Milda Bublys

image courtesy www.newshotpost.com

Ok, So I know that every Tom, Dick and Elton has thrown in their 2 cents about their feelings on the recent death of Alexander McQueen. I have to say, it took me a while to formulate an opinion after hearing about the shock of his death. Truth is, no amount of media digging or inside word from his camp will ever know what was really going through his head and what ultimately made this tragic decision. Its more than abundantly clear that anyone with the slightest interest in fashion worshiped him like the fashion genius he was. Hell, I rememeber salivating after his designs when I was a student at F.I.T., and now, 12 years later, my own students proclaimed him to be also one of their favorites. I remember thinking, man, this dude is still edgy and has relavance with the Gossip Girl Generation. Truthfully, in fashion, anything over 10 years is really timeless.

But the tragedy of it all is what really gets me. I did a brief stint interning for Lee, (his nickname around friends and people that new him well) when he did his first and last show in New York. It was incredible- Gisele dancing around in her scanties during fittings as we soldiered on, sewing 100’s of  coins on a headpiece for the show sweat-shop style. There was a promising intern who worked on a parachute-size cape with patchwork octagons of red and white as $10,000 a day DJ’s mixed custom music in the corner. And of course, to every fashion King, there was a requisite Queen. His name was-shall we say- Sebastard.

Last I heard, this little Spanish sycophant was off busing tables in his native island of Majorca, but at the time, he was Lee’s right hand and my worst nightmare. To say he was unpleasant was an understatement. I don’t want to sound too self-involved, and though it was true that I had a slight shine of Midwestern ignorance within my pallor, but I felt it gave him personal joy to torture me by belittling me in front of the rest of the group and forcing me upon impossible errands he knew I couldn’t complete. He even accused me of stealing gloves en route to the show, when everyone, though exhausted, was in wonderful spirits and grateful for one anothers’ mutual contribution. Many mornings before heading to that short-lived internship, I would cry from a payphone to my mother, and she would patiently tell me that I needed to stick it out, thicken my skin, that this was an experience I would remember for a lifetime. And she was right. I did.

But despite all of it, what I did remember was Lee, who, one day cheerfully plopped down a scented candle onto the table I was working at.  He smiled at us all, grateful for our free assistance to making his show a success. He was smart, knew what he wanted, but was unfortunately, at the time, mired by these people that fueled their own insecurities by making other people feel worse. Now, while I’m not suggesting that this brief experience over 10 years ago was what triggered the events to unfold as they have, but I can’t imagine that the world he surrounded himself with was more than a visceral tonic. I hope Lee finds rest in the never-ending peace of eternity, and he’s certainly left this designer with tremendous gratitude in having friends that ground her, keep her honest, and above all, love and support me for everything I am.

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Alexander McQueen