79 Days In - Mall Living

To celebrate being me, with a little birthday pocket money I took myself (and Chris) off for a bit of retail-therapy. To the Mall.

Back in May, dazed and heavily jet-lagged, we listened with limited excitement as Chris’ parents pointed out sights barely visable from the concrete monster of a freeway. “There is the hospital where Chris was born”, “that airport is named after John Wayne”, and “look, look, look”, as the front section of the car rose near a frenzy, “South Coast Plaza”.

Through the weeks advice almost turned to reprimands with “I can’t believe you haven’t been there yet” a favourite.

Americans like Malls. In England, they sprung up during my teens as a convenient, characterless enclosed building housing numerous shops, eateries and cinemas. Here, the term Mall seems to apply to any small collection of shops with a car-park attached. Shops just on the side of streets is a rare occurrence in comparison to this set-up. And most of the malls are outdoor affairs, with sports bars and restaurants frequented late into the evening.

Like any girl, I like a good shopping trip, and I am glad that I saved South Coast Plaza until I felt I could spoil myself a little. Really, it is a place to go when you feel you can spoil yourself a lot.

More reminiscent of what I am used to, South Coast Plaza’s entrances sooth you with green plants and cool running water. The cream marble tiles that run throughout the building start outside and lead you in to the most serene of Malls that I have ever been in. For some reason the annoying echoing noise of children crying and teenagers shouting does not exist here, and if there was background music, it was just the right type and volume to enhance my mood without being noticed.

You may not be surprised to hear, though, that approximately 80% of the shops are high-end “we only need to house ten items of clothing in our shop, because we are that exclusive” fashion.

Apart from gazing longingly at clothes that would look great on me, but will unfortunately never get to have that experience, I got my first look at four of the big American department stores: Nordstrom, Macys, Sax Fifth Avenue, and Bloomingdales. And from what I saw that is the order of budget!

A myth has been dispelled: a department store is just a department store. When a teenager, I would listen with intent to friends’ tales of shopping at these mystical places; it now makes me wonder how excited young American girls may get finding that people they know have been to Selfridges, or Liberties, or John Lewis.

It is only slightly untrue to say that the last piece of clothing I bought for myself was my wedding dress, so coming away with a lovely new top and a belly full of peanut-butter-chocolate ice-cream (put it on your to-do list), meant a great day out, despite having spent it in a Mall.