something has been missing this season: eye-welling emotion of a show so exceptional to witness that it suddenly transforms being involved in fashion into a magical privilege.
Just when it seemed like that feeling was virtually gone, Alexander McQueen handed his audience a self-imagined fantasy of crinolined princesses and British-colonial romance of such beauty, it arguably surpassed anything he's achieved in 14 years.
Mr. McQueen describes:
"I've got a 600-year-old elm tree in my garden, and I made up this story of a girl who lives in it and comes out of the darkness to meet a prince and become a queen."
After a trip to India, he worked for months in his studio, with images of Queen Victoria, the Duke of Wellington, and the Indian Empire running through his mind. They were transformed into ballerina-length multi-flounced dance dresses, each more insanely exquisite than the last.
McQueen announced the other day that his company has gone into profit for the first time. It was a day when his brilliance had never shone more brightly.
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