Spookily, we (there was more than one of us!) were having a conversation only last week during which we (there was more than one of us!) decided that mannequins are not what they could be.
Then, spookily, as we walked the streets of London’s glittering Milan this weekend in between ‘doing the shows’ (it’s a phrase. Don’t hate us) and reeling in horror from the eyebrows, we came across this mannequin and, well, we think we love him. He lives at Dirk Bikkembergs (don’t ask us for addresses. What do you think this is? Lark Rise to Candleford?) and he looks like he knows the way to San Jose.
Whilst there, we also decided that whilst Dirk Bikkembergs is full of the sort of stuff we wouldn’t buy – shiny shit, mostly – they did have almost all the right sunglasses, a nice line in clingy shorty shorts (see above), mannequins with thighs the size of a KFC near a roundabout (see above) and their branding is all about bumming (see above).