Fuelled by post-recession politics, the house's A/W09 show transformed discarded debris into garments of extraordinary beauty…
“Everything but the kitchen sink” was the subtitle to the collection but, in fact, even the kitchen sink made its way into the piles of rubbish that decorated the centre of the runway, sitting amidst old televisions and props recycled from previous shows.
Models were transformed into beautiful monsters: their hair in Coke can rollers, their mouths transformed into bloodied, exaggerated pouts.
As models walked upon a catwalk made of cracked mirrors, some paused to give stiff little bows; some cast exaggerated poses; some contorted their faces into nightmarish smiles made grotesque by their makeup.
Howling wolves sounded over the thumping beats of the soundtrack which, as the last girls came out, turned into a singular beeping that eventually flatlined. It was the dramatic, haunting beauty that McQueen was renowned for.
Impeccably executed tailoring sat alongside political commentary that seems more relevant now than ever (the breakneck speed of fashion has only increased since Lee passed) and The Horn of Plenty has proven itself over the past years to be a collection without a sell-by-date: one which epitomises McQueen's inimitable ability to turn trash into treasure.
The collection was divisive: some finding McQueen's theatricality misogynistic, some thrilling. However, none denied the power of the show's impact.