Stripping Malls of Their Charms: My Autistic Perspective on Strip Malls
No comparison...
"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? They paved paradise, put up a parking lot." - Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi
Whenever I'm forced to endure harsh winter trips to strip malls in sub-zero temperatures, braving blizzards while trudging through thick mires of gross slush, I find myself pondering the same riddle: why do these strip malls remain so commonplace while traditional shopping malls have mostly been relegated to liminal space? I've heard the lingering fallout from the 2020 pandemic, coupled with the growing popularity of online retailers, are contributing factors in the downfall of shopping malls. However, if this truly is the case, then why are strip malls seemingly immune to the same misfortunes?
What I find particularly perplexing about this puzzling pickle is that shopping malls clearly offer the superior experience, as they're fully enclosed, multifloored, and climate-controlled. As such, visitors are guaranteed a comfortable experience in any season, remaining warm in winter, cool in summer, and dry year-round. This isn't the case with strip malls, which are little more than oversized parking lots with slivers of shops and restaurants clustered along their outermost perimeters. This open-air design exposes shoppers to miserable wet weather and extreme hot or cold temperatures year-round, which makes for some pretty uncomfortable treks to and from the car, bus stop, or bicycle.
While shopping malls have a laidback atmosphere, in which visitors can stroll through them at a leisurely pace, strip malls require visitors to always remain on their toes as they cautiously navigate vehicular traffic from every direction. This unwavering vigilance is crucial, as many rude motorists refuse to obey or even acknowledge strip mall crosswalks and stop signs, speeding through them and cutting off shopping cart-pushing pedestrians like me. The situation isn't much better for polite motorists, either, as they're at constant risk of getting into fender-benders, being T-boned by bad drivers, experiencing the frustration of being cut off by jerks looking to steal their potential parking spots, and being unable to find their own parked cars among the labyrinths of similar makes, models, and colours.
The scenery is another point of contention. Shopping malls have a pleasant aesthetic, being adorned with potted (fake?) palm trees and other shrubbery, geyser-spouting fountains, artificial waterfalls and streams, and various works of art, such as funky sculptures, Japanese kites, miniature hot air balloons, and Alexander Calder-esque mobiles. When tired or sore, there are plenty of benches for visitors to rest their weary legs, massage chairs to soothe their aching muscles, and stationary mechanical rides to momentarily distract their rambunctious toddlers.
In stark contrast, strip malls offer breathtaking views of parked vehicles, speed bumps, shopping cart corrals, tree-lined medians, dangerous shards of broken beer bottles, teenaged skateboarders practicing their moves on the curbs, and annoying flocks of aggressive Canada geese. The outdoor benches don't offer visitors much rest, as they're often wet, dirty, and situated next to garbage cans, which attract flies or wasps in summer, crows or seagulls in winter, and cigarette or marijuana smokers year-round. The only rides awaiting toddlers are the rickety ones they experience while seated in their parents' shopping carts.
Being on the spectrum also factors into my shopping experience at each. While shopping malls can become quite crowded and overwhelming at times, especially during the Christmas season, I seldom suffer autism-related anxiety attacks while in them. This is because they're large and spacious enough for me to find nice quiet corners to take a breather and regain my composure. With strip malls, the various outdoor obstacles and unpleasantries amplify my autism-related anxieties. What's worse, I can't even regulate my symptoms while at them, as there's really no safe havens for me to retreat to in parking lots. That's not to say that navigating the underground/covered parking lots of shopping malls are any less chaotic or unpleasant on my autism, but unlike strip malls, the parking lot situation is only a minor aspect of the shopping mall experience and not the bulk of it.
This discrepancy is especially noticeable in small rural towns, which may have several strip malls, but only one traditional shopping mall to serve their entire counties. Unfortunately, many of these shopping malls have more shuttered retail spaces than occupied ones. If this neglect simply comes down to "dollars and cents", why don't shopping mall owners lower their rent to compete with all the strip malls looking to replace them? If I were a rich man (♪ ya, ba, dibba, dibba, dibba, dibba, dibba, dibba, dum ♫) with a shopping mall in my possession, I'd rather take a small hit on the rent I charge and have all my storefronts occupied and making money. After all, how's it any better to have a deserted shopping mall collecting dust? I don't get it.
In closing, perhaps I'm being a bit biased in my opinion regarding shopping vs. strip malls. I grew up in simpler times, when the Berlin Wall had fallen, and the Twin Towers remained standing. Before online gaming, social media, or streaming services were a thing. Back then, shopping malls were such fun places to shop, hang out, go on a date, catch a movie, hit the arcade, or grab a bite to eat, all under one convenient roof. Seeing them reduced to derelict circus sideshows that attract dark tourists looking to morbidly document their state of decay on social media is just...sad. Sure, strip malls offer similar services, but their bare-bones design strips malls of the very charms that make them malls in the first place. Thanks for reading and don't forget to look both ways when crossing the strip mall!
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Posted in "Autistic Perspectives" on Tuesday, March 4, 2025.