I had barely downed my first sip of coffee this morning when I had the wind knocked out of me by the shocking news of Alexander McQueen's tragic death. I don't feel the need to put my stamp on the much-shared devastation, but I do need to vent just a bit. After all, I (and Robin!) do tend to not deal with death flashed in lights very well.
Every description that been used to describe Lee in the hours that have followed since his passing have been right on the money: visionary, huge talent, transgressor... the list could go on forever. And just as some of today's young designers like Jeremy Laing and Tina Kalivas, he was the starting point for so many, myself included.
My first exposures to fashion came hand in hand with his fantastical shows; Shalom getting sprayed with a robot laser painter is forever ingrained in my mind for one. And let’s not forget my almost outer-body reaction to his Spring 2010 collection, which really made me weep. I think most would agree that McQueen was a one in a million type of talent, a talent who pushed our minds beyond the far reaches our imagination.
As Tim Blanks said on Style.com, it’s unimaginable trying to imagine him trying to cope with the loss of his mother (and it's speculated that the loss of Isabella Blow still haunted him as well) near the end, and I hope he's found peace. For the rest of us, we're just left blowing in the wind wondering what the fuck to do next.