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Born in 1961, Isabel and her family emigrated from Cuba during her childhood, and soon arrived in New Jersey. As fate would have it, her husband, Ruben Toledo, and his family also came to America as Cuban refugees, They both landed in the same school, and the two began dating in their early teenage years, drawn to one another’s artistic inclinations. The two married in 1984, the same year that Isabel Toledo introduced her first line. 

Toledo studied at both FIT and Parsons, but left before graduation to work under Diana Vreeland at the Met’s Costume Institute. Across five years, Toledo was able to study couture firsthand, through pieces from the likes of Madame Grés and Vionnet, and other legendary couturiers. In the meantime, she showed collections at underground nightclubs where she and Ruben connected with the downtown New York art scene of the ’80s.

“Romantic Mathematics” is how Toledo described her designs. Both her personal style, as well as the offerings of her collections— which only ran in the few hundreds, due to the complexity of construction— possessed a baroque elegance that betrayed the exacting rigor of her patternmaking. 

In their Midtown loft, of which they owned several floors in the building, Ruben and Isabel shared the kind of home that artist couples rarely achieve. On the 11th floor, where the two lived, Ruben worked as an artist and illustrator. Down a few floors, Isabel had her studio and production areas; Ruben illustrated her designs and passed them on to the seamstresses. 

Remaining an independent company, Toledo refused to conform to the fashion industry. She stopped showing runway collections in 1998, preferring to create on her own schedule and sell to her faithful clientele at her own pace. As a designer, she focused almost entirely on that namesake principle that first and foremost defines the profession, not the conflation with celebrity that precedes the job nowadays. 

Isabel Toledo passed away in 2019, aged 59. The Cuban-American designer leaves a legacy of uncompromising creativity and the ultimate love for her craft. 

Writer: @nashhill25
Visual Curator: @k8thlynn_
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Like most of fashion’s greatest figures, Roy Halston Frowick began as an outsider. Born in Des Moines, Iowa, the designer grew up in Indiana before attending the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. He began as a milliner, first in Chicago, then as in-house milliner at Bergdorf Goodman in New York in 1959. His ambitions were not yet satisfied, and he launched ready-to-wear – which he correctly identified as the way of the future – under Bergdorf in 1966. In 1968 he split off on his own, establishing the mononymous Halston label with a dramatic salon on the Upper East Side. 

Against the backdrop of 1970s social upheaval and newfound liberation, Halston sought to dress the new modern woman. He injected American fashion with a newfound sexuality, with clothes that were exceedingly glamorous in motion while pared-back and unfussy. He dispensed with any non-functional detail and rarely used prints, instead relying on generous volumes of fabric to gently hug the body, enabling his Halstonettes rather than reducing them to dolls. This sense of pragmatism allowed Halston and his American counterparts to make the hegemonic French couturiers look stuffy and old-fashioned at the Battle of Versailles. A true socialite, Halston mediated between uptown high society ladies and the burgeoning downtown set revolving around The Factory and Studio 54, and he was regularly photographed alongside the likes of Andy Warhol, Pat Ast, Liza Minnelli, and Pat Cleveland. 

Over the course of the 1980s, a mess of licensing deals led to Halston losing control of his company, and the right to design under his own name, rendering him creatively paralyzed save for a few outings as a costume designer for his friends. In 1990, he passed away due to AIDS-related illness. 

Halston’s story foreshadows many of the industry developments in later decades: the sexed-up minimalism of the late 1990s, which owes a great deal to his influence; the power of the supermodel and the celebrity; the licensing and ownership complications, which have befallen so many subsequent designers; and the tragedies that would shatter the dreams of disco-era New York. 

Writer: @chrisziebert 
Visual Curator: @k8thlynn
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