Growing up, going to the mall was always a special treat. Because the closest mall was a forty-five minute drive away, a trip to Grand Rapids with my mom and sister was always special. The mall always had an enticing smell; a mixture of new clothes and fresh made pretzels, and I always had the excitement of the possible chance to pick something out at a store.
This trip to the mall was different from any other trip to the Woodland Mall. This time I viewed the mall through “apocalyptic” eyes: “seeing” the young women in Cambodia making all of the apparel filling Aeropostale. I must admit, sale signs still excite me, but now I feel somewhat sick knowing that the people that made these items are not receiving a fair amount for their work. I also wondered if anyone in the mall was shopping for an absolute NEED, not just a call from society to fulfill the golden arrow.
The mall really does appear appealing. After reading the chapter, “The Shopping Mall as ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ Leading Nowhere,” I took specific notice of the high ceilings throughout the whole mall, highest in the center where it is open to the outside. The natural lighting, plants, and nice music make this mall a “labyrinth of consumer desire.” While in church Sunday morning, I looked up and noticed beautiful high ceilings of the sanctuary letting in natural light, and I was reminded of John Pahl’s observations of the mall designed to be a temple for the new “religion of the market” (66).
Many of the stores have mannequins and posters of (mostly women) in their clothes. I find myself drawn to these photos, even though I know life is not nearly as glamorous as it appears on the poster. It seems that advertisers focus on the image you will have if you buy these clothes. I receive the apparel catalog for Athleta, a women’s clothing store for the “active women.” The women modeling these clothes are portrayed as living a carefree life; exercising wherever they desire: yoga on a mountain top, surfing, or snow-shoeing in the Alps. In their free time, these women are traveling to exotic places to do more fitness activities, or riding their bicycle to the market, or meeting a friend (just as fit and nicely dressed as they are) for coffee. As unrealistic this lifestyle is, it really draws me in (and would sell me their clothes if they weren’t so dang expensive!). But I applaud the advertisers for the layout and design of this catalog because they do a great job of breaking through the clutter and persuading me.
For me going to the mall while growing up was also quite the treat. When you mentioned all of those smells,I could smell them right in my dorm room because I know them so well. Not only do I know them extremely well, I love them just as much as you seem to. You made a lot of good points here when talking about how you went to the mall with "apocalyptic" eyes. I did the exact same thing this past weekend and realized a lot of the same things as you. I also took notice to how many sales there are and how many people are suffering because of our benefit. Like you I payed a new found attention to the architecture of the building and how it applies to "religion of the market". When reading your post, it was almost like you were inside my brain when you wrote it. I really enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteVivian, this is an excellent example of what we were talking about in class yesterday--re-humanizing as a subversive Kingdom practice! Knowing someone from Peru and then seeing their country listed on a clothing label makes a human connection where the empire doesn't want one, because it means that we might feel guilt, rather than the pure joy of purchasing.
ReplyDeleteKassie and Lauren, I appreciate the quality of confession you display here, and also how you point out the mall's nostalgia. Nostalgia is a very powerful tool in shaping our desires and memories. I have a great nostalgic fondness for the smell of Cinnabon and Auntie Anne's because of the mall. It recalls being a carefree child who didn't have to worry about money because Mom had it all taken care of.