The Hand to Hand Mall
One thought keeps me going, even as we live through an ongoing climate crisis: We built this reality, and we can change it.
When was the last time you went to a mall? For me, it had been years—maybe a decade.
That changed when I started shopping at The Littlest Birds after my newest baby was born. Over the past six months, I’ve been to the mall a few times, and every visit has felt like stepping into a time warp.
Even though I didn’t grow up in Asheville, the mall here is nearly identical to every mall I wandered through as an angsty 90s teen—complete with the oversized Victoria’s Secret, wide hallways, fake plants, mysterious smells, and competing music tracks.
But now, it’s mostly empty. A handful of shoppers drift through the corridors. The entire second floor appears to be blocked off. Many storefronts are shuttered. FEMA has set up shop there in the wake of the hurricane. The whole scene is more than a little sad.
And yet, the space still has potential. I saw kids laughing in the indoor play areas. People with developmental delays and mobility challenges were enjoying freedom of movement. Local businesses and artists are beginning to take root in smaller storefronts.
As I left, I kept thinking: What could this place become?
That’s when I came up with the idea for the "Hand in Hand" Mall—a space where big-box chains are replaced with second-hand and handmade stores, along with community resources.
Stay with me—I know it's not financially "feasible" in our current economy. But, imagining is good for us!
Imagine the transformation into vibrant hubs for reuse and community exchange—secondhand retailers like Goodwill (but better) a used bookstore like Mr. K’s, secondhand furniture shops, a library branch.
Smaller storefronts filled with local artist collectives, cottage industries, and essential services—tailors and seamstresses, a drop-in childcare center, a co-working space.
On Saturdays, the kiosks host a year-round farmers' market. During the holidays, the corridors fill with handmade goods from local artisans.
The old Sears building in the parking lot becomes a reclaimed building materials center.
The vast, underutilized parking lot transforms into a thriving garden center focused on native plants, compost, and mulch—breathing life into the asphalt.
We could do this. Not just here, but across the 1,200 failing malls nationwide.
I’m putting this idea out there because you never know who might take it, shape it, and bring it to life. This isn’t mine to build—but I hope to see it unfold one day.
