I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself: After riding back to NY from DC, I get on the Q at 42nd/Times Square and, at Union Square, an old Chinese couple hops on and they are completely decked out in retro-cliche garb. They look like Chinese people from the 60s who are obsessed with American fashion. The man is wearing amber aviators from the 70s, a black baseball cap, a vintage striped sweater, a knit scarf, argyle polyester pants, and black pointy boots. His wife is donning giant shades and a baseball cap as well. Her shades are square, though, and are just light enough for me to see through them–all the way through to a painted-on pair of big black thick acute-angled eyebrows. Her baseball cap is faded pink and white and says Miami Beach on the front. She is also wearing a humongous black fur coat, a Coco Chanel purse, a short black fluffy skirt, 80s zig-zag stockings, and tall black boots. These people were in their mid- to late-70s. I hesitate to pull out my camera because I was standing directly in front of them, staring at them with no apology on my face. I get it out and realize my camera is full. I start deleting pictures. They start getting up to get off the train. If I hadn’t hesitated, I would have captured an image that I’m sure would have become one of my most prized possessions. I live for these kinds of things and yet I missed it. I missed my picture. I suppose I will just have to look at it as some intangible proof of  McQueen’s spirit continuing to survive in my City even after his death.  Rest in peace, Alexander McQueen. And Happy Chinese New Year.

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