i wanted to write about mcqueen, i have mentioned him a couple of times, and we know that he killed himself last week. we could talk about the power of his spectacle, the strangenss, the poltiically complicated violence, the outrageous shows, the stories of pissing on tables, on sewing the word cunt on prince charles clothes. or we could talk about the tenderness, his rship with his mother, the long almost marriage with a partner, the dishabile of blow and that magnifiecent collection that he made for her, as an apology or as a requiem; we could talk about both of them, and how he included aimee mullins in his show in boots of hand carved ash, or how the big women in his shows did not seem to be a stunt, like gautier or gallino. i want to talk about his englishness, the love of the gothic, of the grotesque, the hatred of the french, the dandy in him....

From Untitled Album

Spring 2006.

It could be Brian Ferry, or a mod or rocker, those colours, that fucking sheen, but also how tight and contained it is, how it has a rake's debauched elegance.

or how monstrous this is, from his collection inspired by hitch cock's the birds:

From Untitled Album

it is hitchcock, with the bird eating the shoulder, and that colour, that draping, the material choices are pure regency, so it is the monster of nature eating the femminity, the social expectations of women. like grendel, or like hughe's crow, written about slyvia plath, at least obliquely, and does the model not look like sylvia, a little bit?





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