What do Manikins Look At?

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nervous. Is he looking at me? Why is he so thin? Is he standing on a box? I’ll say hello or wave, but he never responds, impassively still with arms folded and wearing an ugly pair of shades. I wonder if he’ll come alive one day and scare the crap out of me.</p><h2 id="5cd0">Marcel Hemp</h2><figure id="eeb4"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*[email protected]"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><p id="ca1b">This guy’s name is Marcel Hemp, a Frenchman if I’m not mistaken. He has his name on his neck and wears a hemp shirt in front of a clothing store, clothes made of organic fabrics. He’s a bit of a pinhead, head too small for the rest of his body. Carved from wood, he has no arms and a lamp base for his legs. So what is he looking at? Not me, that’s for sure. Either staring at something on the ground or laughing smugly to himself for wearing such an expensive shirt.</p><h2 id="6037">The Horse Manikin</h2><figure id="9188"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*[email protected]"><figcaption>A horse manikin outside of a saddlery shop in Santa Barbara, CA. Photo by Mark Tulin</figcaption></figure><p id="f571">This horse manikin looks like it wants to go for a ride but is stuck in front of a Western shop in Santa Barbara. I must have passed it every day on my travels up and down De La Vina Street. The owner dressed him for the holidays, and he often wore a saddle. Unfortunately, the shop closed perm

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anently during the pandemic, and my guess is they put the horse out to pasture. I wanted to pet him or even saddle him up, but I knew the store owner would complain. So I wrote a flash story about him instead, entitled <a href="https://www.twistandtwain.com/flash-fiction/the-wooden-horse/">The Wooden Horse</a>.</p><p id="c04c" type="7">Hopping on my springy horse made me feel like a big cowboy. It gave me a rough, gritty identity even at six years old. In my little fantasy world, I rescued damsels and chased the bank robbers. I was as heroic as the Lone Ranger sitting atop his horse, Silver.</p><h2 id="3bde">The Lonely Coffeehouse Manikin</h2><figure id="ed40"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*[email protected]"><figcaption>A lonely female manikin at a local coffeehouse in Palm Springs, CA. Mark Tulin took the photo.</figcaption></figure><p id="0d88">Who says manikins can’t be sad and lonely? This pretty blond manikin was sporting coffeehouse merchandise in the storage area of a local coffeehouse. She wore a pair of sunglasses but never saw the light of day. She should be standing out front, greeting the customers, showing off her cute outfit with a smile on her face. Instead, all she saw were the loaves of bread, coffee grinds, and tile squares on the floor. If I weren’t such a coward, I’d rescue her from her coffeehouse captivity.</p><p id="2ab6">© 2021 Mark Tulin</p><p id="bb3e"><a href="undefined">Mark Tulin</a></p></article></body>

Photo essay

Don’t worry. I don’t have a fetish for manikins. They perk my curiosity. Standing out from the crowd, even though they aren’t living. Some are impressive dressers, while others seem to be drama queens. Take the one above. Before the pandemic, I came home from a road trip in San Antonio when I decided to have lunch in Palm Springs. I pulled over to the side of the road when I saw this manikin showing a lot of leg with a pink dogface. Impressive. I don’t remember the storefront because I was so preoccupied with getting her picture before she barked at me.

The Scarecrow Manikin

The photo was taken in Oxnard, CA, by the author, Mark Tulin.

I’m not sure this is a genuine manikin. It’s more of a cross between a manikin and a scarecrow. Every Tuesday, I took a yoga class by the beach in Oxnard. On my way to the beach, I ran into this guy. It’s not one of the better-looking manikins I’ve seen, but my guess is it’s effective in scaring crows and potential intruders. Whenever I pass him, I get a little nervous. Is he looking at me? Why is he so thin? Is he standing on a box? I’ll say hello or wave, but he never responds, impassively still with arms folded and wearing an ugly pair of shades. I wonder if he’ll come alive one day and scare the crap out of me.

Marcel Hemp

This guy’s name is Marcel Hemp, a Frenchman if I’m not mistaken. He has his name on his neck and wears a hemp shirt in front of a clothing store, clothes made of organic fabrics. He’s a bit of a pinhead, head too small for the rest of his body. Carved from wood, he has no arms and a lamp base for his legs. So what is he looking at? Not me, that’s for sure. Either staring at something on the ground or laughing smugly to himself for wearing such an expensive shirt.

The Horse Manikin

A horse manikin outside of a saddlery shop in Santa Barbara, CA. Photo by Mark Tulin

This horse manikin looks like it wants to go for a ride but is stuck in front of a Western shop in Santa Barbara. I must have passed it every day on my travels up and down De La Vina Street. The owner dressed him for the holidays, and he often wore a saddle. Unfortunately, the shop closed permanently during the pandemic, and my guess is they put the horse out to pasture. I wanted to pet him or even saddle him up, but I knew the store owner would complain. So I wrote a flash story about him instead, entitled The Wooden Horse.

Hopping on my springy horse made me feel like a big cowboy. It gave me a rough, gritty identity even at six years old. In my little fantasy world, I rescued damsels and chased the bank robbers. I was as heroic as the Lone Ranger sitting atop his horse, Silver.

The Lonely Coffeehouse Manikin

A lonely female manikin at a local coffeehouse in Palm Springs, CA. Mark Tulin took the photo.

Who says manikins can’t be sad and lonely? This pretty blond manikin was sporting coffeehouse merchandise in the storage area of a local coffeehouse. She wore a pair of sunglasses but never saw the light of day. She should be standing out front, greeting the customers, showing off her cute outfit with a smile on her face. Instead, all she saw were the loaves of bread, coffee grinds, and tile squares on the floor. If I weren’t such a coward, I’d rescue her from her coffeehouse captivity.