As a kid, I had a habit of pleading with my parents to take me to one of two places nearly every weekend: toy stores like F.A.O. Schwartz (RIP) or Zany Brainy (with a more cerebral selection than Toys R Us but no less fun) and the bookstore. Any bookstore. Provided I finished my homework for the week and didn’t pester my older sister, they usually agreed. These visits would sometimes last hours. The end goal wasn’t necessarily to go home with bags overflowing with new games or books – my parents taught me to value and make the most of what I already had at home and be more discerning about new acquisitions – but to explore. Being surrounded by rows upon rows of books and games was an experience in itself, a place to lose myself to my imagination, and that’s all that mattered to me.
That quest for experience, which any marketer will tell you is what defines the average consumers’ most abiding needs today, stayed with me, even as a suburban gal. I couldn’t find a veritable sense of place-experience in malls so I sought it out in the (infrequent) moments I’d find myself in downtown Philadelphia or in New York City, where…
