The Great American Mall is a lesson in extinction. Discovered in Minnesotan suburbia in the 1950s, the species became endangered nearly 60 years later due to digital evolution, economic recession, and general ennui of the American people. Despite attempts to rekindle public interest in these commercial giants, the malls endured for only 15 more years before fading away entirely, their coffin nailed by the rise of other, more advanced commercial species, namely Commercium Virtualis, whose impressive gestation period and compact scale captured the hearts of the nation.
Nevertheless, in recent decades, the Great American Mall has become something of a legend.
“What’s so fascinating about American Malls is that, try as we might, their existence is impossible to ignore,” says Grayson Forrest, PhD, senior lecturer in Natural Resource Science at Johns Hopkins. “Metaphorically, sure, but more so physically. Have your car drive you down the freeway, and within twenty minutes, you’ll stumble across a carcass.”
Indeed, the distance between American Mall corpses ranges from three to ten miles in urban areas. Their hulking, skeletal exteriors have become permanent fixtures of the country’s landscape, thanks to the failed Mall Deconstruction Act (MDA) of 2035, which proposed efforts to dismantle and recycle the beasts’ non-biodegradable remains. The Senate debated the bill heatedly for three months before arriving at the consensus: no one actually cared.
In a bizarre twist, these decaying beasts have since evolved into major tourist attractions. Companies like MallWalkers Safari Co. offer guided explorations where participants don airtight suits to avoid interacting with plastic, a synthetic material once found in everything from clothing hangers to cafeteria trays, now federally banned. Tour groups are led through the malls’ vast digestive system—commonly known as the “Food Court”—before traversing to the vacant retail cavities, trying to imagine what they might have looked like before, in all their artificial glory.
“My great-grandmother used to tell me stories about the malls,” says Jennifer Swan, who boasts of having explored nearly 250 of the deceased creatures. “She kept tons of old photos—real, printed ones—of them. You wouldn’t believe what they used to look like: so bright and extravagant, full of life and color. I like to think that if I had been born sooner, I could’ve done something to help them. I could’ve spoken up for those poor things, maybe even led a ‘Save the Malls’ rally.”
Of course, it’s worth remembering that the Great American Mall wasn’t always so blameless. In its prime, the mall was a ruthless predator, driving weaker commercial subspecies—primarily Mom-and-Pop Shops—to the brink of extinction. Today, only a handful of these shops remain in the U.S., carefully preserved in sanctuaries where they can be monitored and, perhaps one day, rehabilitated.
When asked about the rapid decline of Mom-and-Pops, Grayson Forrest, PhD, quotes Darwin’s infamous phrase. “It’s ‘Survival of the Fittest,’ really,” he explains. “They were simply the easiest prey.”
Jennifer Swan, however, maintains her innocence. “Mom-and-Pops?” she echoes. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of them.”