Mannequin - Stories about the strange and incomprehensible. From the history of mannequins Turning into a mannequin girl stories

I do not pretend to be a comprehensive study - just a few facts from the history of mannequins.

Before becoming a writer, Frank Baum, author of the famous children's book The Wizard of Oz, was the editor of the first window dressing magazine. He even published a book on the subject, highlighting the importance of using mannequins to attract customers.

In the time of Baum - at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries. - in the manufacture of the best mannequins, human hair was used; the dummies had glass eyes and artificial teeth made from materials used in dentistry. Sometimes human teeth were also used.

Most often, the legs and arms of mannequins were made of hardwood, and the feet, for greater stability, were made of cast iron. Because of this, one mannequin weighed over a hundred kilograms. At the same time, the body and head of the mannequin were usually made of wax, which melted when the temperature rose. (This problem has been made even more pressing by the growing popularity of backlighting for window dressing.)

One day, one designer decided to depict a semblance of a party in the window. The hostess held a glass of wine in her hands as if she were making a toast. The next morning, the designer saw a crowd of people in front of the shop window. He was sure that they admired his creation. He proudly made his way through the crowd to the window and saw with horror that the "mistress of the house" was "flattened" under the light of the lamps. She lay on the table with her jaw dropped, the wine was spilled, although the glass was still clutched in her hand. The picture "the morning after drinking" was somewhat different from the original idea of ​​​​the author. In addition, such scenes were unlikely to promote sales.

Mannequin manufacturers have complained that the biggest problems have always been associated with male figures. If female figures were rarely objectionable, then, according to customers, male mannequins often lacked masculinity. The problem turned out to be so acute that some manufacturers began to produce male figures without heads.

Thanks to the efforts of a Christian women's organization that considered mannequins obscene, in some cities in the United States it was forbidden to dress up mannequins without first hanging the window. These laws were in effect until the 1960s.

One of the most famous mannequins in history was Cynthia, the creation of a plaster sculptor named Lester Gaba. Lester liked his own work so much that he took Cynthia home and even began to appear with her in public places. (Nevertheless, he was by no means crazy.) Real recognition caught up with Cynthia in 1937, when Life magazine published a selection of her photographs. After that, she became a real "celebrity": the best fashion houses sent her clothes, and jewelry brands - jewelry, secular columnists wrote about her. She even became a radio talk show host and acted in films. The pinnacle of Cynthia's secular career was an invitation to the wedding of Wallis Simpson and the abdicated Edward VIII. In 1942, Lester was drafted into the army and sent Cynthia to live with his mother. The most surprising thing is that when Cynthia crashed in an accident (during a visit to a beauty salon), Lester was given a leave of absence.

Cynthia at a brunch with writer Tyra Winslow.

Reviews

Hello Vasily! I have read your story with interest. Written easily, read in one breath. I also have a story based on the idea of ​​a body swap:
Curious (albeit controversial) seemed to be the reasoning of the heroine that the appearance, corresponding to some particular standard, "can not help but like it." Indeed, in life, a new appearance might well not please a particular guy. Especially since he was already in love with Katya (and after all, they fall in love, whatever one may say, not only in personal qualities, but also in the physical shell, too, even if it is far from some mainstream ideas about the ideal). In any case, Katya was already a close person for him, to whom he had become attached. A new body - it's someone else's, unfamiliar, you need to get used to it. So, approaching this place, I expected that the guy just wouldn't like the girl's new body. Or, at least, he will be shocked and it will take him time to get used to this new body, that is, they will have to start building relationships almost from scratch.
However, when the reader's guesses do not coincide with the author's idea - that's good. It would be uninteresting if the development of the plot, the reactions and actions of the characters could be predicted in advance.
By the way, I had a question about Alla: it turns out that she deceived the main character? She got the body of not a black woman, but Katya? Why did the Agency allow such deceit on her part?

What to say? Firstly, for a beginner author, you are very professional. I don't know what's the matter here. Either innate talent and a sense of language, or age and experience, or work and education are somehow indirectly connected. But the fact remains: it is rare that the first work was so mature and done at such a level.

If the first, then as for advice - do as your instinct tells you. Personally, nothing prevents me from making sense. And it doesn't seem unsaid. If someone has questions - so they have the opportunity to ask them to you live. How much to chew or not - you decide. Balance comes with experience. Moreover, for each author this balance is different.

