By Nicole Naim Dib
On Times Square
Or
(The Duality Between Reality and Illusion)
Two words, eleven letters, one million connotations.
Chaos. Color. Garbage. Grandeur. Masses. Magic.
The perfect pandemonium.
The heart of the city.
Times Square.
The most polarizing place in New York City is none other than Times Square. It’s a place where neutrality doesn’t exist; you either love it or hate it. Tourists look around in sheer disbelief, snapping pictures, their dilated pupils reflecting the flickering lights as if they’ve stepped into a cinematic spectacle. Meanwhile, locals avoid it like the plague and proudly claim their disdain as a badge of honor that only a true New Yorker can carry.
Sentiments aside, the one indisputable aspect of Times Square is its central location and numerous access points. In New York, all roads—and most subway lines—lead to Times Square. As a result, it became a frequent meeting place for interviews, and before I knew it, I found myself in there more frequently than I would have preferred.
Times Square was the first place my dad took me and my siblings when we visited New York for the first time when we were young. He had worked in the city briefly in his youth and rarely spoke about that time in his life, but when he did, he mostly talked about its vastness, its coldness. I still remember the excitement on his face as he observed our reactions, brimming with joy when he realized we found Times Square as mesmerizing as he did. I feigned enthusiasm to please him, but deep down I found it ugly and dirty and felt an acute pang of disappointment in my young heart. The first time you visit Times Square, whether you love it or hate it, you’re overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle, bombarded by countless distractions from every angle, your eyes are drawn only to the shiny things.
The billboards!
The lights!
The madness!
While these dazzling distractions command attention, they also serve a more insidious purpose, pushing the less flashy, but equally present, aspects into the background. They remain in the shadows, unseen. Behind this glittering façade lies Times Square’s dimmer side.
The homeless.
The hopeless.
The immigrants.
This stark dichotomy between illusion and reality was reflected in Kim Kyung-Hoon’s seminal photograph of a mother fleeing tear gas with her daughters at the border. When I first saw it in the newspaper, I studied it for a while trying to make sense of it. What struck me most—more than the tear gas canister exploding in front of barbed wire, more than the sight of two young children being attacked in broad daylight, more than the facial expressions of terror—was the incongruity of the mother’s attire. Her Frozen t-shirt, with the smiling faces of Anna and Elsa, seemed utterly out of place amidst such chaos. Sisters at the border don’t look like Anna and Elsa running away from castles; they look like sisters Saira and Cheli running away from noxious substances. I found that juxtaposition—the fantasy of innocence against the harshness of their reality—too ironic, too raw.
Many parents, hoping to give their children something to look forward to, often tell them they’re going to Disneyland before migrating. However, upon arrival, these parents quickly realize that New York is far from the promised land, and the fantastical world they promised their children resembles Banksy’s eerie Dismaland more than Walt’s jolly Disneyland.
The happiest place on Earth.
What?
A concrete jungle where dreams are made.
What?
The American dream.
What? What? What?
Still, I believe Times Square is the closest thing New York has to Disneyland. It has the power to make you feel like you’re somewhere else, somewhere unreal. It’s a man-made constellation of make-believe, a collage of lights, dreams, and pixels that sweeps you off your feet, making you fall for its fantasy, even if only for a moment, even if it’s a lie. While many remain entranced by this illusion indefinitely, those who break free can see that the two worlds, illusion and reality, coexist side by side, in the same place.
Times Square is one of the few places in the world where migrating people are turned into Disney and Marvel characters, blurring the line between fantasy and reality. It brings to mind Dulce Pinzón’s photo series The Real Story of Superheroes, where migrating people are portrayed as superheroes going about their everyday jobs. Passersby walk past these characters all the time, barely giving a second thought to the person beneath the costume, without really seeing them. Their costumes act as shields to protect their immigration status. Or do they? I used to walk past the costumed figures roaming the streets, wondering about the person inside. I wanted to know more about them, ask them questions.
What’s your name?
How’s your day going?
Do you think your costume is empowering or demeaning?
If you could be any other character, who would you be and why?
But mostly, how do you feel about Times Square?
Norma lifted the large Minnie Mouse headpiece off and took a deep breath, as if relieved from the weight of the costume. She waved her hand in front of her flushed face, trying to cool down. Her brown hair was tied in a bun, and her eyes were framed with brown eyeliner. I couldn’t tell her age, she seemed neither too old nor too young.
“How’s your day going?” I asked.
It’s been a normal day, just like any other. The weather wasn’t great this morning. It was really cloudy and it looked like it might rain. That worried me because I can’t work in the rain. But fortunately the weather cleared up, and I’m glad to be here working. I really enjoy this job; it helps me clear my head. Both kids and adults often ask to take pictures with me. I don’t mind if they can’t always afford a photo. Seeing their smiles and excitement is enough for me. But sometimes, when I’m dealing with personal issues, it’s hard to keep the energy up and stay in character. Today has been a little tough for me. My dad’s been sick for the past three days, we think it’s cancer. The good thing is that no one can see my face behind the costume, otherwise they would’ve noticed the tears I was shedding earlier.
I watched as Norma carefully put her headpiece back on for the photo. She’d mentioned earlier that she preferred not to show her face. Just as she started walking away, I realized I hadn’t asked her something important.
“Norma, one last thing,” I called out abruptly. She turned back to face me. “Do you like Times Square?”
She thought for a moment before answering from a distance, “I do, actually. I like being with others.”
Nicole Naim Dib is a Mexican writer and creative who has lived between Mexico City, New York, and London. She earned her B.S. from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York and her M.A. from Central Saint Martins in London. Her work moves between the worlds of fashion and socially driven projects, including founding Proyecto Mariposa to support New York’s immigrant community. Her writing has appeared in Culturala, and she recently completed her first book, Ice Cities, a collection of essays and portraits exploring migration, identity, and belonging—subjects shaped by years of working across cultures and creative disciplines.