Even though there are plenty of attractions and distractions, the act of actually accommodating people still feels like a challenge. The mall is curiously under-bathroomed, and trash and recycling bins aren’t prominent. The music can be comically loud, like the hi-NRG goth-SoulCycle assault that defied Shazaming.

That tension, between being a place for people to shop and a place for people to merely linger and marvel, is the clearest on the ground floor. Cartier, Piaget, Rolex — inside, they’re beatific, and there are guards at the doors to ensure they remain that way. Out in the corridors, greeters in black suits and blue ties enthusiastically guide lost tourists to the escalators, perhaps hoping they’ll be sated by some H&M or Athleta, or some ice cream from Van Leeuwen (which always had a line).

The grimmest space in the whole building is the art store near the exit, Avant Gallery, which sells overpriced, absurd post-graffiti canvases that would be gauche even in the middle of a third-tier suburban mall .

For a development whose idea of an art installation is the staircase-to-nowhere Vessel, as conceptually rigorous as the sprinkle pit at the ice cream museum, this perhaps isn’t much of a surprise.

But as a barometer of the level of sophistication the owners expect of their customers, it’s telling. They’re counting on the fact that money doesn’t know where it came from, and it doesn’t care where it goes — all the way to the sky, or buried deep in the ground.