Holiday shopping season may be over, but any seasoned shopper knows that the best time to shop is after the holidays are over.
My problem is that I’m not usually much of a deal monger as questing for the best discounts often involves risking one’s life elbowing through racks of askew hangers, dilapidated, unraveling dresses, and moms willing to stick your eye out with their acrylic finger nails.
However, I had heard many a lore about the joys of the Beverly Center. An eight-story building packed with stores? A shopping area in the heart of Beverly Hills without all of the snobby Beverly Hills store owners? A place that simultaneously houses nicer department stores and less expensive bets? OK, yeah, maybe I’ll give it a shot.
I envisioned the Beverly Center as a spiraling, stainless structure built to rival the Empire State Building in all of its shopping glory. Wikipedia describes this baby as a “monolithic” structure and the Web site’s front page features a hypnotizing, flashy ad with women delivering high kicks in corsets. Surely this shopping mecca would be packed with bottle blonde-haired women pushing immaculately dressed children in strollers dining at a healthy gourmet L.A. bistro (all inside the mall, of course). After all, this is Beverly Hills: How could it not be big, classy and perfect?
As soon as I arrived, my first disappointment struck me: Contrary to what I heard, the Beverly Center does not house eight stories of shops, but rather only three. The other five stories are parking garages. I peeked inside the first-level parking garage only to notice a giant, wide-screened television screens wishing arriving shoppers “pleasant” visits to the center’s “world premiere shopping facility.”
Reality check: In Beverly Hills, there’s no escaping from Beverly Hills marketing and bravura even in the parking garage. This somehow relieved me a little bit; Dorothy, you’re still in Kansas.
Yet the din of sneakers squeaking against the mall’s linoleum floors, scattered conversations, and muted soft rock music greeted me along with the slightly sweet and spicy aroma of department store perfumes. Yep, this was a mall, all right: as plebian and standard as they come.
Why were the white floors beneath my feet not speckled with real gold? How come the escalator spiraling through the center of the mall had white handrails that looked smudged and dirty? Most importantly, how was it that the food court boasted Panda Express and ““ cover your eyes, elitists ““ Kentucky Fried Chicken rather than Wolfgang Puck Express? With all of the “premiere shopping facility” nonsense I was greeted with, where was the premiere facility I anticipated and expected?
Paralyzed in the middle of the mall, overwhelmed by the sheer dullness of it all, I couldn’t help but feel utterly depressed that I pulled myself out of bed on a Friday morning excited for something novel and delightful and instead ended up in a giant steel structure no different than what I could find in my own suburban hometown.
Then I heard laughter behind me. Two women, dressed in business suits each clutched ice cream cones.
“OK, here’s our exercise for the day!” one of them exclaimed and the other kept laughing as they passed me.
I couldn’t help but crack a smile. Enjoying one’s self did not necessarily mean discovering a place full of flashy decorations or state-of-the-art technology. If there are two things that most women can bond over, they’re shopping and eating. Let’s face it: Where is a more convenient place to take a quick break from work and find those two simple pleasures in your face and everywhere you turn? While the activity inside the mall may seem frenetic and the smells and sounds can overtake the whole experience, it’s ultimately one’s own attitude that can affect the fun enjoyed, not necessarily the place itself.
If you think there aren’t enough KFCs in the world, e-mail Cohn at jcohn@media.ucla.edu.