Well then… how to put it… tastes and preferences are a matter of opinion. And in the large family of municipal statues capable of triggering a “but why?”, this one clearly deserves a little place of honor.
In Amasya, in northern Turkey, walkers may come face to face with a rather striking work of art: Selfi Şehzadewhich could be translated as "the prince of selfies." An Ottoman prince, sword in one hand, smartphone in the other, taking a selfie. Yes, you read that right. An Ottoman prince. With a phone. Long live anachronisms.
Installed on May 9, 2015 on the banks of the Yeşilırmak (here on Google Maps), the river that flows through the city, this statue pays homage to the history of Amasya, known in particular for its ties to the princes of the Ottoman Empire. On paper, the idea was probably to blend heritage, humor, and modernity. In reality, the result mostly gives the impression of a history textbook crossed with an Instagram story after a rather long night.
An Ottoman prince who clearly knows his own good side.
One thing is certain: the Prince of Selfies doesn't go unnoticed. He's depicted in traditional attire, sword held proudly, in a very serious pose… but with his arm extended forward to frame his self-portrait. All that's missing is the "Valencia" filter, three hashtags, and a caption like "a little stroll by the water."
The contrast is obviously the whole point. It's a rather intriguing mix of historical grandeur and a very contemporary digital reflex. A bit like Napoleon posing in front of Les Invalides with a fluorescent phone case and a selfie stick. It would certainly cause a stir. Would it be a good idea? That's for each person to decide.
In Amasya, at least, the installation quickly went viral on social media. Not necessarily because it was beautiful, but rather because it was improbable enough to become a small phenomenon. viral curiosityAnd in this area, it must be admitted that an Ottoman prince immortalizing his best side is something else.
A buzz… and a phone that didn't last long.
The success wasn't just digital. The statue also attracted curious onlookers, some finding the idea amusing, others seeing this historical selfie as a somewhat frivolous way of dealing with the Ottoman past.
And as often happens when the internet intersects with public space, the story took a somewhat absurd turn. Shortly after its installation, the phone held by the prince was smashed by vandals. Then his sword was also damaged, which meant the poor statue required police protection for a while. One can easily picture the scene: officers tasked with guarding a metal prince deprived of his smartphone. Heritage, sometimes, is a sport.
The municipality subsequently repaired the damage, proof that the object had nonetheless found its place in the local landscape. And it must be said that, in the category of "monument that raises an eyebrow," this one is remarkably effective.
The selfie, that great monument of our time
What makes this statue amusing, beyond its frankly kitschy side, is that it sums up our relationship with images quite well. Taking a selfie has become such a commonplace gesture. that it can be grafted just about anywhere: in front of a sunset, in a restaurant, in a museum, with his cat, and therefore, apparently, in a representation of an Ottoman prince.
You might find it ridiculous, clever, ugly, funny, or all of the above. But the statue has at least succeeded in one thing: making people talk about Amasya far beyond its borders. And ultimately, for a work conceived around the selfie, that's almost to be expected. It catches the eye, triggers reactions, encourages sharing, and makes you want to show it to someone and say, "Look at that!"
This just goes to show that even an Ottoman prince can end up an influencer without having asked for it.
