Why I don't go to malls in China anymore

childhood nostalgia, quality third place, the rise and fall

It was the chilly Spring evening in 2010 that defined my Russian friend Dennis’s impression on Chinese malls. He found the crowd at a Beijing mall socioeconomically diverse, very distinct from elsewhere he had been to. 

“I just saw a couple of migrant workers dressed in gray uniform-like garments wandering around the mall next to an affluent-looking lady with three dogs”, he recalled. That happened in Wangfujing, one of the earliest and busiest shopping districts in the center of the capital. Dennis never thought malls could be such a common ground in China, where people felt comfortable to mix and enjoy the serendipitous pleasure of strolling and window shopping.

People who grew up in China in the 1990s and 2000s were not unfamiliar with this scene. Malls were not only where you found everybody, but where they could get “mall high” and “mall therapy” – they light up you and take care of you.

Childhood memory as important as Jay Chou’s songs

The Guoshang 国商 mall was my best playground and shelter growing up as a curious and bored teen. Opened in 1994, a year after I was born, Guoshang quickly became an iconic sight and remained as the only mall in the city for some ten years. The whole town finally had a celebrated public place to hang out on evenings and weekends. My parents later moved into the apartment tower across from the mall when I was six. So the proximity to the mall meant, if there was anyone trying to rank teens on the number of mall visits in a year, I would totally win. 

I was seeing things that I hadn’t seen. There was always the jewelry and skincare section by the entrance, where salespeople would stand behind the counter trying to catch customers’ eyes as they entered. Further inside was the automatic locker area, where people could store handbags before going to the underground supermarket. Security guards would stand at the supermarket gate to check whether everybody was empty-handed (it was way before the creation of shoplifting rings). At a time without Taobao (Chinese e-shopping site) and smartphones, the all-powered supermarket was where we got every snack that other local stores didn’t offer — new flavors from Lay’s, Dove chocolate, dried beef cubes, or assorted candies in colorful tube packaging. I was finding things that made me feel good. The upper levels were where I got the new clothes for the Chinese New Year, Nike/Adidas outfits to show off in class, and every piece of new electronic appliances needed at home. Every visit was filled with adventure, joy and excitement.

Malls were also there during the time of intensity — if there were any fights going on, if I needed a break from a pile of homework, if I was having a bad day, or if I wanted to use one of the full-length mirrors at the mall to feel good about myself before a date with my high school sweetheart — a pedestrian crossing away, I was there.

Guoshang brought people together. Mall visit was one of the few activities that my whole family would participate in — no matter if it was a quick walk-through after the dinner, holiday shopping, or purchasing a back-to-school backpack. I also remember I ran into everyone: some remote relatives who lived in the suburbs, my middle school teacher, my childhood friends, and the security guard of the building I lived in.

Gradually, more business arrived, including KFC and global fast fashion brands. KFC was far more affordable for an average family at that time. So fried chickens, burgers and fries would only save for birthdays and post-exam treats. VERO MODA, the Danish high-street brand, and Semir, one of China’s earliest casual wear labels, made their way to the mall one after the other. Guoshang became THE hub for small-town chic.

The story of Chinese malls

That’s how one story of the mall began, and there are 7500 more tales to tell. Malls were introduced to China in the 1990s (some 40 years behind America), when China was experiencing a phenomenal economic upswing. Replacing single business retail, multi-functional malls had since grown rapidly in an era of increasing urbanization (65% in 2021 and 35% in 2000) and middle class expansion (more than 50% now and only 4% of the population in 2000). People had more cash to spend than ever. There was also a need to buy things not from impatient salespeople, who in the traditional grocery stores in China, would always stand in between customers and shelves. The emergence of malls solved the problem China had — the up-and-coming neighborhoods in the cities lacked quality third places.

In years to come, malls became the most inclusive and dynamic public space. For all the virtues a third place should have: malls were protected from the weather, well-lit, having smooth flat surface, and able to inspire conversations. They made people feel equal too — it was a time before the great divergence in income so what people could afford was rather similar. Also nobody had to play hosts.

An important turning point for China’s mall business came around 2014, according to elementary school friend Nicky whose family was one of the earliest movers in the country’s mall business. As the e-commerce sector was on the fast rise, malls had to boost mall traffic by replacing some of the retail floors to food and beverage. That’s when the culture of eating at malls started in China. I was already overseas at that time but whenever I returned home for vacations, the must-do thing in the list was always about checking out newly-open hotpot chains, buffet brands, or Korean BBQ places. Slowly, catering to fickle consumer trends, the mall in my hometown saw an influx of experience-focused space such as VR centers, pop-up exhibitions, EV car shows and interactive galleries. My little town was beginning to look a lot like big cities. 

