(no subject)
The Mall of America, and a museum of "culture"
I don't often visit the MOA, especially not when I'm piss-broke, but my mother suggested going this week for something to do and a change of scenery. That my mother suggested it in the first place was astonishing, considering she usually despises the crowds, shopping, walking, and purchase-temptations, and the fact that we're well into the premature Christmas season. But we managed to block out the thirty-foot Santas and copious strands of gaudy garland lining the ceilings and shop windows, and the crowds weren't so bad. In summation, it was a very pleasant day and neither of us broke the bank. I made it out with a hematite ring, a latte, and a bookmark, and my mother her L'Occitaine products she needed, one book, and a few things from Godiva that we felt obligated to purchase since we went in just to get our monthly freebie.
However avoidable the early decor of the season may have been, there are certain individuals in this world that just aren't. Some are interesting enough to remember fondly, but others are just too perfect for scoffing at. What it is about malls that entice people (mostly of a young age) to "dress up" in their "finest" I will never know. I witnessed the usual display of highly (un)fashionable style--the Ugg-sluts, the boys with under-the-cheek jeans, the "wanna-be-goth-emo-punk 'don't fuck with me'" look, and the countless hoards of people wearing Hollister, A-Fitch and Aeropostale simultaneously. I had to scoff-out-loud and shake my head at a table of teenage mall-rats who were all sitting with their arms on the table, each with their phones in their hands, texting God-knows-who while they tried to have conversations with each other at the same time. I suppose this is enough to make one vomit, which is maybe why seeing the "different" individuals is amusing as opposed to insulting.
I saw girls who looked like boys, and boys who looked like girls, which I normally like when it's done well. In Sephora I was candidly browsing for my favourite perfume to steal samples of, when approached by a *male* salesperson. He had a male haircut (short), and nicely-groomed male facial hair, but was also wearing full-length black eyelashes, black liner, and some kind of shadow. He was dark-skinned, so it looked really good on him and blended in with the rest of his appearance. What was nice about it, was that he didn't look like a drag-queen or a boy trying to be a girl. He looked like a boy who was comfortable being a boy, but also comfortable indulging in cosmetic application. I, personally, find nothing in the world wrong with that.
Normally, I tell the salespersons I'm fine and just browsing, lest they try to sell me on something or charm me into acting on impulse. But this--person--was different, even refreshing in appearance, so partly out of admiration I let him tell me where the section I was looking for was. I kinda wanted to just give the guy a thumbs-up for his individuality, but I'm writing him in my journal instead.
In delia's I overheard a piece of a conversation in French, the woman working at L'Occitaine was most-definitely European, and we talked to a Norwegian in the Russian Museum of Art store who spoke Russian, though he admitted to being scolded often for poor pronunciation that could probably be attributed to his Scando-accent. It was quite exciting to me since I love foreign language, and it made me miss French and German classes. A big part of me wants to be a linguist, but one thing at a time.
But of course the most IMPORTANT part of my day HAD to have been the VIKINGS CHEERLEADERS visiting the mall! (rolls eyes) It was all we could do to hurry out of Barnes and Nobel just after six and avoid the crowd of bemused ooglers and impressionable young girls clogging the first-floor commons. I joked about wanting to approach one of the cheerleaders and requesting she sign my breast. The reaction would be classic. I also had to giggle at the fact that when we passed the Vikings Locker Room fan-store, the place was empty. I've been a Vikes fan since toddlerism, and I always will be, but there's a time when one must succumb to epic-suckage.
But, cynical as I may be, it was a nice day (and I was only bothered by two unruly childrens!). This is probably the closest to Christmas you'll ever catch any member of my family ever going to MOA, but who can blame anyone for wanting to avoid the herds as opposed to plodding along with them?
11 November 2010
I don't often visit the MOA, especially not when I'm piss-broke, but my mother suggested going this week for something to do and a change of scenery. That my mother suggested it in the first place was astonishing, considering she usually despises the crowds, shopping, walking, and purchase-temptations, and the fact that we're well into the premature Christmas season. But we managed to block out the thirty-foot Santas and copious strands of gaudy garland lining the ceilings and shop windows, and the crowds weren't so bad. In summation, it was a very pleasant day and neither of us broke the bank. I made it out with a hematite ring, a latte, and a bookmark, and my mother her L'Occitaine products she needed, one book, and a few things from Godiva that we felt obligated to purchase since we went in just to get our monthly freebie.
However avoidable the early decor of the season may have been, there are certain individuals in this world that just aren't. Some are interesting enough to remember fondly, but others are just too perfect for scoffing at. What it is about malls that entice people (mostly of a young age) to "dress up" in their "finest" I will never know. I witnessed the usual display of highly (un)fashionable style--the Ugg-sluts, the boys with under-the-cheek jeans, the "wanna-be-goth-emo-punk 'don't fuck with me'" look, and the countless hoards of people wearing Hollister, A-Fitch and Aeropostale simultaneously. I had to scoff-out-loud and shake my head at a table of teenage mall-rats who were all sitting with their arms on the table, each with their phones in their hands, texting God-knows-who while they tried to have conversations with each other at the same time. I suppose this is enough to make one vomit, which is maybe why seeing the "different" individuals is amusing as opposed to insulting.
I saw girls who looked like boys, and boys who looked like girls, which I normally like when it's done well. In Sephora I was candidly browsing for my favourite perfume to steal samples of, when approached by a *male* salesperson. He had a male haircut (short), and nicely-groomed male facial hair, but was also wearing full-length black eyelashes, black liner, and some kind of shadow. He was dark-skinned, so it looked really good on him and blended in with the rest of his appearance. What was nice about it, was that he didn't look like a drag-queen or a boy trying to be a girl. He looked like a boy who was comfortable being a boy, but also comfortable indulging in cosmetic application. I, personally, find nothing in the world wrong with that.
Normally, I tell the salespersons I'm fine and just browsing, lest they try to sell me on something or charm me into acting on impulse. But this--person--was different, even refreshing in appearance, so partly out of admiration I let him tell me where the section I was looking for was. I kinda wanted to just give the guy a thumbs-up for his individuality, but I'm writing him in my journal instead.
In delia's I overheard a piece of a conversation in French, the woman working at L'Occitaine was most-definitely European, and we talked to a Norwegian in the Russian Museum of Art store who spoke Russian, though he admitted to being scolded often for poor pronunciation that could probably be attributed to his Scando-accent. It was quite exciting to me since I love foreign language, and it made me miss French and German classes. A big part of me wants to be a linguist, but one thing at a time.
But of course the most IMPORTANT part of my day HAD to have been the VIKINGS CHEERLEADERS visiting the mall! (rolls eyes) It was all we could do to hurry out of Barnes and Nobel just after six and avoid the crowd of bemused ooglers and impressionable young girls clogging the first-floor commons. I joked about wanting to approach one of the cheerleaders and requesting she sign my breast. The reaction would be classic. I also had to giggle at the fact that when we passed the Vikings Locker Room fan-store, the place was empty. I've been a Vikes fan since toddlerism, and I always will be, but there's a time when one must succumb to epic-suckage.
But, cynical as I may be, it was a nice day (and I was only bothered by two unruly childrens!). This is probably the closest to Christmas you'll ever catch any member of my family ever going to MOA, but who can blame anyone for wanting to avoid the herds as opposed to plodding along with them?
11 November 2010