‘A Love Letter:’ The Story of Isabel and Ruben Toledo’s Divine Fate

The exhibition is on view until December 16 at the SCAD Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia.

Image courtesy of SCAD and Ruben Toledo.

It’s rare to find a love like Isabel and Ruben Toledo’s. While most people won’t admit it, it’s something of a dream love story. New York City in the early 1970s: Studio 54 just opened, artists like Jean Michel Basquiat, Andy Warhol, and Keith Haring dominated the city, and the Toledos were fated to meet. Both Cuban immigrants who were torn between American and Cuban cultures, fashion illustrator and artist Ruben and fashion designer Isabel, met in high school. From that moment, it was forever. Isabel was a self-taught designer who carried herself as a chic, mature young woman. Ruben, on the other hand, was still going through the motions of pre-pubescent curiosity to manhood. One thing he did know was love at first sight when he laid eyes on Isabel.

They were enveloped with each other, and Ruben knew his chosen life path was to be an artist. So, he and Isabel harmoniously collaborated to help her fashion career take off. While their love story ended too soon, Ruben continues to keep Isabel’s spirit, life, and iconic work alive. For the first time in the U.S., Ruben presents A Love Letter at the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) Museum of Art in the Andre Leon Talley Gallery in collaboration with SCAD FASH Director of Fashion Exhibitions Rafael Brauer-Gomes. The exhibition is a collection that dives into the lens of their relationship and nearly 40 of Isabel’s most epochal garments, which she created individually and with Ruben. A Love Letter also features complementing illustrations by Ruben and a SCAD-produced documentary film of their eternal love titled Echoes and Vibrations.

When you find the love of your life and have spent the past 50 years together, the grief and the journey of your collective goals are not an end to the book, even after one passes away. In 2019, Isbael died from breast cancer. Ruben’s entire world shifted and was ripped from underneath him — but he never forgets what they achieved together and her individual successes. Isabel appeared on international “Best Dressed lists, worked under Diana Vreeland and the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute, and wore precious garments by designers Balenciaga, Chanel, Vionnet, Dior, and former First Lady Michelle Obama. She also maintained her namesake as an independent label since 1985, and now, Ruben is preserving it — and continues to empower her and her work.

1202 MAGAZINE was honored to speak with Ruben in an emotional, intimate, and personal conversation on A Love Letter. Here, we discussed his great love with Isabel, why he chose to commemorate her throughout his life, and the lifelong community they built working together.

How did you and Isabel meet and fall in love?

I met her at 13 and really fell in love with her soul. I entered her eyes, and it was instant. I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight, but within seconds, I knew that she was my wife. We were not very matched at the time. I was a little rascal; she was a sophisticated lady — different worlds. With her soul, I knew I had to have this woman in my life. Most of my childhood was complicated, like most of ours. We were both Cuban immigrants, and I didn’t have a happy family life. She brought in so much joy. When I met her family, I fell in love with them. When you fall in love with someone, you fall in love with their whole world. The inspiration was pure.

How did you inspire each other through your careers?

Work-wise, the aesthetic was so different. I’m very graphic and exact. I draw very fast. She felt her way around life. She didn’t do a thing until it was perfect in her mind, and when she acted, it was pure perfection. That was the compliment. We worked very well together.

Image courtesy of SCAD.

Did you two start collaborating instantly?

Instantly. In high school, she was making a moody painting of a storm, and she needed a boat. She was great at atmosphere, making the ocean melt into the sky. You were lost in the fog, but she needed a ship to ground, and she asked if I could do it for her. That was our first collaboration. I successfully made a ship surviving in this rough ocean, which was quite beautiful.

What do you think your life would’ve been like hadn’t you met Isabel?

She saved me from a life of crime. She always told me I transformed her life from a cocoon into a butterfly. I know that because she was a very shy person, and so was I. We were both misfits surviving in this incredible world. All around us were crazy Cubans, but we weren’t quite Cuban and weren’t quite American. We had to find our way around. We came from communist Cuba, where they were showing us films on the side of a building, propaganda against America of Black people being hosed down by fire hoses and dogs attacking people. When we landed here, so many movements were happening at once, and we knew this is what freedom is. We grew up in this strange fantasy bubble, thinking this was the whole world. When we arrived in Manhattan as young teenagers, we met Andy Warhol, Halston, Basquiat, and Keith Haring, and the downtown art world was just blooming. The growth was so organic, and that’s why we never had barriers between film, choreography, poetry, art, or fashion. You just did it all, collaborated, and what was important was that you were bringing something original to the table.

Can you elaborate on the era you experienced with these prominent artists and the impact of spaces like Studio 54?

