Kate Black: The Valley of Malls
Plus, a minor epiphany
VANCOUVER — I’ve known Kate Black for over 20 years. But there are days when she still feels like a total mystery.
It’s a clear Sunday in late January and I’m driving the five blocks between her house and mine, for an interview about her new book, Big Mall.
Centered on Canada’s shopping mecca, West Edmonton Mall, the book is short but sprawling, marrying a sociological critique of Alberta’s most famous manufactured landmark with Kate’s own search for meaning; something we’ve talked around but rarely ever about.
I know more about Kate’s life than most people. I know that she hates celebrating her own birthday and loves horses. I know that she makes incredible playlists, including ones to cry to, and that she once interviewed Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. I know that Shrek is her all-time favourite movie, and Forrest Gump is second.
But I also know that, like a lot of people, she sometimes finds it hard to be vulnerable. Even with her friends.
Which is probably why I’m a little nervous for today’s interview.
I realized before Christmas that I had been missing Kate’s presence in my life. She spent most of 2023 editing the book, and when she wasn’t Googling the mall’s theme park mascot, Comso, or who designed its iconic brass whale sculpture, she was finishing her teaching degree. Her life has changed in ways that haven’t fully registered.
As a result, today’s interview, which has been edited and condensed, feels like a reintroduction; a chance to see an old friend with fresh eyes.
Reading the book I was struck by how often Kate referenced her own loneliness, how even the acknowledgments on the final page mention that she sometimes feels like an alien.
I pull up in front of her apartment and she’s standing outside.
Yesterday, she and her partner, Alex, got back from Mexico.
She opens the car door.
“I got Montezuma’s Revenge!” she says.
For some reason, this sparks a minor epiphany.
Maybe she missed me, too.
ES: Do you like being interviewed?
KB: No. Laughs.
ES: Why not?
KB: I prefer asking people questions, I like learning about people. I don’t feel like I have a strong self-concept. If someone asks me “What is your favourite colour?” I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what qualities describe me. I’m such an air sign, I’m literally just vibing.
ES: Was it hard writing a book then? Because books are inherently concrete; you have to figure out how you feel about things. It’s like the most punishing way you could have chosen to express yourself.
KB: That’s funny. I was thinking about this for a written interview I was doing. The question was “What do you like the most about creative nonfiction?” And I realized what I find so appealing and interesting, but also challenging, about it is how the self is negotiated in creative nonfiction… When I read fiction, I’m always like “Oh okay, this is literally about the author’s life.” Laughs. They’re not telling us, but I’m reading between the lines and I know the author is mad at her sister.
ES: She thinks she’s fooling everybody but we can tell.
KB: It’s definitely like that with poetry, too. Like that’s your trauma, I got you.
But with creative non-fiction, there’s this constructed self where I can say “This is exactly what I’m going to tell you about me.” I don’t want to abuse that privilege, so it causes me to think about things more deeply. What am I going to share, how am I going to share it, and am I okay with whatever I write existing in this more permanent state? But the editing process was weird because I was re-reading things I had written over a year ago and my feelings had changed. It’s fucked up and I feel in pain over it. Laughs.
ES: That’s so interesting. Rick Rubin said something similar on Andrew Huberman’s podcast–that when you make a piece of art it’s only representative of how you feel in the moment. You don’t have to be married to that feeling forever. I found that idea very freeing.
KB: I think that reframing helped me be at peace with this idea. I’m not actually that tortured by the apparent permanence. I chose to write a book, and I enjoyed doing it. It was important for me to have that experience. One thing that my editor emphasized was the idea of protecting my pure expression of thought. Even if what you think changes in the future, this can represent how you feel right now.
I don’t find writing pleasurable, so I need a carrot and a stick and a gun and a cheque waiting for me to actually do something.
ES: You just got back from an all-inclusive vacation in Mexico, and it occurs to me that a good resort is kind of like a giant mall. Is it hard for you to relax on a vacation like that, or are you sitting there analyzing the socio-political implications of a poolside margarita?
KB: Oh my god. Yes. This is the second time I’ve been to an all-inclusive. The first time, I was 20. I didn’t enjoy that vacation — mostly because I was insufferable — but also because I got second-degree sunburns all over my body after deciding I didn’t believe in sunscreen.
But yes, I was thinking about the socio-political aspect a lot on our trip. I don’t presently have a solid thesis on it, though.
ES: Do you feel like you’re able to disconnect, though? Do you have any strategies to help you relax when you are roasting in the Tulum sunshine?
KB: I feel like I went into the trip with that intention. Part of the reason I wanted to go to Mexico was that I felt burnt out, not just from writing but from my real-life job teaching high schoolers. I think being in the working world helped me be more at peace with being there. Not in the sense that this potentially exploitative situation is suddenly alright, but I feel like my relationship with work has given me a better understanding of my purpose in the world, and how other people might find purpose in their work, too.
