Alexander McQueen, dead at 40.
When I found out yesterday, it didn't hit me. I even laughed because I thought it was a joke at first. "He's in his prime. He's having a show. This is the biggest joke ever."
Well, no joke.
I spent yesterday reflecting in the back of my head. But I was constantly with people and didn't succumb to anything emotional until I stepped into my house at 10:15 this morning.
That's when I saw my WWD, and that's when I started to cry. I find tears to be beautiful, but this time, everything just seemed very sad.
I want to hit myself right now for even mentioning it again, because people must hate hearing about it now. But I really must say what this designer means to me.
He was the ideal. He was one of the main reasons I looked forward to fashion weeks, to collections, and to shows. I seriously thought actively on numerous occasions how great it would be if one day I could see a show, see him, or even intern for him. Anything. But it's not possible anymore.
You know how writers create a world within their books? He created a world within clothes. And I, like a child, followed him naively but faithfully. Him being gone doesn't just mean one person left. It means a whole world ended.
Some people may think I'm crazy or exaggerating, but I'm not. I'm still to this day unsure of really what I want in life or in fashion. But he was one of the definite things that I knew I could count on in the industry. Nothing of course is ever definite, but at least he made me think so.
I may slightly be angry at him for saying life must go on, but maybe this is more meant for the people that loved him than him trying to convince himself. Of course, life will go on. My life will go on. It's just sad to think some of the last words he gave the world would be applied to him even after death.
Rest in Peace forever more.
We all love the Queen.