Growing up in the suburbs of Georgia, our local mall was a weekend staple. From collecting germs in the play area as a child while my mother shopped to hanging out with friends and trying on clothes we couldn't afford to awkward first dates and first flirts right outside the food court, the mall was a social center. It was the default place to be on lazy Saturday afternoons and busy Black Fridays alike. As we got older, we all had a friend who worked at the mall if we didn't work there ourselves, and we took solace in knowing that our favorite stores would always be there, encasing overpriced products and childhood memories.

I never anticipated that some of my favorite malls in my hometown would come to resemble ghost town. Yet slowly but surely, my favorite local mall was withering away. My favorite stores were replaced by metal gates and the once bustling building seemed emptier and emptier each time I went; not only were the people gone, but so was the energy. However, I didn't truly understand the magnitude of these losses until I tried to visit one of Atlanta's historic malls and community centers, Underground Atlanta. It was one of the only places in my favorite city that I had not yet visited; however, upon our arrival, I struggled to even find the entrance. The only people I saw there was a family looking just as confused and lost as I was. The place was deserted. As I peered through the dirty tinted windows to see a stationary escalator, boarded up storefronts, and overgrown shrubbery shrouding a faded Johnny Rockets sign, I was hit with a sense of sadness. Not for the mall itself, but for the people who had invested in its growth, the people who lost their jobs, businesses, and livelihoods. I imagined the families and friends that had gathered in the now empty restaurants, people that had danced in the lights of the now dampened nightlife. This sadness wasn't for the money, but it was for the community of buyers and sellers, club-owners and club-goers, employers and employees, that had somehow disappeared into thin air. What remained were silhouettes of memories of nights passed.

These losses shouldn't come as a surprise. When you look at the trends in consumerism over the past few years, it becomes obvious that America's consumers paved the way for the malls' demise. From observing my city alone, I noticed that several higher-end housing and outdoor shopping and entertainment centers were opening and welcoming name brand stores and expensive restaurants that were sure to attract both tenants and shoppers. Department stores that were anchors of the old indoor mall were either leaving due to lack of shoppers or going completely out of business. The end of department stores can be partially attributed to the convenience of online shopping, especially from powerhouses like Amazon; however, their departure did a significant amount of damage to the malls they left behind. Without attractive stores and entertainment, there won't be any people, and without any people, there is no community and life. These were things the mall once provided in abundance; now they are scrambling to keep their foundations standing.

Regardless of how it happened, we know that the way we view shopping and the fellowship that comes with it has inevitably changed and will continue to do so, but it is worth acknowledging that this change was our doing. It is a product of our ever-changing desires as humans. Whether this change will be for better or for worse will be up to us as well.