GAG ME WITH A SPOON
~ Valley Boy ~
There's like the Galleria/ And like all these like really great shoe stores / I love going into like clothing stores and stuff / I like buy the neatest miniskirts and stuff / It's like so BITCHEN. -Frank Zappa, "Valley Girl"
If a "Greetings From the Valley" postcard existed in the mid-'70s, the dominant image would have undoubtedly been an indoor mall. Capitalism in a box was the civic pride and joy in places like Northridge and Woodland Hills. Thus it seemed to make perfect sense when a giant shopping mecca opened in Sherman Oaks at the tail-end of the '70s.
It had much in its favor, including an affluent South Valley location and glorious eyesore marketing - you couldn't miss its enormous sign as you zoomed past the Ventura exit on the 405. Yet the Sherman Oaks Galleria was a morgue in its early days, unable to capture the retail magic that poured from the vents in the climate-controlled confines of the Fashion Center and Topanga Plaza.
Now, those places were landmarks! I damn near grew up inside the Northridge Fashion Center. I first glimpsed this Taj Mahal of Tampa Avenue soon after it opened in 1971. It was like the United Nations of shopping: From the Tinder Box to Spencer Gifts to the creepy religious smorgasbord Hodels, I had never seen such a disparate array of stores under one roof. Inside the darkened cash-driven cathedral, time was irrelevant. It was all about the sanctity of spending.
The mall put Northridge on the map, and its clout was such that a spend-and-play fortress (Tower Records, Malibu Grand Prix, Wild West Store) emerged across the street on Nordhoff, and a mini-restaurant row sprouted down Tampa (which at one time included the mind-blowing Jeremiah's Steakhouse. Yum.)
By contrast, Sherman Oaks already had its own, vaguely iconoclastic identity before the Galleria emerged. And it became quickly apparent the new center was too ghetto for uppity locals who preferred to cruise down Beverly Glen and pose inside L.A.'s then-new monstrosity of retail gluttony, the Beverly Center (Kiddie Park RIP).
It was the fickle finger of popular culture that saved the Galleria. First, Frank Zappa name-checked it in his 1981 goof "Valley Girl." The biggie came a year later, when teenage angst was played out in front of Hot Dog On a Stick in the 1982 classic Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Suddenly, the Galleria was The Valley. Non-Vals began trolling the food court looking for Van Halen-ticket-scalping greaseballs and inarticulate teen babes adorned in Day-Glo leg warmers. When wayward tourists made their way north of L.A. proper, the Galleria was on the short list along with Universal Studios. The Valley dream, the Valley myth was perpetuated inside those hideous walls.
But, like the career of the once-babelicious Phoebe Cates, the ravages of time took its toll on the Sherman Oaks icon. By the late-'90s it had all but shut down, becoming little more than a retail Norma Desmond, a passé pockmark of dubious Valley history.
And then it was blown up and a new Galleria was created from scratch. Whereas the old mall was an ugly box with stores wedged inside, the new concept, according to its developers, is a "24-hour business/lifestyle environment." That's focus group-ese for "let's design an office park with room for a smoothie shop and a Starbucks."
Construction began in 1999 and the new facility opened in 2002. Now an airy, outdoor environment, the new Galleria is a pleasant enough place in which to walk. The movie theater is comfortable and Tower Records is a great time-killer. While it gives off a pleasant enough vibe, it still leaves me cold. Perhaps I'm just sad that a dried-up landmark was put out of its misery, but the old mall had a trashy charm that the new venture lacks.
The new space feels corporate and sterile, and there's not enough amusement per square foot. Empty office and retail space outnumbers actual tenants. And aside from movies, the gym, Tower, or chain dining, there's little to do other than people-watch for porn stars. And, unlike the similarly conceptualized Grove, the Galleria does little to foster a sense of community. It's like a pretty girl whose personality is as dull as a box of bricks.
Besides, there's not a Hickory Farms or Spencer Gifts for miles around. (Do these places still exist?) And what good is a mall when you can't find fuzzy black-light posters and calendars of fat nude women riding bicycles?Published: 06/24/2004
DIGG | del.icio.us | REDDIT
