crackers in the car to snack on during the ride home.
In my dimension, malls represent a world within a world. It’s one that’s both real and surreal. Free makeup samples, the food court, BOGO and finding the perfect boots to go with your already perfect jeans. Perfect moms shopping with perfect kids. On the one hand, it’s too good to be true. On the other, it’s too perfect to be true.
Some people are cut out to be mallies. I am no longer one of them. I’m simply not cool enough. Truly. Malls make me sweat. In addition, I don’t have the one necessity it takes to make the mall my regular weekend destination: money. Mall goers are in the business of shopping, which involves purchasing, which involves plastic, or in rare cases cash.
A trendy hipster status comes at a price beyond having to wear lipstick and comb your hair. I used to pay it without even realizing. Then I fell off the mall-shopping grid and found myself with a lot more expendable money. Unfortunately that lasted about two minutes. (Remember, I have kids.)
When I do make a rare trip to the mall, I sadly fall into old patterns. I become aware of things I need that I didn’t know existed before my foray into the matrix. It’s crazy and embarrassing. And although walking away from a new purse, perfume or pair of boots is doable, it is often more difficult than I’d like to admit.
While I yearn to be a trendy hipster fashionista, I’m not sure they exist. Perhaps it’s all a mirage. Everyone around me appears in their element, but it’s possible they’re just as thirsty and sweaty as me, and when they are at home they probably don’t even wear lipstick. The real me sort of hopes so.