I double clicked the flashy headline and found journalists reporting the suicide of the famous designer Alexander McQueen. Too shocked to notice I kept checking the spelling and repeating the name to myself. Processing. Yes it was him. I scanned the lines quickly to find details about this horrific news. I finished reading the report but something didn’t quite add up. People were talking about the suicide of a young man, just another fashion designer. That who was too sick of fashion and tried to commit suicide several times before finally succeeding. Reading on, who was that guy?My story with this article began a month or two before his death. I was always fascinated with the aesthetic side of fashion; the runway for a cause rather than its habitual presentation of clothes to house or rock music. It wasn’t long before I found the topic of my research; all the books eloquently spoke about the king of drama and fantasy, a designer named Lee Alexander McQueen.
Born to a cab driver in London’s East end, Lee, the youngest of 6 children had no riches to finance his dreams of becoming a designer, just an incredible talent that apparently, was more than enough. He learned the finer points of tailoring at Anderson & Sheppard in Savile row then moved to Gieves & Hawkes before working in Japan and Italy. The ‘hooligan of English fashion’ returned to London in 1994 and enrolled in the Masters program at the Prestigious Central Saint Martins School of Art and Design. His reputable design house founded in 1992 was eventually purchased by the Gucci group after the famous designer left Givenchy.
L’enfant terrible was inspired by everything from the bold to the beautiful, he had no exceptions. He came from the most unpredictable place; always had us believing his last show would be his final moment of creativity, appearing in the next show behind an even juicier aspect to feed on. He took great risk in presenting his extravagant shocking tactics; exploring the sinister sides of childhood in a deadly circus, bloody women sent down the runway, models trapped in mental institutes and walking through water sheets, and most recently, our deadly fear of gorgeous insects that could terminate our universe.
I was no longer researching. I missed the deadline for turning in my article and by then had found a new hobby; disappearing. I would lock myself for hours delving in every show since 1992, exploring the hidden messages and applauding his fantastical outer coating.
One night, I recall it very well. I had been away for a few days and thus paused my readings, only soon decided that it had been too long since I’ve flown away in another magical show. The headline on my PC blinded me: ‘R.I.P Alexander McQueen’!! For five minutes I would stare at these three letters, that ugly trio they use when someone is dead.
Internet coverage did him no favors, suddenly all the irrelevant details didn’t seem to matter. Strange to read that journalists wasted precious time to dig stuff like about how much his London Mayfair apartment was worth, his recent marriages and breakups, and the ‘maroon’ blanket they had him wrapped up in. Who was that guy? People were not to be blamed questioning what all the fuss was about. I decided not to miss the deadline this time. Not to bore you with details that you already know or can read for yourselves but to introduce you to the Lee I fell in love with.
Being the toast of every Paris Fashion week wasn’t really about the spectacle garments. But really about how innumerable highbrows of the fashion world and press would willingly drag themselves through another rainy Parisian night to watch his shows. They knew how much they needed him. Desperately.
I remember his ‘Voss’ (Spring/Summer 01) collection, Pretty women trapped in a reflective glass cube. Models had their heads wrapped up in what seemed to be like bandages, just the way they would in an asylum. People chattered about the dress with a castle posing as a shoulder pad, the top made from a jigsaw puzzle and the razor shell dress, but it was a lot more than that. McQueen opened up the closets for our skeletons to roam free and penetrated the delusional concepts of our own beauty. He had models gazing at themselves for what seemed to be like hours, reluctantly walking away after being too bored with what they see in the mirror. Imitating us.
What amazed me most, of course after appreciating the cost of 15 minute show, was that McQueen ensured the presence of an old man that was responsible for the real moths present in the show. Making sure they don’t come alive too soon before the show. Truly an Einstein.
‘It’s only a game ‘and McQueen knew it. All were present in his spring/ summer 2005 show; the King, Queen, Rook, Bishop, Knight and Pawn; models were lined up the right way. When all the chess pieces were in place, the catwalk lit up like a chess board with models of every color.
Americans facing Japanese, red heads facing Latin Americans and so forth. Symbolizing the framework of the fashion industry; crammed with millions of multinationals, all benefiting the multi-billion dollar empire.
That night McQueen smartly associated fashion to a chess game; artistic, courteous and foxy where if you glimpse away for a second, checkmate.
On vulgar contemporary to plastic surgery habits he sent models down his runway with garish, bulging red wax lips plastered across their mouths. The agitating image he skillfully constructed left us allergic to plastic surgery.An accomplishment, although transient, surpassed millions of anti-prosthetic voices over the past decade.
Models came out in beautiful clothes on troubled bodies; liposucked or augmented. Sounds familiar? It was magnificent.
His Autumn/winter 2010 collection exquisitely raised the level of couture, again, to a new level of poetic elegance. Showing it as scheduled in the Paris fashion week was a tribute too little to the late ‘Enfant terrible’ and will remain an echoing moment for the fashion world. The 16 outfits were eighty percent finished when he died. Sarah Burton his right hand said that "He wanted to get back to the handcraft he loved, and the things that are being lost in the making of fashion, he was looking at the art of the Dark Ages, but finding light and beauty in it. He was coming in every day, draping and cutting pieces on the stand." All the patterns were cut on the stand by Lee Alexander McQueen.
Good job Lee.
Rest in peace..
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