ES: That makes sense. Exploitation is baked into most of our interactions at the moment, which I think is a central thesis of Big Mall. We can either keep exploiting each other without concern or try our best to care for each other.
The book mentions several malls in the U.S. and Canada, but I was thinking about The Grove in Los Angeles, which I love, but isn’t mentioned. I wonder if there’s an argument to be made that the only good malls are the ones that are outdoors or open-air.
KB: Oooh. I would say so. I haven’t been to that many open-air malls… I think it feels more organic. Going to Hollister in California feels cool and natural compared to driving to West Edmonton Mall in the middle of winter, wearing your winter coat, and watching people track sleet into the building.
ES: West Edmonton Mall’s entrances are a nightmare in the winter. Everything is wet and there’s all that salt and brine and you’re wearing your big ass boots. Disgusting!
KB: Ugh it even smells bad.
ES: For me, childhood pain is being at the mall as a teenager with giant boots on. You feel like the biggest loser on the planet.
KB: I was thinking about what jacket to wear today and it reminded me of going to West Ed and being like “I’m going to leave my jacket in the car.” That was always so liberating.
ES: Did you feel the need to dress up when you went to the mall? I would always feel the urge to look nice when I went shopping for clothes, which is insane because you’re going to the store to buy clothes you presumably don’t have!
KB: I still feel that way when I go to Aritzia. I know the sales clerks are just doing their job, they are not worried about how their actions affect me, but when I walk into Aritzia and I’m not treated with the utmost warmness I wonder if it’s because I’m ugly.
ES: The inferiority complex is so real.
KB: In high school, I had a distinct feeling that I needed to impress these little employees. Like, I was 18 and I was so concerned with what the 15-year-old working the register thought of me.
ES: The best compliment I’ve ever received in my life was when the hot girl working the cash register at American Apparel told me I looked like I should work there.
KB: Oh my god, I would die.
ES: I was like, “Are we in love? Are we getting married?”
KB: “Are we going to kiss right now?”
ES: Suddenly I’m buying $300 worth of primary-coloured hoodies…
It’s interesting, though, how we lose these sorts of memories in an age of online consumption. The whole experience is so frictionless that it almost ceases to exist. You’re buying in a fugue state.
KB: It was such a weird form of social interaction. I remember girls at our high school would brag about going into Hollister and being asked to work there.
KB: No, that was a lie. The air sign strikes again! I did not enjoy it at all. Laughs.
ES: This isn’t a gotcha moment at all, but I think that might be a good thing for other creatives to hear. That you can like something and not like something at the same time.
KB: It’s the idea that I hate writing but love having written. I’ve always found writing to be very difficult. It’s so consuming. I can’t even hang out with people on the days I write because I’ve spent eight hours at my computer thinking about the mall. After that, I need to stare at the wall with a glazed expression. Intellectually it was a very fulfilling experience. I learned so much and I challenged myself a lot, but I also felt lonely while writing it. I felt insane. I don’t understand how anyone can go through the process of being so isolated and staring at a screen and not feel unnatural or unhealthy.
ES: If you had a chance to redo this book, would you change your practice at all? Is there a way to do it without feeling so alienated?
KB: I think the correct answer is “Yeah, I would set routines, I would do morning pages.”
ES: The way you just read morning pages to filth.
KB: Laughs. I wish I did them. But doing this book, I think I’ve realized I have a gross writing process. Gross as in it’s yucky, but also gross as in it needs to happen all at once. It needs to be all-consuming, it needs to happen in a pressure cooker. I wrote this book when I was in school and working. I’ve had periods of my life where I was unencumbered, and I didn’t write or didn’t write things I liked. I need to have these weird pressures put on me to do it.
ES: Is that an ADHD thing?
KB: Hell yeah. For sure. I don’t find writing pleasurable, so I need a carrot and a stick and a gun and a cheque waiting for me to actually do something. Laughs. I guess that’s #ADHDproblems. But I was diagnosed while I was writing the book and I learned a lot.
ES: How many menty-b’s did you have while writing the book?
KB: A lot. I lost count, honestly. I wish I was someone who could write 10,000 words a day but in reality, I would spend six hours looking at one paragraph. It’s maddening. I don’t know how to describe it. It doesn’t feel like writing. Everything becomes obsessive. I need things to be written in a way that I like and it’s just not fun.
ES: Do you feel like being diagnosed with ADHD during the process changed the book at all?
KB: I hadn’t even considered that. Like, I’ve thought about how Adderall made the book possible. Thank you Big Pharma.
It’s corny but I think any sort of mental health diagnosis does give me a greater sense of self-acceptance and self-awareness, which I struggle with but enjoy having. So it gave me a better understanding of my own viewpoint and how I understand the world. It allowed me to be more in tune with myself as a writer.
I find my own loneliness so embarrassing… But talking to people about the book has offered me a sense of communion. Either they feel the same way, or they recognize aspects of it.
ES: You write in the book that the deepest truth you hold about yourself is that you’re a bad person…
KB: Oh shit!
