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On a vacation in Italy a few years ago, my mother and sister were unleashed on the leather markets of Florence, euros at the ready should the faintest temptation arise in the form of a wallet, purse or some other treasure. I, on the other hand, was rolling my eyes while holding their bags as they ransacked the stalls. Really, I wanted to ditch them and go to the Uffizi gallery or do anything that didn’t involve acquiring more trinkets. My mother, flummoxed, asked, “You really don’t like to shop any more, do you?”

As a self-professed mall rat in my youth, I’d often spend my whole allowance on a purchase at the accessory store Claire’s. And later, as I became more seriously interested in fashion and started working toward a career in magazines, I’d pinch pennies to invest in designer pieces. I still remember the day I bought my first pair of on-sale Miu Miu heels and squealed the whole subway ride home. Shopping was always exciting. It was something to do with friends, but it was also a way to express my developing sense of self.

So where did my apathy come from? I’d chalk it up to shopping feeling more like a bore than a special experience, especially when it comes to the monotony of what’s actually available to buy at accessible price points. The designer pieces I’m drawn to are usually outlandish (a one-shouldered, iridescent aqua bodysuit by the Danish brand Saks Potts was a rare recent instance of something catching my eye). But given that I mostly work from home in leggings, that kind of purchase is impossible to justify.

I’m not the only fashion professional who has become disinterested in shopping. Lauren Sherman, the executive editor at the website Business of Fashion in New York, recently self-imposed a ban on buying anything new in 2020. “I was buying the same grey sweater 15 times and it just started to feel less satisfying,” she says. “All the stuff I buy is inspired by old Geoffrey Beene or Helmut Lang, so why don’t I just spend this year finding those original pieces?”

A couple of editors losing their shopping mojo can’t be blamed for all the retail industry’s trials and tribulations. But there’s no question, the changing habits of people who once loved to do serious retail damage is part of the disruption. The rise of e-commerce, more awareness about sustainability, smaller homes with smaller closets, the inconsistency of the gig economy and a millennial shift toward spending disposable income on travel and wellness are all affecting how we view consumption.

As a result, brands are completely rethinking their retail model to lure shoppers, such as me, back, often with a focus on entertaining their patrons. “I think especially for the younger generations, people are looking for a unique experience,” says Eileen Halpin-Tarrant, a Toronto-based retail expert. As president of Oberfeld Snowcap Advisory Services, Halpin-Tarrant works with retailers to secure leases on a variety of locations, many of which are becoming showrooms rather than shops.

Open this photo in gallery:

A marching band performs at the Nickelodeon Universe theme park in American Dream, a new mall in East Rutherford, N.J.Samantha Nandez/BFA.com/BFA

Malls have seen the most drastic change in the past decade. “We’ve seen shopping centres that once would have had mostly fashion as their draw and biggest percentage of retail space, converting to less apparel and more entertainment and restaurants as ways to increase dwell time inside,” Halpin-Tarrant says. Essentially: Come for the food, stay for the shopping, which is the tactic that American Dream, a new entertainment and retail megacomplex in East Rutherford, N.J., is banking on. Developed by the group that owns and operates West Edmonton Mall, American Dream brings together a Nickelodeon indoor theme park, a DreamWorks water park, and an indoor ski park with 350 stores including high end brands such as Hermès, Moncler and Tiffany & Co. "We believe that consumers still want the brick-and-mortar experiences, but not in the traditional sense,” says Don Ghermezian, American Dream’s chief executive. “Retail cannot exist in today’s environment without entertainment.”

Entertainment isn’t the final word, though. “I think the biggest problem with multibrand luxury retail is a lack of differentiated product,” Sherman says. “You might differentiate the experience, but if the product isn’t differentiated, people can just look on their phone and find a better deal.”

For small business owners who might not want to build a water slide down the centre of their boutiques, creating that sense of discovery often involves focusing on exclusive products and installations. Danielle Suppa, who owns the Toronto design shop Souvenir, curates her store’s wares specifically with that in mind. “We deliver an experience that is constantly changing and never duplicated,” she says. “A lot of the stuff we carry is never going to be seen again.”

Suppa commissions one-of-a-kind ceramics and jewellery from local artisans to showcase alongside rotating art exhibitions that are curated seasonally. “I can keep evolving the store, while increasing the impetus to buy,” she says.

A few months ago, while on a trip to New York, I visited Café Forgot, a pop up that showcases emerging and unknown talents. As I perused the wild selection of iridescent cat sculptures and bags beaded in the style of early-2000s screensavers, I came across a rare, wacky temptation: a vintage bustier, re-imagined by designer Martina Cox with strips of pink fringe and floral upholstery. If I had to describe what led to me to finally drop $200 on the piece – and what’s missing from the shopping experience today – I think it’s called the thrill of the find.

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