The only thing that personally seemed uncomfortable to me (but this is subjective, of course) is the strong pulling of the plot on the individual, personal experiences of the author. (We are talking about another work, to which you gave me a link). The work "catches" when the reader can identify one of the characters with himself. At least in something. Therefore, when the feelings, events, life circumstances and characteristics of the characters are too unique (so much so that most readers cannot find anything in common with them), then in order to arouse interest in them, there must either be a detailed explanation of the situation, or through these characters it is necessary to show some These are general things that everyone understands. That is, then there should be a minimum of features, and a maximum of universal things. Otherwise, you can become like science fiction writers, overloading the work with invented words, the meaning of which is incomprehensible - an abundance of all sorts of "burbulators" and "crakozyabromobiles" without deciphering what it is. The reader should have an associative picture in the brain. And incomprehensible words do not cause such a picture. The same - and with incomprehensible feelings, incomprehensible personality traits, incomprehensible behavior of the characters. Authors who describe their professional activities or social work sometimes sin in the same way - those things that are clear to the author and his colleagues without explanation, are completely incomprehensible to a reader who is far from this profession. And they evoke a feeling not of fiction, but of highly specialized literature. This means that some things must either be deciphered "for the layman", or they must be sacrificed for the sake of the general goal of the work. It often happens that the author introduces some details that are close, understandable and seem important to him. But if this is not a personal diary, then this needs to be filtered. Or the readership will be too chosen - such a work will be interesting only to those whose life experience is similar to that of the author. Do you understand what I mean? When a lot is written about strange, incomprehensible realities, it's boring. The piece is starting to feel drawn out.

There may be exceptions, but this requires aerobatics from the author. This already needs the talent of not only a writer, but also a "translator" - for a different mentality. This is usually done with the help of allegories, and such a work already acquires some signs of a parable. Of course, you can tell the Papuans about the design of a nuclear reactor. But it is very difficult to make it so that they understand and become interested :).

Black had a nightmare. Black woke up and remembered that today is exactly a year since he saw her for the first time.
White-white hair flowed down to the shoulders... White-white shoulders with the most delicate pink tint. He ate this ice cream. My teeth hurt so nicely. But more eye-catching. A bit of the universe, a bit of ice, broken glass, faux crystal from the kitchen chandelier. And ink. Black. She loved contrasts: white - black.
She didn't know about him for three months. Those three months that he already knew about her. Then he made up his mind. I sent the letter myself. Born at night In the night. And when the leaves fluttered from the birches and the cold began, he came again.
Shop. Counter. You can still run away. Closer. Back! She is staring. Wrong. I did not recognize. Didn't guess. Hello. Hello! Late. Smile. Mutually. Um... I... You... Thanks for the letter.
Thank you... Letter... Shouldn't have written it. They met her in the car. The bar is already open. He also loved the bar. There was a great bar in his apartment. Small bar on the wall. Deserted. Completely empty. That same evening, he threw himself ... threw him out of the window. I called my ex-wife, but a male voice picked up the phone. The voice insistently repeated: "Hello, hello, you are there.., hello, disgrace, hello, as much as you can, who says, hello, put it out of your head, you..." Black hung up. But the voice continued obsessively: “Disgrace, we will have a child, this is disgrace, why are you silent? Who is speaking, why are you silent? Our marriage... Marriage...
Marriage is marriage.
Black ran home. He climbed into his hole. It looks like he was crying. Or laughed? .. I felt so sorry for myself. The store is closed... She was taken to a bar... It's over, it's over. He lost her! But why? Why didn't she get hit by a car? Why didn't she die? He would love her. He would bring a bouquet of artificial roses to the cemetery. Or not. Not roses. Carnations - they are cheaper. Money is so precious... She said, "Thanks for the letter." And also, yes, he remembered when she got into the car, whispered very quietly: "Come on Wednesday."

