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FLASH TRACK: STEVEN KLEIN PHOTOGRAPHS ALEXANDER MCQUEEN

FOREGOING A RECITAL OF PEDIGREES for Steven Klein (L’Uomo Vogue, Arena Homme Plus, i-D, W, etc.) and for Alexander McQueen (fashion’s new naughtiest darling in the tradition of Vivienne Westwood and John Galliano) gets me right to what their turn-on is: the thrill of daring to be wrong. As much as it is possible, fashion conventions—easy class distinctions, ugliness/beauty, fantasy/reality—are told to go fuck themselves.

Klein’s work is as concerned with light and color (or their absence) as clothes, and emits the dingy shimmer of things “off”: fashion photography’s master colorist Saul Leiter on an all-night bender; storms moving in. Klein scouts women’s looks to find the severe independence of intelligence, men’s to find fashion, the complexity of surface. If male beauty is an old silver thing, Klein never removes its tarnish entirely; he likes its dissolution, its mess. Sometimes he

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