There is a particular kind of entertainment that comes from wandering around Malé with nowhere particularly important to be.
Sometimes I am actually running errands. Sometimes I am driving around simply because I need some air – even if the air in Malé is questionable amidst all the traffic. And sometimes, somewhere between picking up groceries, hunting for fabric, grabbing a coffee and whatever else I have convinced myself is absolutely essential that day, I find myself completely captivated by a shop window.
Amidst the chaos of Malé – the busy, traffic-filled streets, the constant honking, fumes, traffic jams and general mayhem – there are little moments that occasionally make me stop and look. More often than not, these moments happen to be behind glass.
Malé’s shop windows have always fascinated me. Not necessarily because they are beautifully styled – although some are – but because they often have a character entirely of their own. Mannequins dressed in combinations that raise more questions than answers, clothes layered together with an admirable disregard for conventional merchandising, accessories suspended from unexpected places or arranged in wonderfully bizarre ways. Occasionally, I come across something so wonderfully unique that I simply have to stop and take a photograph.
For someone with automatonophobia – the fear of human-like figures such as mannequins and dolls – some of these windows might be the stuff of nightmares. Especially when mannequin body parts appear to have been mixed and matched with other objects, even someone without such a phobia might find the sight a little unsettling.
A particular display I came across last month immediately brought to mind ‘Legs’ from Toy Story – Sid Phillips’ strange Barbie whose design is essentially a hook attached to a pair of legs. The name itself is a double entendre, given the fishing hook attached to her and the slang meaning of ‘hooker’. You know where this goes.
The reference felt oddly appropriate: funny enough to make me stop and take a photograph, but just uncanny enough that I could understand why someone with a fear of mannequins might have turned around and walked very quickly in the opposite direction.
And that is part of what makes these windows so entertaining.
There is something wonderfully accidental about them. They are not necessarily trying to be conceptual installations or carefully curated visual experiences. They are shop windows doing what shop windows are meant to do – showing you what is inside. Yet, viewed through the glass, they can become tiny pieces of accidental theatre: unexpected little scenes appearing in the middle of an ordinary day.
Perhaps it is the fashion designer in me, always looking at how clothes are presented. Or perhaps I have simply developed an appreciation for the wonderfully strange visual moments that appear around Malé when you are not particularly looking for them.
Either way, I have started photographing the ones that make me stop.
This is not a guide to the best-dressed shop windows in the city, nor is it a critique of retail merchandising. It is simply a collection of the odd, funny, unexpected and occasionally terrifying things I happen to notice while going about my day. A little joy found in observing – and perhaps something oddly charming within the chaos of Malé.
Consider it a little window into Malé – quite literally.
