The malls of America are the perfect place to go to witness the decline of western civilization and the end of America as we knew it.
People roaming the indoor pavilions and outdoor walkways are swathed in tattoos, and tricked-out with nose rings and toe rings and thumb rings, all while downing Buffalo wings. Flip-flopping in flip-flops and hanging out in halter tops. Inciting tolerance in kafiyas and hijabs, and mockingly, "Infidel" T-shirts.
Browsing in the store called Anthropologie (ersatz cultural artifacts for sale; look what we dug up!), where they sell hand-worked door knobs and diaphanous blue scarves made in India, along with books on Parisian street fashion; gamins in pedal pushers and cat-eye glasses and flats, notwithstanding the fact that the Paris of the news makes me think more of high-alert than haute-couture; dhimmihood than demi-tasse. Qatar, more than Quartier Latin.
A few storefronts down, Tesla sells $75,000, government-subsidized electric luxury sedans to people who may not know the difference between a D-cell and a D-cup. Oh, how cool. Wobal glarming. Gag me with a spoonerism.
It all makes me melancholic about an earlier time, when homogenization referred to milk. Now, the Multiculture Club has created a kind of blandness that leaves me feeling depressingly empty. Let's all coexist.