They used to call Fiorucci the daytime version of Studio 54 because it was the same crowd. There was also Zenon, Infinity, and The Loft — so many incredible places — and the music was a new soundscape. It was like being on an LSD trip. You went dancing at 11 p.m. and didn’t make it back until 7 a.m. because you didn’t want to leave that environment. People were really there to dance, and they were damn good dancers. It was like an Alvin Ailey world; people from another planet. Latinos and Lizzy (Isabel) were into touch dance, where disco came from. We were used to mambo, and the Americans were inventing break dancing. All of this definitely influenced the way people communicated with each other, not just verbally but also through body language. It also influenced clothing, of course, because clothing became such an expressive vibration outside of your body that it also influenced the world. Fiorucci and the whole scene were important because they attracted people in the Lower East Side, such as Basquiat and Keith Haring. The people at Fiorucci were Italian, had landed in America, and had worked with cool people like Antonio Lopez and Juan Ramos.

When you and Isabel danced all those hours in these clubs, did it inspire you to make certain designs and artworks?

No, because I think what we were thinking about is really coming from inside you, but what inspires you is their freedom of expression and diversity. Everyone was so different, and on top of that, we met so many people for the first time, like Karl Lagerfeld, Yves Saint Laurent, and Thierry Mugler. They danced at Studio 54. All of that is definitely an inspiration for any artist, and so many dreams were coming true. There’s nothing more glamorous than New York, especially at that time.

When I see how beautiful and carefree everything was back then, I definitely feel a sense of FOMO.

I feel for you guys because the stakes are so high. Your rent is so high. Our first place was $75 a month. There was such a sense of freedom. Now, once you’re 20 years old, you’re already competing to make it. You guys are doing a great job, and the future is in your hands.

Image courtesy of SCAD.

Has grief changed you or how you see and create art?

That’s a really good question. Grief has changed my whole life. I never knew what it was. I lost everything — including so many friends to AIDS. I‘ve lost so many people in our lives. But when you lose your lover of 50 years, it’s a whole new territory. It’s like losing limbs and then having to go out in public you’re gushing out blood everywhere. You’re missing half of your head, and you have a hole in your body. You feel like a gross monster with all of this (grief) spilling out of you. That’s what it feels like. I can’t explain it to people — and this is five years later. It comes in waves. Sometimes, you feel joyful, but life is not linear, and you're good when you’re around people you love. Suddenly, you can get in your head. When I’m alone in my studio, I’m in heaven because I can feel her. We’re laughing and having a great time. She’s with me spiritually. But when I have to do things in public without her, it’s difficult because we were one. Los Toledos were one. That was the hardest part. I used to be much more frivolous with how I looked at art. Times have changed — everything changed after the pandemic. But because of losing Isabel, I feel like I really need to step up and have more responsibility. I used to make social and political fashion cartoons poking fun at it and how ridiculous it is. I’ve always been more sarcastic and satirical, but now I feel like people don’t have the appetite for that. I have to find that footing. I must find the right setting for myself without it changing me.

Do you think you’ve found it?

No, not yet. And I know I owe it to Isabel because she said she wishes I didn’t do a lot of commercial work because it was open to me, so I did advertising. I did a lot of work for LVMH and these wonderful companies for the last 30 years. They paid well, and it was fast work. I’m also a journalist; I’m very good at picking up what’s happening and communicating. It was easy but couldn’t have been done without being a good artist. She loved art and the profoundness of it. She loved that art lives outside of time, which is completely opposite of me. I’m always on a schedule and deadline. Isabel wanted me to stop that whirlwind, get off that ship, and be on my own time to shape everything to my own liking. I owe it to her to get to that point, but I haven’t found it yet.

I think it’ll come naturally when you do find it.

I’ll do it if it’s the last thing I do.

What does love mean to you in terms of community, collaboration, and cooperation?

Sincerity. It all comes from sincerity. When you’re sincere about anything, you can deal with anything and anyone — and you want to. It’s a magical formula because when you connect with people, no matter who they are or where they’re coming from, there’s a bond there. It’s a beautiful, sacred thing. That’s what love means to me. We were nourished by the community. Isabel and I wouldn’t have been us if we hadn’t been in Manhattan during that time with these people. The city means so much to me and is so magical. The people gave so much to us. There aren’t too many of them left, but the ones left are my family. I feel like the ones who aren't here are still with us because they also gave so much of themselves to us. I know they’re with us, and I owe it to them to continue sharing with the next generations. So many of the older people did it for us and built bridges. I’m a spiritual person, but I don’t go looking for it. Isabel’s mom was very spiritual. She told me it would come to me, and it’s true. I’ve been around some spiritualists, and they’ll tell us when an angel is with us. After Isabel passed, he was among the first people to tell me when someone would be in the car with us. I know they’re around, and I owe it to her and our ancestors.