The week stretched into eternity. An eternity between "Come Wednesday" and "Hi, how do you like my new dress?". Since then, they began to meet in her store. Black came and admired her. She talked about bars. (She liked beer). Black remained silent and smiled. He tried to catch the synthetic scent coming from her body. Sometimes, especially when the store was very stuffy, it worked out quickly. And then he began to fantasize. The store was empty. The shoppers went out. There were two people in the dimly lit room. He and she. Soft like plasticine. Hot, malleable plasticine. The two figures were crushed into one. Her hands are tied behind her back with a black stocking. The whip whistled piercingly in the air and, describing a semicircle, softly hugged her bare back. There was blood on the crimson scar. Darling, you're in so much pain! Lips touch the salty surface. A transparent droplet slowly moves in the hollow between the shoulder blades. Again the screech of the whip. A groan seeps through clenched teeth. The body beats a small shiver. The mascara is slightly smudged at the corner of the eye. Dampened hair tangled to the side. A thin strand stuck to his forehead. Oh how hot it is today! How hot!
Once Black invited her to his place. He knelt under the crucifix all evening. All night long. Lips whispered a prayer. Let her come! Let her come!.. Devil, let her come! She... let... the body... let her body stay for the night. She did not come. Black fell asleep on his knees. The tourniquet tied his arm above the elbow. The tip of the needle poked blindly into the warm surface, looking for a vein. When the syringe was empty, Black smiled sweetly and sleepily. She was with another man. She dissolved into... A spasm gripped her body. She was with another and... Sulfuric acid flowed through the blue threads. She... Her... With others...
The next day he was taken to the hospital...

Emaciated, transparent, weak, Black visited the store three weeks later. She was wearing a black dress made of the finest, transparent silk.
- Hello, - instead of words, a clot of consumptive cough splashed out of the patient's larynx.
- Why did not you come?
- Ah, what are you talking about? Ah, yes... I remember... it seems... No, no, what are you. That's funny. Well, think for yourself. To a stranger...
- I've known you for a long time and then ...
- I beg you, Arthur ... I mean, Jack ... Hm. Sorry I forgot...
- My name is Blake. Black. I repeated the name a thousand times. Is it really that hard to remember? Black - black, night, death, space! .. - his voice broke into a scream. - Is it really so difficult! I asked you to come just for one night! For a short interval between sunset and sunrise! You gave me hope. Why did you say "Yes!"?! Why did I write this damned letter?!
Black nervously and quickly headed for the exit. Formless fragments of words flew after them. A milky fog fell over the City. Someone poked me in the shoulder. Trembling fingers pulled out cigarettes. The pack fell out of hand. Someone's foot stepped on her. For the better. For the better. Hate you!
Returning home, he closed the doors with an English lock and drew the curtains. The room was filled with loud heavy music. An image of a strange face appeared on the screen of the mirror. A week-long stubble sprouted through the bluish stains. Black circles under the eyes. Black is black. The heavy ashtray touched the surface of the huge mirror. Shards littered the floor. Black lay on the bed. Shoulders were shaking from crying...
After sunset, the room was plunged into darkness. Silence. Someone breathed pleasantly into the back of his head. Clothes flew to the far corner. There were only black shoes on his feet. On sharp heels.
- Did you call me? I could not visit you right away, - dry lips covered the body with kisses. (Sometimes his ex-wife came to see him). - Now it will be easier. I missed you. So why did he pick up the phone? What did he tell you? I'm so tired of all this. If only I could take it all back. If this was a dream, I would find the strength to wake up. I'm sorry. Sorry. It's all my fault. I'm tired of him. We had “nothing” for four months. He disgusts me. Do you know how it is...
Black didn't let her finish. He pressed the familiar hot body to himself and jerked him over onto his back. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. Light from a street lamp seeped through the curtains. Wet gleamed on bitten lips. Fingers gathered the sheet into a ball. Lacquered nails dug into the hard mattress. She cried out weakly. A black shoe fell like a blot on the bed, glass on the floor...