ES: … and that you aren’t just bad morally but functionally. One, you’re so real for that. Laughs. Two, as your friend I disagree, and three, I wonder if you can expand on that. Like what does it mean to be functionally bad? I can’t imagine a situation where I would think either of those concepts apply to you.
KB: Well, thank you. I’m remembering that part of the book. I think I’ve spent my entire life striving for connection. I’ve always wanted to be more connected with people than I am. I’ve always felt lonely. At the same time, I know how to fix that feeling and don’t, or can’t. I fuck up at it. That idea became pronounced to me when, as I explain in the book, my friend died after he was struck by a train. It made me realize how short our time is together, and how it’s something you need to put effort into. I think if I was in your shoes and reading something like that, I would say “What the fuck, please chill out” but it was the most honest way I could express it.
ES: That’s fair. It’s interesting… It feels like, while the book seems okay with living in the ambiguity of whether malls are good or bad, you extend malls a lot more grace than you extend yourself. Laughs. I feel like it’s so easy for our minds to play these little games on us when the reality can often be so different.
KB: Word. I’m going to put that in my reserves for the next time I write about myself. It’s interesting looking at the book externally. I tend to internalize things I dislike about the world and they can come out in how I talk about myself, for example. If I see something problematic in society, I feel problematic because I’m part of society.
ES: Now that the book is out there, and being received, do you feel less lonely?
KB: It’s nice having conversations like this because it helps me get over the hump, for lack of a better term. Laughs. It feels very naked to be, like, “Heyyyy have you ever, maybe, thought about… Ending your life? No?? Just me???”
Maybe it’s just that I find loneliness awkward to talk about. Like, I find my own loneliness so embarrassing. By telling people about it, you’re allowing them to help you. But then I’m choosing not to let them. But talking to people about the book has offered me a sense of communion. Either they feel the same way, or they recognize aspects of it.
ES: I don’t find the experience of loneliness inherently embarrassing. I think it’s the vulnerability around it that’s embarrassing. You’re admitting something that we may see as a weakness. It’s like admitting you don’t like how you look in the Uniqlo change room. These things everybody experiences but we are reluctant to talk about.
KB: Yeah it just feels like showing yourself a little bit. In the last chapter, I talk about mall music and why people coalesce around these YouTube videos centered on mall music. Jia Tolentino had a line about how mall music makes the experience of being in a place like this less lonely or less vulnerable. You can experience sitting alone in the mall without feeling alone.
ES: One thing I love about you is that you’ve got a roster of niche internet groups that you keep tabs on. I was wondering if you’ve infiltrated anything interesting lately.
KB: Speaking of vulnerability! This feels even crazier than anything we’ve discussed so far.
One that my partner Alex and I are obsessed with right now is this Facebook group formed around the Mexican resort we just went to. It’s called TRS Yucatan Fans/Addicts.
ES: Oh my god.
KB: We’re 21,000 strong. And I say “we” because I have posted there. It enriched the experience because, without getting too deep, it helps you realize that these people aren’t just brainless idiots. Like, #EveryoneHasAStory.
We learned there’s a secret drink at the resort. If you go to the bar and ask for the Fans/Addicts.
ES: What did that taste like?
KB: It has bourbon, blueberry juice, pomegranate juice, some mint, muddled berries, and some secret ingredients. It was really good.
ES: The last time we chatted before your vacation, you had a burgeoning obsession with model-slash-TikToker Alex Consani. What is it about her that speaks to you?
KB: To me, Alex reflects the duality of women. I think it’s so crazy how she is a high fashion, couture model, but then absolutely unhinged. I was listening to a podcast about the PR strategy around Reneé Rapp, and how she’s supposedly so crazy. She says things like “Have you ever kissed someone?” and people are like “She has no media training!” Like, I think she does. Alex is just on another level, though. She’s screaming on public transit. She’s uninhibited.
ES: But then I wonder if that’s only interesting because she’s this beautiful, white model.
KB: I think it’s all relevant and all ties into her iconography. She is this absolute goddess, a perfect-looking person, and yet she’s singing “Hands on My Knees Angelina Jolie” on the 1 Train.
It’s similar to why Brittany Broski is so appealing. I think back to girlhood. I would spend so much time hanging with my sister and my cousin and we were just freaks. We were so weird and gross. To have some girl be fucking weird, and not in a quirky-hot-Jennifer Lawrence way is humanizing.
ES: We’ve been known to play a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill now and then. So my last question is Fuck, Marry, Kill: Pedro Pascal, Oscar Isaac, Alan Rickman.
KB: Oh my god! How could you!
Um, I’d marry Alan Rickman for sure. Wow. Pedro Pascal is going to be shook when he reads this. I think I’d have to kill him. There’s something afoot with him. His whole thing was that he was sneaky hot, but lately, it feels like he’s aware of it. I’m sure Oscar Isaac is also aware of how hot he is, but I’d have to shag.
