The pirate vanishes. RIP Alexander McQueen.

Why Alexander McQueen won't die anytime soon

I don't buy designer wear, but when a covetous moviegoer at the Guild 45th stole my Alexander McQueen red skull scarf in the dark, I instantly spent hundreds on a blue replacement (fluttering below). When Lee Alexander McQueen hung himself last week, we didn't just lose a fashionista. I could've lived without the "bumster" pants he popularized, in fact. But he was more: abominable showman, polymorphous subverter, artist of many media. His chipper death's-head design was full of life, like Johnny Depp channeling Kif. As one blogger noted: "He imagined the pirates were shipwrecked [and] discovered a flock of wild parrots on the island, adapted to the parrots' coloration, a rainbow printed on lightest silk."

He made Michelle Obama and Rihanna look cooler. Some of the stunning looks Lady Gaga gets credit for were actually his. I always thought if Kate Moss lost (or did) one more ounce, she'd turn ectoplasmic, but it took McQueen to make her a billowing hologram. He was a pirate king. A glorious thing.

Failed attempt at beautiful flying scarf photo. We try.

Tim Appelo's Alexander McQueen scarf

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