Becoming a mall-hater

That didn’t last very long though. Fast forward to Beijing, where I have called home in the past 10 months, I have sensed my strong resistance to malls in the city. Actually since coming back to China in 2020, I found myself often saying no to friends who chose to eat at in-mall restaurants, no matter in Shanghai where I first lived or in the capital. I would be like, “Wow looks good, but how about let’s try this one on this street.” Unless it is absolutely necessary, like a birthday dinner or work lunch, I would avoid malls as much as I can. 

The idea of eating at a giant mall suffocates me. I would be stuck in an enclosed structure for at least a few hours, which is energy-draining and insalubrious. First of all, it’s so hard to locate. I need to first find the right entrance to the mall. Oh, there are always multiple gates shown on the map. The northeastern one or the southwestern one? What if the northeastern gate has been closed for whatever reasons or is the furthest to the restaurant’s direction? You have to make a bet. The next question would be, shall I go on the escalator or elevator? Maybe delivery workers need more space in the elevator. But escalators are quite slow, especially when there is an annoying couple blocking the way. Hmmm. Then when you finally arrive in front of the restaurant, you learn the waiting time is 30 minutes. Sure. You hang around in the area and take a peek at other similarly busy restaurants nearby where plastic chairs and water stations are offered. Since when lining up for a restaurant has been normalized? You whisper to yourself. When your table number is called, you pass by other cookie-cutter tables which are divided by simple separation barriers and you are presented with an Ipad for ordering. Finally as the eating and chatting is finished, you realize the whole mall has been closed and you can only exit through one emergency exit reserved for diners. It’s already 10:30pm and the streets are empty outside. What have I missed in the outside world the entire evening? You breathe some good (or most likely bad) air and you ask the universe following the long march.

More importantly, I will never find family-owned restaurants or local institutions that could either offer consistently excellent cooking, help raise the profile of certain dishes, or make an influence on gourmet trends that will echo for years to come. I believe that in the world of eating, the more homegrown a restaurant is, the more invigorating role it plays in the culinary scene. However, for mall restaurants, legacy and local ingredients will likely give way to profits, transaction volume and standardization. The Haidilao (Chinese hotpot giant) is good sometimes, but a mom-and-pop Sichuan hotpot place championed by the neighborhood's retirees is perhaps more worth spending a weekend evening for.

Deluxe, influencer culture, unnecessary

To make things worse, some malls are becoming an inaccessible luxury battleground, while some others are trying too hard on being instagrammable.

I remember very clearly how I felt when I met the eyes of two middle-aged city janitors at a coffee house situated inside a mall. It was a hot summer day and I was trying to take a shade and finish some work. I would say I appeared to be quite comfortable as I was holding a ceramic coffee mug and crossing my legs. Until I saw them. Wearing big hats and sitting at the curbs, the two workers looked exhausted under the sun. They happened to be checking on me as well. I suddenly felt guilty for being so cozy inside. Cafes are not usually fancy, but that slightly awkward experience reminds me that the current lavish malls are pushing people away.  

A few months after, I felt out of element again in what was supposed to be the most exclusive mall in Beijing called SKP. Going there was not my first choice but I was supposed to run an errand for a friend. Just like other classic luxury malls, it is where Channel, LV and Burberry choose to house. It was exceptionally bright, and perhaps safer than ever with the presence of cautious guards walking around. With every expensive item sitting at the stores conveying a sense of scarcity and high social standing, conversations between guests would naturally center around shopping and money. SKP is definitely not making people feel equal. Just like Las Vegas’s Forum Shops at Caesars, rich people would have more fun there. It is not a quality third place anymore, but an airport duty free store that lacks any semblance of authenticity and originality.

As another crucial customer segment valued by malls, influencers have taken over wanghong 网红 (the Chinese for emerging places that are good for Instagram and influencer-spotting) shops, which is frustrating from time to time. The other day I was really dehydrated after lunch and wanted to buy one of those popular lemon tea 暴打柠檬茶 at Sanlitun Soho (a mixed-use giant mall at one of the busiest parts of Beijing), before I was told that the waiting time is 30 minutes. To get a freaking lemon tea I need to stay for that long? Looking at the pile of receipts of delivery orders laying on the counter where no in-person customer was waiting, I wondered why I was deprived of the right of fetching a cup of beverage, which is most likely overpriced and overestimated.

Then there are places that you never know could exist or why they exist — alpaca playing shops, cat petting houses or even duck cafes (leave them alone!), and eyebrow speciality studios (staff of which told me I should go back at least once a month for 50-dollar shaping deals to make sure my eyebrow look perfectly decent, which I think is a scam).

