There aren’t enough adjectives for me to describe how much I love New York City … there just aren’t. This weekend made me feel like ME again, and I don’t think too many places could do that … but I digress. There have been numerous tweets, articles and Facebook posts from fashion journalists describing their experience at the McQueen exhibit at the MET, so I thought little ol’ me would share my story.
I waited outside the building, in the heat, for what I want to say was a little over an hour, which wasn’t bad because it was beautiful out and there were street vendors selling some pretty great artwork. I had also never been to the MET so just the sheer magnitude of the building was mystifying to stand next to. So when I made it inside the building under two hours, I was secretly saying to myself, “what were those fools at NYMag.com complaining about.” Did anyone ever tell you karma is a bitch, because it is.
I paid my donation, which was a dollar … judge all you want, and got directed to another line with a sign in front of it that said, “Wait Time For McQueen: Savage Beauty, 3 hours.” So, CLEARLY they were just being silly, right? Please dear God just be kidding. Turns out the MET can do a lot of things, but joke is not one of them.
What happened to me within the 3 hour waiting in line span:
- The line literally wrapped around the whole upstairs like a snake. When you thought it stopped, it didn’t. In fact in one section, you had to wrap around it TWICE. There was no end in sight. It was like a massive sea of strangers, drones, just waiting for something that I couldn’t help but think HAD to be amazing otherwise what the HELL were these people doing here. Not ALL of them could have such a high respect for fashion! And whenever there was a bench in sight to sit down on and take a break, the line of course moved. Bastard.
- My feet started to hurt like I was wearing 6 inch pointed stiletto heels, when in reality I was wearing some fabulous Old Navy sandals, when the hell does that ever happen? I never sat for fear I wouldn’t get back up. No one did, it was crazytown.
- The exhibit wrapped around a lot of ancient Japanese sculptures and artwork, along with several other ancient sculptures from different cultures, and throughout hour 2 1/2 I was to the point of hallucinations because I was pretty sure the sculptures were talking to me.
- There was lots of very well-dressed people in line. Not like hipster, I’m trying too hard, “OMG I only wear couture,” or “I just bought every interesting floral dress I could find at F21,” kind of well-dressed, but a lot of interesting and well thought out looks that kept my eyes entertained. Who needs reading material?
- Literally the wave broke out in line during hour 3. It was amazing. At least people were joyous and cracked out like I was because I did hear some fights broke out throughout the life span of the exhibit.
- Hour 3 1/2 I was walking past a glass case and could have sworn one of the gold elephant sculptures from some tribe in India was a McQueen armadillo shoe. Hi cracked out central.
- When it looked like the line ended, it didn’t and it was just a sign that said “45 more minutes.” Eff. At this point me and the person I went with decided McQueen himself DEFINITELY was inside the exhibit and was going to pop out and be like, “PSYCHE BITCHES, I’M NOT DEAD AND HERE IS MY LATEST COLLECTION,” along with like Anna Wintour, Sarah Burton and Lady Gaga standing behind him being like, “GOT YA,” and then when we left the exhibit we would get our minds erased “Men In Black Style.” The thoughts of a crazy person who had been standing in a line for WAY too long.
- No one left the line. No one. I was waiting and secretly praying to Jesus that people would get annoyed and drop like flies. Nope. These New Yorkers man, stam-in-a, let me tell you.
- I was tired and miserable. The cracked out giggles faded, I no longer wanted to make small talk with the people around me in fact they were all driving me MAD at this point. I just wanted to see EFFING MCQUEEN GOD DAMMIT.
- When the guard lifted the velvet rope for my group to go into the exhibit, I kind of wanted to hug and make out with him all at the same time, THAT is how happy I was.
- The minute I laid eyes on the first two McQueen dresses, it all melted away. The exhaustion, hunger, frustration, anger, hallucinations … they were all gone when I read on the wall “I’m a romantic schizophrenic.” -Alexander McQueen. I remembered why I was there.
- It took my breath away, call me unoriginal all you want, it freaking did. Everything. The room aesthetic, the clothes, the music, the quotes … everything made my mind shut the eff up. Nothing mattered at that point.
- Parts of it were a little scary, but it was the kind of fright you saw and immediately the beauty was there to comfort and ease you. One room was like going into a couture haunted house. You could feel Alexander McQueen alive within the exhibit.
- I got choked up. Literally, I do not cry over A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. There was a section where it looked like someone had punched a huge hole in a wall, and when you looked through it there was a hologram of Kate Moss floating in the most beautiful white McQueen dress. It was overwhelming to say the least. I love Kate Moss, but it just made me realize what a huge talent is missing in the fashion industry. Congrats McQueen, you got my eyes to produce actual tears.
- Yes, I saw the Gaga look from Bad Romance up close and personal. The armadillo shoes, I would probably sell my soul to try one on, but I doubt that will ever happen. Unless you can make it happen, then please, be my guest … HAVE MY SOUL.