The exhibition held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for Alexander McQueen's designs were a step above enchanting and menacingly mind blowing. I went to see it only last night, but the experience is as if past, present, and future reunited in the art form described as fashion. Every room was specifically designed to seem like a chapter of the book of the mentioned designer's life. It truly makes the observer terribly upset that McQueen is now only a memory, when standing in front of so much greatness. Romanticism, history, tragedy, divinity, intricacy, mystery and Plato's description of an absolute world exist between every single stitch of his garments.
I'm so glad I got to be so close to the greatness that was.
(I'm afraid of writing as much as I want to in fear that I
might miss something truly amazing, and be deemed as inappropriate).
Long live the McQueen.