Edited by Amanda Gabriele on
Oh the bastard child of suburbia and commercial retail, how I loathe you. Indoors, outdoors, wherever you may be, please fuck off. Unfortunately for Northeastern Ohio, malls are the only options available for shopping. Yes, there are a few, small locally run boutiques and novelty shops, but they are found very far and few between.
It’s not just the establishment itself, but what malls hold inside may scare those who have never shopped there before. Merry-go-rounds holding screaming children and bored parents. Massive herds of 13-year-old, jean skirt-wearing, white eyeliner-eyeballed monsters whining at Tommy or Jimmy to “stop poking her in the boob.” Clowns making balloon animals and painting faces while cackling profusely. Not to mention Ugg displays, women sprinting after you with stinky perfume samples, the smell of rotting fast food, cell phone kiosks and weirdoes stealing pennies from disease ridden fountains. As I am forced to bear the dangerous elements associated with malls, I realize what won’t kill me will only make me stronger. And it makes me incredibly grateful for the freestanding stores that await me in New York.
I stole my first pair of platforms from the Spice Bus in 1997 when Anglophilia was all the rage. Collector of vintage bags, vinyl and kitchen appliances. My dream of becoming a butcher is momentarily on hiatus so I can teach you how to wear muumuus and apply false eyelashes. Follow me on Twitter @CrystlMeatballs.