Attack of the DDD Mannequins!

I first encountered one of these miracles working on a Saturn commercial shoot in SoHo in the spring.  Walking up Broadway (probably in search of a Starbucks – whose coffee I loathe but which my industry has made a staple/status symbol of (ie. how annoying your order is directly proportional to how important you are)), a flash of enormous tatas turned me around in my tracks.  As a fairly hetero female, the boobie double take is generally reserved for the freakishly large or just freakish, I guess.  There is something compelling about these mannequins, leading to my search for others in the Metropolitan area.  Where are big breasted mannequins generally found?  I’d like to put forth a challenge to others to join me in documenting these mountains among mannequins, please post on this page.

The top picture was taken yesterday on the west side of Sixth Ave. near the ACE stop, and if you can’t make out, is surrounded by an assortment of dildos and edible undies.  I snapped the second picture so many months ago on that jaunt up Broadway, near Prince, in the window display of some cheap, slutty clothing store that has defied rent hikes and somehow remained, nestled between Prada and Armani Exchange.  It’s hard to imagine these voluptuous mannequins in the window of the skinny jean emporiums like H & M or even Victoria’s Secret.  I assume it’s the proportions which shock me; these kind of boobs on that kind of body just don’t exist in nature.

I probably should mention I do have a preexisting mini-obsession with mannequins; last year I received a shelving unit made out of a mannequin from a divorcing couple and picked up free mannequin legs off of Craigslist with a pair of undies still attached.  When I asked why the mannequin was wearing underwear, the man reassured me that his girlfriend had put them there, as he shoved the legs through the open driver’s side window of my Wrangler.  I’m still not clear as to how that was meant to reassure.  Anyway, I’m sure I provided some neighborhood entertainment when I attempted to remove them with a stick in front of my apartment building.  I like mannequins.  They’re creepy.  Some with vacant glass eyes, like in the old JC Penney department stores of my childhood; some with no faces, like silent, latex-covered fetishists.

I don’t necessarily care about the connections that most likely exist between the places these ginormously tittied mannequins are found, or what it reveals about our society, though I’m sure it would be a fascinating exercise.  Rather I’d like to revel in the discovery of a new breed of super mannequin, who appear ready to bust out of their glass cases and take on the city, one Meat-packing district club at a time.