An Oral History of Susan Cianciolo’s Run Collections—And of a Long Lost 1990s New York

Aug 30, 2023

By Laird Borrelli-Persson

Editor's note: We’re resurfacing this story, originally published on June 20, 2017, timed to a live auction of Liz Goldwyn's historic archive of Susan Cianciolo RUN designs. Organized by gallerist Bridget Donahue and Special Offer, the event starts today and continues for two weeks.

Susan Cianciolo, a soft-spoken but subversive figure on New York City's 1990s creative scene, designed 11 Run collections between 1995 and 2001. Her practice, which involved sewing circles, was unique and collaborative. "Susan's work," says Stella Ishii, who represented her then, "was important because it didn't necessarily follow any garment-making norms. She marched to her own beat, which was somewhere between garment making and fine art and performance art."

Born in Rhode Island, Cianciolo remembers, "Growing up, my dresses were completely made by hand—with whatever you can think of—the curtains, the blankets on the beds . . . My mom bought me a subscription to Vogue. That's how I started." After Parsons School of Design, Cianciolo worked as an illustrator for Geoffrey Beene, did windows for Bergdorf Goodman, and created fliers for Club USA, before signing on with Badgley Mischka. Yes, Badgley Mischka. And no, it didn't last long. She took a part-time job at Kim Gordon's X-Girl as she was launching her own line, Run, in 1995. Why did she call it Run? "I was in my early 20s and I felt so fearless and invincible," says Cianciolo, who was indeed a runner in her teenage years. "I wanted to run from everything that exists, [to be] subversive, to be against the system."

Having more or less faded from the fashion scene more than a decade ago, Cianciolo has, of late, been warmly embraced by the art world. She restaged her 2001 Run Restaurant at this year's Whitney Biennial, participated in Frieze, is currently in a group show in Los Angeles, and has two exhibitions planned for the fall.

We’ve also clocked her influence on the runways, where ’90s nostalgia is alive and thriving. Mike Eckhaus and Zoe Latta of the critically acclaimed Eckhaus Latta label have even cast Cianciolo in their shows. "There are a lot of brands that we admire who came up in the ’90s," Eckhaus tells Vogue. "I tend to feel nostalgic not just for an aesthetic, but for a concept of fashion and a structure that seems—I wasn't there to experience it—but a period of time before fashion became hyper-commercialized, before it became like pop culture, essentially."

Of course, when we talk about "the 1990s" today—those of us who were there and those too young to remember—we’re really referring to often-gilded memories of a harsher reality. As gallerist Andrea Rosen, who hosted Cianciolo's earliest Run presentation, reminds me in a recent chat, "As time goes by, we lose the ability to be able to separate how the way that we feel now is different than the way we felt then." Time takes some of the edge off what was, for many, a gritty period of creativity against the odds. With a raging recession and the looming end of the millennium, that message was nihilistic, scrappy, and urban. "I think Susan's a street artist," declares Rosalie Knox, a photographer and former assistant to the designer. "I really do see her as sort of a version of a graffiti artist. She makes drawings and then she makes hardscrabble, cobbled-together clothes. It's kind of mysterious and a little bit illegal feeling."

Cianciolo's Run presentations were similarly collaborative and rag-tag. "Community, is a really good way to talk about Susan," asserts Liz Goldwyn, a muse to Cianciolo who helped produce several Run collections and became a major collector of the line. "Run was really a cult. When I say cult, it was a community, and I say cult in an endearing way—not like in a Scientology way—although it was like a religion, it really was. I think people want a sense of community. We’ve been such a narcissistic, celebrity-obsessed culture, and look where that's landed us politically. I think it's only natural that in fashion you would be returning to some element of humanity, which I think was very evident in Susan's clothes."

Two of the qualities that made, and make, Cianciolo's work so resonant are its low means of production—handwork and repurposing are central to her practice—and the independent yet engaged artistic community that helped her to create. "This was all shoestring-budget stuff," explains Danny McDonald, a sculptor. "This wasn't the kind of stuff that was designed on a computer and then sent to a factory; it was actually made by a group of people working together, often side-by side, in the studio. If you went over there, it was like going into church; it was very quiet. They had two long tables of people sewing and working on things intensely."

While there was a certain aspect of preciousness to Cianciolo's work—"[you’d look at it and] wish you could be that dreamy"—says stylist Camilla Nickerson, its feyness was balanced by a raw quality that was partially derived from the clothes’ scavenged bits (what we would call upcycling today), but more so by the street-centric, hand-to-mouth existences that Cianciolo and many of her circle were living. "We built on Larry Clark, we built on Nan Goldin," says photographer Marcelo Krasilcic. "There was no money; all those magazines I [worked for], they didn't pay me a cent and I think the same thing with Susan, the same thing with everybody. [We] would live check by check; we had so many limitations. On the other hand, there was so much freedom; we could explore as much as we wanted. [Editorially] the clothes didn't matter so much—it was more about the message."

