1 en route to my fairy-lit homeland makes me feel like a salmon instinctively migrating upstream. Saturday, noon: I must have taken a handful of Santa photos as a toddler in Kendall during the '90s, so navigating the traffic on U.S.
Photo courtesy of Jess Swanson Dadeland Mall Having embarked on this self-assignment expecting The Nightmare Before Christmas, I emerged with the reassuring knowledge that the holiday spirit is indeed infectious. So I set out to visit ten malls and their Santas in 48 hours.Īnd what did I learn? Among other things, I ascertained that sitting in a chair for hours on end and interacting with hundreds of children a day for minutes at a time, all the while tempering their outbursts and remaining positive, requires a special sort of magic. If crossing the Dolphin Expressway in less than two hours during rush hour is an exercise in futility, how can Santa circumnavigate the globe in a single night? More to the point, who are these mall Santas? Where did they come from? And where do they all go in January? Snow is close to a meteorological impossibility in Miami. With the exception of a Grateful Dead show, when was the last time you saw a portly, jolly, white-bearded, and ruddy-cheeked old gentleman in Miami? For 11 months of the year, they're an endangered species - and then they suddenly emerge each December, like cicadas, to headline at seemingly every mall in the county, from Kendall to Aventura.Īs a 27-year-old woman with neither dog nor child, I'm not a mall Santa's target demographic.
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