When I was maybe 19, 2001-ish, the details are blurry, but I was a passenger in a car going to a choir gig at a church somewhere near Summit Avenue in St Paul. We were going out to eat, before or after the service I cannot remember. It was my first introduction to Grand Ave. We hadn’t been driving very far from home and I could not fathom how I didn’t know this street existed. I was charmed by restaurants I’d never heard of before. Storefronts I’d never seen before dazzled in a way mall stores could never, nothing homogenous about them. I vowed to myself I would return to this magical stretch of road and explore. I did. I didn’t know this kind of inspiration and aspiration existed. What Grand Avenue had was special. Being there, participating with it, made me feel special. It was fancy, but not in an intimidating or pretentious way. I was a teenager from the suburbs, a 90s mall rat, yet this place was for me too. It lived up to every expectation I’d had observing it from the car that day. That sparkly feeling when I’m visiting a place for the first time - to this day, I chase that high.
I became familiar with this part of St. Paul, then vowed that I would live in the neighborhood. When I was 21, my first apartment was a couple blocks from Victoria Crossing. It was in the garden level of a century old building and it had moths, among other characteristics we shall lovingly deem “quirks”. I still look back at that short chapter of my life fondly.
Grand Avenue is still worth a visit, but huge vacancies are lingering signs of unsustainable allowances made throughout the last 20 years. Grand Hand, Golden Fig, Mischief, Stitches and Styles, Evergreen Collective, Roseline’s Place and a few other delightful indie shops carry the weight of making Grand Avenue the destination it is today. And there are still plenty of charming restaurants and other services to visit.
When a city allows large chains and non-local developers to come in, you can be sure any boost is short-lived. Chain stores will leave a community as quickly as they arrived when the bottom line gets squeezed. They will leave massive footprints behind that only another chain store can afford to fill, leaving them vacant for….ever? So it seems.
Sometimes I can zoom out and see myself as an important contributor to a neighborhood like the one I was so charmed by over 2 decades ago, which is humbling and surreal and very cool. Selby West - and several other pockets of Selby Avenue - have a similar magic. There is an absence of chain stores. There is an abundance of little shops, restaurants, and services that are owner-operated. A few of the building owners live here so they care about who their commercial tenants are. Some businesses have existed upwards of 30 years, a testament to the long term investment small brick-and-mortar makes in a community.
How long did Lululemon, North Face, or Anthropologie last on Grand? Not all that long. Their costly buildouts have been empty for years now and the distant property owners don’t care because of the tax breaks they receive. Putting just about anything in these spots would at least generate tax revenue and offer a few jobs to the neighborhood, but no. I got curious and called about the old J. Crew space - rent is $27k/monthly. There are at least four other spaces of similar square footage in the neighborhood, all vacant. Best of luck finding an occupant for one, let alone five or more.
Whether you’re in Brooklyn, Asheville, Sioux Falls, Austin, Portland, or St. Paul the risks to small business districts are the same - suffocating under capitalistic, patriarchal schemes that have been sold to us as progress yet offer little substance or lasting value.
Small businesses are not charity cases. We shouldn’t have to beg for support, but that’s becoming more and more common. The consequences for closing a small business is personal and often severe. We can’t afford big marketing campaigns and the ones that we could possibly afford and once worked no longer do so we wave our arms vigorously on social media hoping for any conversion. What we end up with is entertaining people for free, selling an illusion (delusion) that likes and comments and shares alone will somehow keep us in business.
What if these unique neighborhoods all went away? What if little boutiques were all replaced with H&R Block and T-Mobile and Edward Jones? What if your favorite local coffee shops all became Dunkin Donuts? It's not hard to imagine.
This past weekend, Selby West marched in the annual Grand Old Day parade. I was overbooked so originally opted out of participating but then peer pressure got to me (nod to Megan at UpSix) and I managed to show up with my husband and 2 dogs in tow. We had a wonderful time. As we walked down Grand Avenue, the streets lined with so many happy people, food trucks and crafty vendors, I felt nothing but gratitude for this street in this small but mighty city. Now if only everyone attending that parade would commit to shopping at small businesses whenever possible what incredible strides we could make.
I’m only one person with limited reach, but I feel like documenting some of these special places that sparkle and evoke inspiration and joy while they still exist. Local influencers do this well enough already, but few have the insight of actually running a brick and mortar shop themselves. I have lists of shops spanning 37 states and counting that I’d like to visit. I could do that full time for the rest of my life and never see them all, but that’s no excuse to not try a little bit, eh? I am chasing those twenty-year-old Grand Avenue feels. There is no starting point or official plan, just wherever the wind takes me.