Ever the provocateur, as the fashion world becomes increasingly populated by collectives—not to mention increasingly focused on collaborations—Cianciolo is going it alone. And as for that ’90s nostalgia? "When people ask me about it, like Zoe [Latta], or any of these people that weren't there, I can tell them everything about it, but being there—I would never want to go back," Cianciolo says. Still, she admits, "I have no regrets and it's the base of my work, this ’90s stuff." As it is also the "stuff" of our fashion dreams, we’ve asked Susan, and 20 others who were around her, to document the 11 Run collections and a New York City now lost, in which creativity ran a little bit wilder than it does in 2017.

Run 1 October 29, 1995 Andrea Rosen Gallery, 130 Prince Street, New York City

Susan Cianciolo: I parted ways with Badgley Mischka on very good terms and then I just furiously started building a series of drawings that I worked on for months and months, just never sleeping, around the clock. Rita [Ackermann] came and took a look at them and she said, "Wow! I’ll ask Bernadette [Van-Huy of Bernadette Corporation] and we’ll help you make a show." And then we went to Andrea [Rosen] and I said, "Can I do a show in your gallery?" I never forgot that Andrea just said yes, cold. Later [I asked] her, "Why did you say yes?" I was there in a hooded sweatshirt, I don't even know if I had a place to live. And she said, "I just saw it in your eyes."

I was able to use her space however I liked. I had nothing, so I just took tape and drew a diagonal line. I already knew that I was really playing with some incredible boundaries because Bernadette said, "I’m going to buy some sweatpants from the thrift shop and I’m going to cut some tank tops," so it was already this decision that I wasn't physically making everything.

[With] textile artist Carter Carpin, I did bleach dyeing with tape. I remember Kevin Woon putting wigs on the models; one of them was Julianne Nicholson, who's such a great actress now. I met Andrew Richardson and he really helped me a lot. He lent a switchblade that Julianne carried on the runway. There was just an edge [to] who I was, the way I was living. I remember sleeping at people's houses, going to a friend's house and saying, "Can I cut out some patterns?" and then I’d go to another friend: "Can I sew some things?" "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Rosalie Knox, photographer: I met Susan at X-Girl, Kim Gordon's fashion label. Susan was the actuator, she got the samples made, and I was her assistant. Then she left to start her own thing. She got this raw space on Canal Street. It was her and Rita Ackermann. Susan had no money, but it was exciting and fun; she had interesting people over all the time. We put together an office. We were broke girls and we had to do everything ourselves. We’d need rubber bands and I’d be like, "Well, can I buy them?" And Susan would be like, "I don't know, I don't think so." And I’d be like, "I just found some change over here, I’ll get the rubber bands." It was so bare bones but just through the force of will [we did it].

Rita Ackermann, artist: We shared a studio loft on Canal Street and used to give a lot of courage to each other on carving our own paths. We had many mutual friends and we used to host some artsy happenings and parties. We would always participate in each other's projects; when she had a fashion show I would do whatever I could to be useful, and when I had a puppet show she designed couture clothing for my puppets.

Vanina Sorrenti, photographer: We lived downtown and were just making it up as we went along. There was a fantastic freedom and culmination of youth that was taking place. Our references were from our everyday life as well as influences from the past, but we managed to reinterpret them and find a balance between the two. It was magical now that I think about it, real alchemy.

Thuy Pham, designer: There was no money, and the motivation was to get published in a magazine so you can be cool amongst your friends. That can't exist anymore. In the start-up world the motivation is to be noticed by investors because they want to do business, they want to play the VIP game. The economic climate really created a different kind of incentive for young people; we didn't think we could be professionals, we didn't think we could make money doing what we were doing. Everyone hustled for their money—we were just being creative.

Run Fall, aka. Run 2 1996 Chelsea parking garage

Cianciolo: Aaron Lown, my friend from Parsons who is an industrial designer, introduced me to Schoeller textiles, because they were using Kevlar and he was obsessed with Kevlar (he made shoes for me out of it for my first show). So, I wrote them this long letter [asking for sponsorship] and they wrote back from Switzerland and they said, "Okay, pick whatever you want." That whole second collection was made all in Schoeller textiles. I was able to get these really outrageous shapes and I started this patterning that was really abstract. Aaron Lown's father was with SAS Shoes, this comfort shoe company, so I called him and asked, "Would you sponsor and I’d just use all your old-people comfort shoes?" and he said yes.

I knew I wanted to start being seasonless, so I presented all these swimsuits. Devra Kinery built all the patterns for me. It was all these swimsuits and these giant pieces of textile, really heavy-duty neon Schoeller fabrics that were sand-blasted, and then I screen-printed this print that Greg Foley from Visionaire made for me. The idea was that a giant piece of textile that wasn't cut or anything could just go over a person like a garment. And then I thought I would be very punk and the wrap skirts were only held with pins, there were no closures at all. The construction was so important to me intellectually, and I don't know if people look back and know that. The construction, for me, was the most important.

Steve Marcus, an illustrator I knew, made all these temporary tattoos of guns that we put on the necks of the models, and I worked with Michael Delfino for the makeup and we made this dead kind of look. Kevin Woon continued with me on the hair. The casting was a mix of models and newly discovered people that weren't models yet: I picked them, Bernadette picked them, Rita picked them. No-Neck Blues Band—Matt, Dave, Sabir, and Daniel—played and that's when I decided I would pretty much stick with live music for all the shows.