He forbade himself to go to the store. He worked on his brain. Somewhere there must be a nerve responsible for... controlling... responsible for... for this love... for this passion. At every mention of it - a painful shock. Incurable. The blizzard laughs outside the window. Incurable. The kettle on the stove has been boiling for ages. The ashtray is full of crumpled, mottled filters. Doorbell...
She came by herself.
To his house.
Late in the evening.
She left her fur coat and the scent of French perfume in the hallway.
They were together for ten minutes. Doorbell. Another one. How many friends he has! Turns out. Appeared. Another call. The evening is poisoned. Laughter in the kitchen. How many people! He treated them to coffee. Im coffee. They have coffee. Earrings in the ears shone like a fake diamond. She laughed at the bad joke. Black spilled some coffee on his trousers. He sat silent. The TV was on behind the wall. The actor watered the enemies with lead hail. Muscular hands confidently squeezed the machine gun. It is a pity that there is no machine. It's a pity. It's a pity. One horn is enough to turn the kitchen into a slaughterhouse. At the moment of death, her eyes will beg for mercy. She will be ready for anything. A few short bursts can cut off that stupid laugh. Get rid of friends.
And then everyone went to see her off. Blake was left alone. Laughter was gone. He knew that from the mourners she would choose one. He knew exactly who. He knew this because the one she chose had no idea that he might know. Didn't guess. What can. What she had already chosen... What could she know... Black clutched at the table top. Cups with unfinished coffee flew to the floor ...

I need to know for sure - yes or no - Black leaned heavily on the counter. You see what happened to me. He touched his face and pressed lightly on it. The skin wrinkled. Has burst. The flap pulled away, revealing rotten meat.
A sweet, cadaverous scent crept up to her nostrils.
- I'm decomposing. I'm slowly dying, - a large tear of coagulated blood rolled down Black's cheek. - Do you see this? He took off his glove, revealing the bone. - There's still some fabric left on it. Tomorrow there will be nothing. I need your body or your rejection.
She didn't listen to him. She talked about the bar. (She liked beer). She talked about a new foreign car that appeared in the city.
- Speed. Imagine, she develops a breakneck speed. Once I was invited to ride by my friend. Oh it was great! He took...
- I love you, fool!! The scream flew past her and shattered against the wall. - Say yes and I'll buy you that damned car! Two cars... and a bar... I'll buy you everything... the whole... universe! Just give me your love or body! Give me your body for one night. Or not". Say never. It's such a waste. Me... - Black choked on a choking cough.
- You have a friend? she asked when Black stopped talking.
- You know.
"And you're ready to die for him?" Well... if, let's say, a situation arises where...
- Why do you need it?
- Romantic! she laughed out loud. - You're a pathetic romantic. Medieval knight. Don Quixote. She burst into sinister laughter. - Give me your body ... - She started hysterical. - For the night... The universe... Yes or no... Yes or... never. Get away, you idiot!
A heavy bottle of deodorant snatched from a shelf hit Black hard on the temple. She grabbed the second one. - I'm sleeping with your friend, you hear, pathetic worthless scum! Get out, I don't want to know you anymore! We sleep with your friend! Satisfied? You forced me! You ruined everything! A little more, and there would be nothing left of you. You would rot. You would have decomposed before my eyes, but you would not have learned anything. You ruined everything. I hate you!

Mania. Dummy. She froze in a magnificent ingot of plastic. A man in a loader's uniform came to change her dress. She was exposed. Alien hands rummaged through the body. She languidly closed her eyelids, flashing a glassy eye. But Black was already free.
Black remembered that today is exactly a year since he saw her for the first time. The railway ticket office was open. Ticket for everything. Going nowhere. Everything remains in the past. The cashier smiled sheepishly. The conductor looked at the ticket for a long time. Strange...
The mannequin worked in the same store. Happy. (In the evening she liked beer). A friend got a job as a loader. He was slowly dying. His body was decomposing. A new foreign car has appeared in the city. But Black didn't care. He was already far away.
1999
From collections

