Thursday, February 11, 2010


Helene texted me this morning. "Did you hear about hear about Alexander McQueen?" she asked.

I felt a lump in my stomach. I mean, Helene and I talk about clothes a lot, but she doesn't text me for the sole purpose of raving about a certain collection. I immediately kicked myself for not having checked my computer before I left for work. Something big happened. But that didn't mean it was something bad, did it? I texted Helene back, fingers shaking a little. "I didn't. What happened?"

It felt like an hour had passed by the time Helene responded. "He committed suicide."

Just like that. I gasped. My eyes were stinging with tears. With a quick nod to my boss, I got up and walked to the bathroom to collect myself. Alexander McQueen? He of the incredible, imaginative collections that exemplified the reasons I see fashion as a form of high art... It seemed so impossible, so improbable. But it was true.

My day sort of glazed over after that. My mind was elsewhere. I chatted maniacally and jumped all over the place in an attempt to distract my thoughts. I dunno. This is a huge loss to the world of fashion. He was so innovative, so iconic. I mean, not many designers are able to bring hardened editors to tears.

Rest in peace, Alexander McQueen. You will be so very missed.

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