October 5, 2015 |
Sarah Burton went back to the seventeenth century for her Alexander McQueen show – to the Huguenot silk-weavers who gave Spitalfields its synonymous silken repute. Their means of placing designs on the fabric – dubbed ‘the line of beauty’ – was a source of inspiration. But banish any ideas of a costume-fuelled AmDram extravaganza. This was McQueen on steady ground, as sure-footed as the flat trainers that bottomed a selection of wide-trewed. That wasn’t to say it was flat, or humdrum, though. What Burton managed at McQueen was to meld her fantastical variations on the rococo with twenty-first century reality. There was still the beauty, of ruffled lace and chiffon and tulle, that left you breathless. But you didn’t worry that if you exhaled, it’d evaporate. The pragmatism was refreshing, and revitalising. For us and for Burton’s McQueen. This felt like a true triumph.
Photographs by Jason Lloyd-Evans
