Yesterday I went to the Mall of America to purchase a new suit for the upcoming wedding season—but also for church, doctor’s appointments, dental checkups, piano recitals, building dedications, visiting elderly relatives, haircuts, and suit shopping.

I’ve been to the Mall of America enough times and know my way around it well enough that I can generally go directly to the three or four stores I frequent (Banana Republic, H&M, the Apple Store, and of course the Yankee Candle Company for the latest potpurri scents) and bypass all the other bullshit. Though today I did walk directly through the amusement park in the center of the mall, which experience was surreal and depressing (or as the Germans would say, surrealdepressingdischtstrum).

I suspect that, when I go shopping for clothes, the music playing in the store indirectly influences my shopping experience and purchasing decisions. Like, if the music’s crap, I won’t like any of the clothes and will end up buying nothing. What’s arguably more dangerous, however, is that the music will be good and cause me to go on a spree.

Guess which one happened yesterday.

I figured I was safe when I entered BPub (that’s what those in the know call it) and the music was some generic downtempo. But then I was in the changing room trying on an outrageously expensive polo shirt and some new jeans (which by the by, I think I’ve lost weight since I’m down from a 34″ to 32″ waist, thanks) and I heard the intro to “Since I Left You” by the Avalanches, and I had the following thought: “This song is awesome. Therefore, I also look awesome in these extremely stylish ‘distressed’ boot-cut ‘dark finish’ jeans!”

After that I heard “Eple”, and by the time “Phantom Limb” started up I was hauling piles of clothes to the counter for the hapless metrosexual cashier to hold onto while I went back for more.

At one point I was eyeing some chinos (yeah, I just used the phrase “eyeing some chinos”—you’re welcome) and an old Police song came on: “Voices Inside My Head” from Zenyatta Mondatta. It was an odd choice considering the heretofore indieternative / retailtronica format of the previous songs, but I’m so glad I heard it, because the groove on that song is just plain sick, and I’d more or less forgotten about that album. Yeah, Sting’s a douchebag, and the band was notoriously dysfunctional from the start, but when they were on, they were fucking on. After I got that album in twelfth grade I played along with it incessantly, hoping to build up Copelandesque chops. I didn’t quite succeed in that, but I had a piccolo snare and a splash cymbal, and that’s what really mattered.

Anyway, the moral of this story is: if you want to save money, only shop at stores where the music is shitty. If you want to head back up 35W with eleven different blazers in colors ranging from sandalwood all the way to taupe, shop where they’re playing Röyksopp.

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