Originally published at crisis magazine
The Florida Mall stands as a glowing symbol of all that American culture has become—glowing not with the golden hue of man’s greatest achievement but, rather, with radioactive decay. I’ve been in malls before, of course, but somehow, wading through the sea of people, lights, signs, and sounds, the tableaux of top American brands coaxing passersby to buy more, more, and always more, left me sickened in a way I hadn’t been before.
In a mall, the senses are not so much gratified as assaulted. Everything seeks to devour your attention through the sleekest images, sounds, and even smells that the advertisers can conjure up. The shop fronts in the artificial marketplace of the mall speak of luxury—even decadence—because most of the products being sold are expensive and unnecessary.
Tech stores and clothing boutiques dominate the space with flickering screens and scraps of video or garish displays of the latest indecipherable fashions and trends, while immense images of half-naked women aim to ensnare the eyes. Each image must be more arresting than the previous if it hopes to win out in an environment where the eyes are overstimulated and pulled in all directions, overwhelmed by an uncoordinated mixture of bright
