I almost can't look at it. At McQueen's last collection, it's gorgeousness feels a bit sour, a bit lacking--but not for lack of flourish or astounding tailoring. Seeing the clothes is seeing the loss of him. I want to love the wonderful wovens, the folded/draped/gathered gowns, and gold-kissed jacquards. They are beautiful and expertly assembled into a cohesive angel-kissed Dark Ages collection about the handcraft of traditional fashion construction vs. the machine tech that starred in his last brilliant go-around. But all I see is an end of some kind of magic. Sad isn't a word that sums it up, but I can't think of any other. It's gorgeous--and sad.
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