(no subject)
One of the only reasons I go to the mall anymore is to feel old. When you're fifteen I suppose you don't get to feel old a whole lot, unless you are me, because if you are you feel old quite often. So, going to the mall actually makes me feel ancient. I see flocks of preteen girls, the breed that gets written up so often in the Post for their premature sexuality and tribe mentality. They stand around in Sephora, in American Eagle, outside Abercrombie and Fitch, talking on their cell phones and laden with bags. They remind me of me when I was a true mallrat in the seventh grade and not a week went by without me buying some stupid outfit. And I wonder how I look to them.
I wonder how I look to strangers a whole lot. Do they think about me as often as I think about them? It doesn't matter to me one way or the other, I'd just like to know if one ever nudges another and says, What's up with the sad-looking girl over by the sweaters?
Another reason for going to the mall is becoming part of a crowd. It may sound weird, but one of my favorite pasttimes is wandering around shops or streets or public places by myself, so long as I don't see anyone I know. If I do I usually hide or pretend not to see them entirely.
Watching people is my area of expertise, and it was the only way I would have liked to spend today, so I got that much accomplished. People fascinate and disgust me at once, much like dead things or particulary hideous insects. Not to sound like a misanthrope; I adore every single one of them, even in the midst of my repulsion.
Waiting outside for my dad to come get me, a pudgy long-haired man resembling Michael Bolton came out and smoked a cigarette next to me. Together, in silence, we watched the people leaving the mall. I love when a flock of people all of the same ethnicity pass me, especially if they're all relatives and chattering blithely away in their native tongue. We watched young girls shiver past us in flip-flops and tee shirts, and I felt privately smug in my scarf and winter coat. My favorite, though, was a little blond girl skipping ahead of her father. "You can't catch me!" I caught myself in a smile and realized that maybe I am better suited for working in a toy store than I would like to admit.
I also spent sixty dollars on cosmetics, so I feel tons better.
I wonder how I look to strangers a whole lot. Do they think about me as often as I think about them? It doesn't matter to me one way or the other, I'd just like to know if one ever nudges another and says, What's up with the sad-looking girl over by the sweaters?
Another reason for going to the mall is becoming part of a crowd. It may sound weird, but one of my favorite pasttimes is wandering around shops or streets or public places by myself, so long as I don't see anyone I know. If I do I usually hide or pretend not to see them entirely.
Watching people is my area of expertise, and it was the only way I would have liked to spend today, so I got that much accomplished. People fascinate and disgust me at once, much like dead things or particulary hideous insects. Not to sound like a misanthrope; I adore every single one of them, even in the midst of my repulsion.
Waiting outside for my dad to come get me, a pudgy long-haired man resembling Michael Bolton came out and smoked a cigarette next to me. Together, in silence, we watched the people leaving the mall. I love when a flock of people all of the same ethnicity pass me, especially if they're all relatives and chattering blithely away in their native tongue. We watched young girls shiver past us in flip-flops and tee shirts, and I felt privately smug in my scarf and winter coat. My favorite, though, was a little blond girl skipping ahead of her father. "You can't catch me!" I caught myself in a smile and realized that maybe I am better suited for working in a toy store than I would like to admit.
I also spent sixty dollars on cosmetics, so I feel tons better.