I tried to go to the Alexander McQueen Savage Beauty exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art a few years ago. It was a summer. A really hot day. I was in New York for a junket, and after working the previous night and the next morning, and not really eating that much, and being on my period, I decided I’d walk in the heat to the museum on my own and see the pieces.
They wouldn’t let me bring my water in. So I queued for 45 minutes down the hall, right up to the doors of the exhibit, feeling worse and worse, but not wanting to lose my spot. Then I passed out. All I remember is saying to myself, oh, this feels so cool against my cheek. Which was actually the floor. I had crumpled to the ground and decided to take a nap. When I came to, people were helping me into a wheelchair. I had to be wheelchaired out of the MET. They thought I was on drugs.
Anyway, Savage Beauty has finally arrived in London. I’ll be there in a month. I’m going. And I’m not f-cking fainting. The gala opening was last night. A lot of notables in attendance. Including FKA twigs who had the honour of wearing McQueen’s memorable Bird of Paradise dress. And you know, the curators of the brand, the people who protect the designer’s legacy, they don’t just loan that sh-t out to any Kardashian who comes calling. They’re works of art. So they’re selective about the McQueen spirit. And, evidently, they’ve decided that FKA twigs has the McQueen spirit, not only because she’s wearing the Birds but also because she performed at the event IN the dress.
Sh-t, I would have been freaking out. Like about nervous sweat and stains. What do you do when you’re wearing a gown that lives in its own temperature-controlled chamber and you spill your old fashioned all over it?