It began a few weeks ago: I received a 215-page coffee-table book from Race Point Publishing entitled Alexander McQueen: Evolution. Then, only days later, from Abrams, came an even bigger (395 pages) tome, also about McQueen, called Love Looks Not With the Eyes. The third arrival was a smaller – normal hardback-sized – offering from Harper Design, called, simply, McQueen.
Three Alexander McQueen books in less than one month, a full 32 months after the designer – known as fashion’s enfant terrible, its genius, its terrorist and the designer every design student wants to be – killed himself at age 40? That’s one too many for coincidence, and too random a timeline for an anniversary. It’s the sort of thing that sets off all sorts of bells in my head, because it qualifies, according to the laws of fashion, as a trend. And then, like Pavlov’s dogs, I feel an instinctive need to ask: why?