Cutting a Fine Figure

If mannequins could come to life, there'd be a din at Lalit Shah's shop in Siddharth Nagar, Goregaon. And the first thing they'd probably inquire about would be the frequent power outages. For now, Shah sits at the desk that forms the nucleus of 3S Mannequins, unperturbed by the savage afternoon heat.

"Jo cheez mannequin kar sakta hai, woh salesman nahi kar sakta (a salesman can't do what a mannequin can)," he says, echoing the adage likening mannequins to silent salesmen. Indeed, that's what the '3S' in his brand stands for: Silent Sales Staff. A well-dressed mannequin in a window display, adds the proprietor of this 15-year-old company, is the difference between window shopping and 'real' shopping.
His view is seconded by Ashok Dharmani of Ken Mannequins in Dadar. "Even dead stock, if displayed on a mannequin, sells. No one buys dead stock otherwise," he grins.
The mannequin is a paradoxical figure. Despite its ability to subliminally entice customers into a shop, it's also the most overlooked enabler in the retail space. It is steeped in pop culture — right from the 1987 film Mannequin to the now-cult Paaneri sari commercial that thronged Mumbai cable TV — and even used in installation art. Yet, the dummy, along with its creators, is largely unnoticed. Unless, of course, it's adorned with garish make-up and wigs.

Model makeover
Mannequin dealing was near-unheard of before the surge in Indian retail. Dummies were mostly imported or made on a small scale. This changed when Mango, Zara and other high street brands trickled into the market and gave the humble mannequin a total makeover. Anand Doshi, whose FY Trading Corporation is a stone's throw away from one of the epicentres of the retail boom — High Street Phoenix — was witness to the change.

"Fuller-bodied, skin-toned Indian dummies gave way to mannequins that were slender and 'abstract'. Almost all mannequins in high-end retail stores either have featureless faces or no faces at all," says Doshi, whose clients include Being Human and Mufti. The burgeoning of retail markets globally also led to China becoming the largest manufacturer of mannequins. Chinese dummies are factory-made, and mostly plastic, as opposed to fibre glass ones that are handmade by Indian manufacturers. Fibre glass mannequins can last as long as seven years, adds Doshi. And though their plastic counterparts are easier to transport, the end product lasts a few months. Ashok Dharmani tut-tuts when asked about Chinese mannequins. "It's like buying a car. What would you rather park in front of your bungalow? A (Maruti) 800, or a sedan?" he asks.

'Westernised' mannequins are preferred in urban centres, but the Indian hinterland is a different ball game. People opt for regular-sized female mannequins with bigger busts. As for male mannequins? They have to be ripped, says Lalit Shah. So much so that they'd probably make Michelangelo's David look scrawny.

Joseph Varghese of Bangalore-based Tranz Mannequins says fuller-proportioned female mannequins are more common in South India. "Especially in sari showrooms, where the contours of the body affect the fall of the material," he says.

Cutting-edge dummies
Ironically, the same driver of this largely-unorganised industry's growth — retail — is its greatest challenge. Online retail has triggered fewer footfalls in malls, in turn having a trickle-down effect on mannequin manufacturers. Anand Doshi concedes that he can't be certain about the sustainability of the business 20-30 years from now. "E-commerce has also affected the price we quote to clients," he shares. His mannequins range between Rs6,000-15,000.

Mannequin makers abroad are more innovative and particular about quality control, feels Poonam Mishra, who teaches fashion business management at the Indian School of Design & Innovation at Parsons Mumbai. These cutting-edge dummies — some of which move and talk — provide sensory experiences and tie in with the brand they represent rather than double as clothes hangers. Visual merchandising has taken on new dimensions, with interactive window displays and augmented reality bettering the shopping experience. "Mannequins are just props," says Mishra. "It's visual merchandising that's the silent salesman."

But the likes of Lalit Shah and Ashok Dharmani are not deterred. If anything, Shah prides himself for having semi-mechanised and LED mannequins ("good for displaying undergarments"). He also points to the 'Avatar' and 'alien' models in a corner of his shop. "Waise yeh kuch kaam ka nahi hai, par yeh hamara shauk hai (These aren't of much use, but I like making them). They raise the curiosity quotient when displayed in a window."

His USP is the Rs27,000 'chocolate mannequin'. This upside-down dummy has its legs splayed in the air while its upper body is formed into a puddle. "I got these from abroad. All of them sold like hotcakes to denim brands," he beams.

Dharmani, meanwhile, says he's created "80-90 poses" for his mannequins. "Without poses, the value of the mannequin is zero," he stresses. "We have to keep creating different styles. This is my way of doing so." He's also fortunate in that he's got a customer in Vashi who happens to be a mannequin lover.

"In his 1500sq.ft. showroom in Raghuleela Mall, he's kept 50 mannequins," laughs Dharmani. "Even his other shops, all 18 of them in Vashi's Sector 7, are full of mannequins."
Maybe with more customers like these, India's mannequin dealers will have fewer things to worry about.

Extract from The Mannequin Mystique by Emily and Per Ola d'Aulaire, which appeared in the April 1991 edition of Smithsonian magazine:
Though "fake people" have come in various guises over the years — children's toys, artists' lay figures, wax effigies, tailors' dummies — the European fashion doll is actually the progenitor of the modern mannequin. The dolls, ranging from a little over a foot tall to life-sized, with torsos of wax and wood and porcelain faces, were stylishly clothed and sent abroad to spread news of the latest modes from country to country. So popular were the little ambassadors of fashion and good will that they received safe passage across borders even during times of war.

In 1391, Charles IV of Spain shipped a life-sized doll, dressed in the style of the French court, to the Queen of England as part of ongoing peace negotiations. Henry IV dispatched miniature, elegantly-attired dolls to the de Medici women to update them on British trends. And Marie Antoinette kept her mother and sisters apprised of the latest vogues at Versailles with the elaborately clothed figures she regularly sent them.

After the French revolution, however, it wasn't only Marie who had lost her head. Fashion dolls were replaced by drawings and by utilitarian dress forms made of wire, leather and wicker. These were often headless: padded coat hangars that displayed the clothes with about as much personality as a doorknob.

With their keen appreciation for style, however, the French regained their senses in time to introduce the first full-bodied mannequin in 1870. It was no accident that the event coincided with the Industrial Revolution: the time when American craftsmen perfected the manufacture of large, plate glass windows, when sewing machines were invented, and when cities began to electrify.

With the new lighting and large expanses of glass, a succession of stages had been created on the city streets of Europe and America. The men and women who strolled the boulevards were the audience; all that was needed were players. Enter, stage left: the mannequin.