Ivey in my favorite Alexander McQueen scarf, partying last summer

When someone dies, they become a saint, a genius, everyone’s favorite author / actor / pop idol / whatever. Growing up Roman Catholic in a small town, people were obsessed with death, they don’t have much else to talk about, and I believe much of the allure of celebrity is drawn from the way we obsess over their deaths, the tributes we offer, the way we grant them the medieval indulgences for all of their sins and momentarily fall in love with them, it’s the antithesis of obscurity. And it’s pretty fucking lame.

I don’t know about McQueen’s personal life, his demons or his sadness, but as a designer he was a genius, he was one of the best. He made some of the wildest, coolest, most forward-thinking looks that shaped the style of the young and fabulous, the style of my icons and of my friends. When he was alive I always listed him as one of the best designers of our generation and I will continue to do so.