I must say that upon my return home to Massachusetts from over two years of living in Atlanta I have started to notice the stark contrast between New Englanders and Southerners.
Nowhere was this more strikingly apparent than at the mall… that’s right I said the mall. The ultimate venue for people watching. If any of you have been to a mall anywhere in the south, and I’m going to make a broad statement and say this counts from Atlanta all the way to Dallas, you’ll notice a particular phenomenon. That would of course be the fact that the mall is not just a place to exchange currency for goods, but rather a fashion extravaganza. I don’t mean a fashion show for the stores of course, but for the people walking around the mall. At Atlanta’s see-and-be-seen malls, either Lenox or Phipps, you can sit for hours and watch a parade of blondes in tight jeans, with their fake tans, sprayed on inches of makeup, and 4 inch stilettos… because when I’m throwing down some major cash shopping, and hauling around bags full of goodies I want nothing more than to look hot doing it while my feet scream out in pain and bleed through my Jimmy Chu’s. Then of course there are the rappers/ballers/wannabe thugs that walk around the mall not actually shopping, but scoping all the women in the jeans they’ve poured themselves into. This species of mall goer is personified by baggy jeans, tim.s, oversized t-shirts with a sweatshirt emblazoned by a designer label, ball caps with the hologram stickers still on and the brim straight from the package, and of course some obscene chain/watch/bracelet/earrings/all of the above with as many diamonds as one can squeeze into a dollar sign as humanly possible. Now let us compare the Southern mall persona with that of the northerner. It would appear that the primary concern of those that shop in the north would be to maintain a body temperature above hypothermia when they are scurrying from the parking lot to the mall. As a southerner you might ask yourself how that walk consisting of only a few hundred feet could possibly determine one’s entire wardrobe… clearly you’ve never had your freshly showered hair freeze while walking into the mall. So the uniform of the northern girl at the mall includes Uggs, tight jeans and a hoodie… I’m not even kidding when I say 1 out of 2 girls had on Uggs. Maybe it’s just me, but looking like a yeti with enormous furry feet isn’t my scene. You don’t really find the blonde highlights or the fake tans, well, because frankly nobody would believe you, its been winter here for like half a year already, the most time you’ve spent getting naturally kissed by the sun was while you were outside blowing snow off your driveway for the eighth time that week. We also don’t really bother with the bling up here considering you are either old money, or no money. We have no rappers, you’ll never hear anyone bust a rhyme with “my beantown bitches and hos”, and the ballers don’t live on the north shore. For the exceptionally lazy shopper there is also the option of just coming to the mall in your pajamas, oh if only I had a camera to take pictures of the number of people I saw in flannel pants, and their bedroom slippers.
When I arrived it was a wintery wonderland with about a foot of snow covering everything in site. It’s actually best when it’s snowing because that means it’s right around 30 degrees, it’s when it’s not snowing that you have to start worrying. Sure, snow is beautiful when it’s freshly fallen, but just give it a few hours to turn dirty and grey. My hometown has all of these old narrow streets, so when you are shoveling your driveway there is no place to go but up with the snow, so after a few good snowfalls the snow along the roads is about hip deep. Well I’ve been running every other day, and since anyone that knows me knows I don’t EVER run, this is shocking. I’ve quickly discovered why people don’t really run in the winter… cause it’s freakin treacherous that’s why. First of all half the sidewalks aren’t actually shoveled, so it’s like you’ve reached a dead end in a maze and you have to turn around and run back. So I started running in the middle of the street… clearly a dangerous move, especially once the snow started to halfway melt forming patches of black ice. All I can say is that it must have been comical driving up on me half run/walking, getting startled because there’s a car about to run me over, and then slipping on black ice and nearly eating it on some dirty snow.
My blood has definitely thinned out over the past few years and I’m walking around my parents house bundled up in sweatshirts and flannel pants… hm, maybe I should head to the mall, I’m dressed already.