Recently, more and more often I begin to listen to various stories and stories of relatives and friends, at least a little connected with mysticism or inexplicable phenomena. Here is one of them.
A family of three, on the outskirts of Moscow, nine-story panel building with a loggia. Our heroes live on the 7th floor in a two-room apartment. Mom Galina is a seamstress, dad Igor is a museum worker, daughter Marisha, five years old, goes to kindergarten and often walks in the evenings with her mother on the playground in the courtyard of the house.
Nothing unusual happened in the family, except that the sister of the father of the family, after moving, asked to shelter their parrot of the “necklace” breed for a while until the renovation in the new apartment was completed. Yasha, as the new pet was called, was old and very quick-witted. He walked around the house on his own, climbed into a huge cage to sleep, ate modestly and knew about 40 words and phrases like “if you want to eat, fry cutlets”, “the truth is somewhere nearby!”, “Yasha is good”, “I want to Crimea”, “ strangers on the doorstep! ”,“ a bird in the house - death to a cat! ”,“ don’t touch it with your hands, I’ll bite off your ears ”and many other funny words. With a five-year-old child, the bird had a very warm, one might even say, reverent relationship: Yasha gently mumbled something to the girl in the evenings, allowed himself to be stroked, touched by the tail, and with the radio turned on at full volume, he danced like a professional dancer, right on the back of the cot. In general, the family accepted Yasha as their own, and at a referendum over dinner recognized him as an honorary member of their modest unit of society.
The idyll ended after the father brought a huge plastic mannequin from work, explaining that the museum held an exhibition at which the costumes of various peoples of the world were presented, and at the end of it this particular exhibit turned out to be not quite serviceable, and it was decided to dispose of it. Remembering that his wife often complained about the lack of a model for sewing, a caring husband asked to give the mannequin to him. So a huge doll appeared in their two-room apartment with a face painted in the style of a Japanese samurai, but naked, since the costume, of course, was not given away in the museum. "Jap", as the girl called the doll, lived on a glazed loggia adjacent to the nursery. Yasha received the samurai coldly, only glanced skeptically in his direction.
As I mentioned earlier, the girl's mother was engaged in cutting and sewing, and then the day came when she finally needed a model. Going into the nursery in the evening, Galina froze for a moment, seized with superstitious horror. From the window, a stern, pale face distorted with hatred looked straight at her, as if peering into a cozy room where her daughter was peacefully playing. Marisha's voice brought Galina out of her stupor: “Mommy, don't be afraid! Good Jap!"
A few days later, the story repeated itself, but now it looked truly strange, since Galya remembered exactly that she had left the mannequin in the corner of the loggia with her head to the street window. How the doll's face was again turned into the window of the nursery remained a mystery, because for this the doll would have needed to turn the body 180 ° on its own. The Jap was again turned to the street and covered his head with a terrible face with a basin for washing clothes.
At night, Igor was awakened by a roar coming from the nursery and accompanied by the crying of his daughter and the cry of Yasha. Rushing to the noise, he saw the following picture: Marina was sitting on the bed, covering her face with her hands, and crying, the basin with which the mannequin was covered was lying on the floor of the loggia, and the doll's head was again peering out the nursery window. But most of all the parents were frightened by the parrot, which crawled out of the cage and yelled in a bad voice: “Aliens! Aliens! Strangers on the doorstep!
The next day, a family council was held. The girl refused to explain anything, saying that she woke up from a terrible roar. The parrot, on the other hand, kept repeating and repeating the same phrase over and over again all day without interruption: “Strangers! Strangers!”, refused to eat and leave the cage. In the end, the parents decided that the daughter, most likely, went out onto the loggia herself and dropped the basin, and the parrot got scared in her old age and is now experiencing stress. Marina was lectured and strictly forbade one to go out onto the loggia and touch the mannequin.
A couple of days later, the girl asked her dad to take the scary doll out of the house, since Yasha and she are afraid of the mannequin, he walks around the loggia at night and knocks on the nursery window with plastic fingers, and you also have to keep the curtains drawn so as not to see the pale, twisted face. Seeing how excited the girl is, the father decides to take the doll back to the museum in the morning. Marina is put to bed, but after a few hours the parents again run to the nursery to the noise and cries of the child.
This time the picture looked absolutely wild: the balcony door was open, Marisha was standing on the bed, hugging the pillow with her arms like a shield, and on the floor was a mannequin, on whose head a parrot fiercely beats the painted face with its beak.
No one could explain what exactly happened in the room, the child was calmed down and taken to sleep with his parents, the parrot was barely pulled away from the doll and put in a cage, from where he screamed for a long time and tried to get out, wielding his beak. On the same night, Igor took the mannequin to the trash, as the face and head of the doll were disfigured by a bird beyond recognition.
Peace returned to the family only a month later, the fear was forgotten, Marina again moved to sleep in the nursery, and Yasha was released from the cage. The relationship between the girl and the parrot became even warmer, now the bird slept exclusively on the back of the crib, as if on guard, not leaving the post until the morning. And when Igor's sister returned after the repair was completed for a pet, Marina made a real scandal, barricaded herself in the nursery with a parrot and said that she would not give Yasha away or she herself would go after him to live with her aunt. As a result, the bird was left to the girl, and Igor promised his sister to compensate for the loss by paying for the summer vacation.