Head-Dresser

A market stall at first glance, and yet, a surreal composition unfolds.

Plastic mannequin heads rise from wooden sticks, lined up with aloof dignity, each adorned with scarves and hats meant to lure the hurried passer-by. They stare silently into space, held aloft like modern-day trophies, eerily anthropomorphic yet stubbornly artificial. The display isn’t just for commerce—it’s unintentional theatre.

The pun in the title Head-dresser plays cleverly on the expected hairdresser. But instead of grooming the living, this stall ‘dresses’ the disembodied, the ornamental. These mannequins are not being styled—they are the style, repurposed vessels for fashion’s utilitarian need.

And to the side, a woman walks past in winter garb, seemingly unaware of her ghostly company. The real and the facsimile briefly occupy the same visual space, unaware of each other, each playing a part in the same mundane drama of daily life.

This is street photography in its truest form—not staged, not posed, but discovered. An image born from juxtaposition, timing, and the photographer’s capacity to see the uncanny hidden in plain view.