231027 Collection Digital Cover 1 - Flipbook - Page 36
“McQueen himself proved to be as
malleable as the fabrics which he
so deftly transformed ”
The artistic realms of his imaginative genius were perfectly balanced
by his classical tailoring excellence and historical rigour, evolving
masterpiece upon masterpiece — exemplified by his otherworldly runway
shows. One year Shalom Harlow’s white dress was being spray-painted
by robots onstage, and the next models were suspended from ceilings,
flying over the catwalk dressed in ball gowns and burkas. Leagues ahead
of the fashion pack, McQueen’s raw talent was oftentimes too hard
to translate into sales. Despite the praise, the media coverage and the
awards, Alexander McQueen as a business wasn’t performing as well as
it should have, and it slowly began to dawn upon McQueen himself that
he needed to find a balance between his personal satisfaction and the
financial needs of the company. Until this point, he had truly believed
that it was possible to build a global brand whilst retaining the integrity
of the avant-garde, but he had sold his creative soul to the devil, and now
he needed to dance.
McQueen himself proved to be as malleable as the fabrics which he
so deftly transformed; if he strived to create a global powerhouse in
an industry where appearance is everything then he would have to look
the part. To that end, the plump, awkward young designer, who would
reluctantly shuffle out at the end of each fashion show to deliver a clumsy
bow, melted away and was replaced, almost overnight, with a slim,
tanned and more outwardly confident businessman.
To those on the outside, McQueen was a changed man, but it was all
purely superficial. His external insecurities had been exorcised, but
the darker, more damaging internal demons had not been addressed.
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Death, violence and religion had always been staples within his
collections, a catharsis for someone who wasn’t always as eloquent
with words as in thoughts and emotions, but something had changed
in McQueen.
In the final few months of his life, friends and colleagues observed that
McQueen had become increasingly withdrawn, more abrupt in his
behaviour and, ominously, obsessed with the afterlife. The constant
pressure to push the boundaries of not only his designs but also himself,
proved too much for McQueen’s fragile mind and he retreated further
and further into his own private, tortured world.
Looking back, friends see the suicide of Isabella Blow as the beginning of
the end for McQueen. He rarely spoke about her publicly after her death
in 2007; he had lost his confidante, his mentor and, in his own words,
greatest critic.
Three years later, McQueen’s beloved mother, Joyce, lost her battle with
cancer. Her death had a devastating effect on McQueen who believed that
she was the only member of his family who had truly supported him, both
in his career and life choices. No matter how packed out his shows were,
Joyce McQueen was always given a spot on the front row and was said
to be the only person capable of taming him. Nine days after his mother
passed away, and on the eve of her funeral, McQueen took his own life
in a blizzard of drink and drugs.
