A Pall on the Mall

Economy: I still feel empty.

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Now comes the strangest feeling of all: sympathy. (Sympathy? For the mall?)

Yes, in a way. It's a lousy feeling to shop and feel bad about all the people who can't, even if they (and the mall) brought it on themselves. It's a lousy feeling to shop while knowing that if nobody else shops, then pretty soon nobody will have any money to shop.

In the Old Navy at Tysons Corner Center a few days ago, on the surface everything seems right. (All the stores seem right, except for the sales tags that already scream January closeout, in November.)

The remixed hip-hoppy version of Nat King Cole is singing about chestnuts and the remixed hip-hoppy version of the cutely dour Charlie Brown kids is singing "Christmastime Is Here." Only everything seems wrong. The unease is just beneath the forced cheer. Employees are scurrying around as you would expect four days before the onslaught of Black Friday, that quasi high-holy dawn of the holiday season. They are folding clothes, moving clothes, stacking clothes. The store is engorged with fleece and wool blend, sweaters and vests, scarves and gloves. (Once again Al Gore has gone ignored about average global temperatures. What are we to Old Navy -- penguins?)

Mallworld overpampered us, and we went willingly, again and again. Sorry to pick on poor Old Navy (with all those minus signs quarter after quarter on its financial reports and those of its corporate siblings, Gap and Banana Republic), but standing in the middle of it right now you feel . . . ashamed of everyone involved, from the upper echelons of bailed-out Wall Street all the way down to your overextended, overstimulated consumer self. This is not exactly joyeux.

Old Navy has been decorated in hot Hannah Montanaesque hues of neon pink and green. There are bizarre, delusional slogans plastered all over the store:

"I want to get cozy by the fire," screams one sign.

"I want to give the best gifts," says another.

"I want a sparkly something."

"I want to laugh."