The Secret Lives of Stiffs

By Anne Fishbein

Mannequins can be headless or missing a limb, but we humans are undiscouraged by these limitations. We can’t help seeing ourselves in their molded poses. And if they’re doing their jobs, we’ll buy the clothes off their backs. At times we walk past these working stiffs without a second glance—their presence is so familiar that we don’t question their odd existence. But sometimes a mannequin’s outstretched hand, its fingertips seemingly reaching for some kind of connection, give us pause. We search for signs of humanity behind their blank-vessel expressions. On occasion, we find ourselves aroused by their perfect bodies. And if you should ever find yourself in the middle of a gathering of mannequins—in the showroom, for example, at acme display in downtown los angeles, where the inventory that surrounds you includes “female euro-mannequins” with “your choice of wig among 11 styles and four colors,” “male euro-mannequins with asian features,” “voluptuous mannequins” with pinup bodies, “plus-size mannequins” to reassure our insecure selves, “economy adult mannequins,” and especially the children … The four-year-old girl, the six-year-old boy with arms akimbo and molded hair—you might start to wonder about a mannequin’s soul.

This article was originally published in Slake No. 1. To read all of the stories from that issue, purchase or subscribe at shop.slake.la.