I am a child of the 1980s who came of age in the 1990s when mall culture was everything. I spent nearly every weekend of my childhood within the walls of a suburban shopping center in my hometown of Calgary. (My parents weren’t outdoorsy people.) I was a Skee-Ball champ in the arcade, a toy store browser and my
mom’s sidekick in the never-ending quest for the perfect bargain. As a teenager, the mall became my social hub—meeting friends at the food court, catching movies at the attached theater and shopping for the latest trends at all the jewelry and teen clothing stores of the decade.
By the time I reached adulthood, malls had become my happy place because they were a familiar spot to unwind. Every city I’ve lived in, I’ve found the mall that spoke to me. When I unpacked
boxes in my Minneapolis apartment in 2007, it didn’t take me long to discover Southdale Center. Back then, it was always buzzing with energy. There was music in the background, and shoppers hustling and bustling. But over time, those once bu
