Musings of Mourning and Celebration

It'll seem clichéd, it'll seem overused, it's been said, but it's true. And it's sad.

Monsieur McQueen, vous êtes mort.

C'est triste, non? It's not the fact that he was so great - though he was. It's not the fact that it was such a shock - yet, again, it was. The fact, you see, is that we have in front of us the death of a man in his prime, at his peak, and with so much potential. It's not just a sad tiding for fashion - it's sad for art, for society, for the world, because a wellspring - yes, a veritable font - of inspiration has been taken from us.

I heard the news while cooking dinner the other night - it's when it broke on the other side of the world. Today, I'm pulling out all the clichés, but a hole opened in my mind, and his runway shows, his collections, and his genius flowed in.

It begs the question of the fashion world - why? Did he commit suicide, as it is rumoured? If so, why should such a great, exuberant, vibrant man be driven to this length? Yes, we know of the tragic demise of his mother, but is this the only cause? Or is fashion fast becoming such a hard and fast lifestyle that it was his only escape? Rhetorical questions will bring no solace to those devastated by his loss, and can never bring back his creativity and attitude.

All that we can hope is that those who are touched by this man's passing can motivate theirselves, in his spirit, to create unique and inspirational works of their own. That, though it may be a difficult dream to realise, is our greatest hope for the wake of Mr. Mcqueen.

The rest of us - we can but mourn. And we do.