Malls had been an incredible part of the cultural, social and commercial fabric in my life, but my teenager self could barely recognize the mass retail centers shaped by the frantic rise of consumerism, influencer culture and the twisted luxury market. 

Are malls still relevant?

My latest trip to a shopping mall was together with my 85-year-old grandma and cousins over the National Holiday (not an easy trip going back to my hometown for sure ahead of the 20th Congress). We went to a newly opened pizza place that provides durian crisp pizza and the kind of steak you could find in the first generation of domestic coffee houses (such as C.straits Cafe 两岸咖啡 and U.B.C Coffee上岛咖啡, which might be where a lot of Chinese first learnt about western food but failed to acknowledge their importance as they grow out of style now).

Named Summer Mary, the restaurant was packed with customers who all seemed to be in a good holiday mood. We sat by the window with a good view of escalators going up and down. Having creamy tomato pasta, grilled pepper steak and sweet corn soup while looking up occasionally to watch people come and go, my grandma looked cheerful. I was happy that she was happy.

In my little peaceful town, there is no SKP-like mall yet and only a few wanghong coffee shops. “Let’s go hanging out at the mall (我们逛街去),” is likely the first few things said between friends who haven’t met a long time. Malls still act as an essential third place. I avoid malls in big cities, but I still appreciate their presence in my hometown.

“An important criteria for a good city is whether it can provides a valuable, meaningful and dreamful lifestyle,” writes an online advertisement of a new mall that Nicky’s family recently built in the northern province of Shandong. For my hometown, malls help reimagine a way of living that was fundamentally different from pre-1994. 

To be fair, on some other occasions I would still go to malls in Beijing: when during holiday seasons including Christmas and Lantern Festival; when there are usually beautiful decorations and I need to be together with a crowd to feel festive; when I need to draw inspirations about what’s trending.

Comments from friends

Friends like or dislike malls in their own ways.

For the above-mentioned Nicky who is based in Ningbo of Zhejiang province, she calls malls “weekend homes”. According to her, she will show up at malls every weekend, to do hair, to watch movies, to buy coffee and to buy fruits before the end of the day. A new attraction for her, Nicky says, is the free Covid testing booth reserved for mall VIPs that is located at the member-only lounge. “Absolutely no waiting time,” she finds it really useful. 

Witnessing how the business in mall changes could provide a perspective on how time has revamped the city life — Aowen from Beijing speaks of her views on malls. Despite being quite commercial, she thinks they could heighten sensitivity to the outside world and create a sense of belonging. When she goes to the malls here and there with her family, it still gives her similar kind of exhilaration as in her childhood.

Shanghai-based Wency thinks malls could supply her with emotional values, especially when she feels depressed and needs to meet real humans. However, she also finds it overwhelming since her office and yoga studio are both located in a mall. So she will try as much as she can to step out of the building during breaks.

At ordinary times, Shanghai native Beimeng would find malls pretty pleasant for fun girls' nights, class reunions or family dinners. They are neat, comfortable and organized, just like nice hotels. However, the two-month lockdown early this year in Shanghai has changed her perceptions on malls in two ways. While their imposing structures made her nauseous and dizzy, she has rediscovered some simple happiness in one of the milk tea places. With everything going on with the world, she just want to seize the moment while sipping a cup of warm boba tea.

A redemption story or a complete collapse

In recent years, malls are increasingly at the center of the public space discussions in China as the country moves to more aggressively reevaluate the concepts of community, people-oriented city design and sustainable urbanism.

Interestingly, that role of a social space doesn’t seem to be that significant in other cities in the world where I lived or traveled in my adulthood, with the only exception being Singapore. In cities such as New York, Seoul and London, you go shopping at malls, but you don’t spend a whole Saturday there. That could probably explain my shift in attitudes towards malls, as I saw alternatives while I moved around. Malls in suburban America, however, played a similarly key role in community life but have been losing their cultural and social relevance over the years. How they progress could be a useful lesson to draw from.

As the number of malls reaches around 7500 as of today in China, the revitalization of malls not only needs to face the challenges of retail apocalypse, the pandemic and economic slowdown, but to cope with the ever-changing social elements that people need (nor don’t need) from malls. Whether malls can get back to creating culture would be a vital research subject for this generation.

Relevant reading:

People Magazine 人物 just published an article on the psychological toll of living in China’s superblocks, which I found quite relevant to the discussions of malls — 住在云上的人

Credits:

Thanks Yaling and Rachel for giving very useful comments on my first draft

Thanks Nicky, Aowen, Wency, Beimeng and Kelly for sharing their thoughts on malls