Aaron Rose, gallerist, filmmaker, and Cianciolo's former husband: I first met Susan through my friend, the artist Rita Ackermann. We used to go see music together at this dive-y place on west Spring Street by the river. I can't remember the name of it, but there was good jazz. She was in the process of planning her second Run collection and asked me to be a security guard for the event. The presentation happened in a parking lot. I’m not sure why she asked me to be a security because I’m really skinny and not at all threatening, but that's Susan for you.

Marcelo Krasilcic, photographer: Susan and Bernadette Corporation were the ones doing all of these amazing shows. It was always critical, it was always profound, it was always studied and researched and questioned, and it was all very personal. A lot of the work in the 1990s was mixing models and real people and friends. I think a lot of what Susan did, and a lot of what we were all doing, was very meaningful emotionally. We were drawing from our experiences.

Anh Duong artist, model: The ’80s were all about money and success and very flamboyant. In the ’90s there was a recession, so everything suddenly became grungy. It was not about big shoulder pads anymore, it was not about wearing gold, and that's why Susan fit perfectly because it was all about things that you would make yourself; nothing loud and flashy.

Camilla Nickerson, stylist: Susan couldn't be rushed. Each piece was so tenderly handled. I remember feeling incredibly humbled because Susan was really doing it and I had huge awe and admiration. I felt I was scratching the surface and she was living and breathing it. She was quite aligned to the times; Margiela's influence was still being felt.

Run 3, Pro-Abortion; Anti Pink October 27, 1996 Showroom Seven 498 7th Avenue, 24th floor, New York City

Cianciolo: We made a film: Pro-Abortion; Anti Pink. I spent a summer building a screenplay through drawings. Aaron [Rose] would do these beautiful painted typography collages and then Phil Frost, [then known for his street art], would add to them. The drawings told me what the film was about. I was watching crazy, crazy films that I could never watch again in my life—by Jean-Luc Godard, Leos Carax—but it was a part of my self-education.

Harmony Korine was friends with Aaron and Mark Gonzales, so he was around us when we were making this film. I talked to Harmony often and he just threw out, "I have a title for you." I added "Anti Pink" because that seemed like such a good juxtaposition and I could use that neon pink for some of the posters and graphics.

Then I invited artists to participate. Anette Aurell, Tobin Yelland, Marcelo Krasilcic, Cheryl Dunn—there were different vignettes and I made all the clothing. Terry Richardson's in that film; we were good friends then. With each collaborator I felt it was up to them to go wherever they wanted to go. Aaron gave me a Super 8 camera; I was shooting the whole time, too, and then when we edited, my shots ended up being the in-betweens.

Liz Goldwyn, collector, artist: I was at art school at SVA, [and] had just moved out of the dorm, and Susan asked if she could shoot an art film in my tiny little studio apartment on Mulberry Street. It was for her fashion show; she had a few artists do videos for that season. That was the presentation, short films.

Antoinette Aurell, photographer turned healer: I was living in Paris and I moved to New York City and started collaborating with Susan. The first film that we worked on together was Pro-Abortion, Anti Pink. What's really special about Susan is she really collaborates a lot with many people, and there's complete freedom of what's going to come out of it; there's no control.

Sorrenti: Growing up in New York was challenging and eye-opening, but very inspiring. You were always on your toes and looking for the new creative venue or stomping ground. My daughter said to me recently, "Mom, what were some things that were considered inappropriate when you were growing up?" . . . and then I realized no one used that word in my youth; you just dealt with whatever came your way and most of it was inappropriate. It was more of a survival mode we were in, and the beginning of what is now a very established environment where everything has a predictable growth value.

Knox: There was something grimy about the fashion; we would find stuff in the trash, we would find things in thrift shops. [We were] sort of scavengers. Susan was deeply involved with Alleged Gallery with Aaron Rose, and he had this stable of artists who were living on the edge. The ’90s were super nihilist. While I was in the ’90s I was like, "What is the ’90s?" What are people going to say about it, because we all just look like nothing to me. It's all just sort of slacker half-assed, cynical, hot, maybe a little high. It was like everyone was over it and it was sort of a downswing from the ’80s which was like, "Oh my god, we’re going to be millionaires," and, like, "There's money in art!" Styles in the ’80s were so exaggerated and colorful and extreme and there was for sure, like, a general boom feeling. I felt like the ’90s was kind of, like, a depressed aftermath or something."

Andrea Rosen, gallerist: It was just people living and being individualistic and being their own generation, friends. No one was sitting around thinking, "Oh, we’re reactionary or against." There was no energy put in that. It was, "We are. This is. There is a freedom, we’re creating, we’re living, we’re going out." It was a seamless experience between one's work and one's nightlife.

Run 4 April 5, 1997 Glamour Furniture, 380 Broadway, New York City

Cianciolo: Run 4 was dedicated to my grandfather who died. He brought me up. [While making the] collection I’d go back to Rhode Island for two days and take care of my grandfather, then I’d get on the bus and come back. I remember this coat, this white jacket that had hundreds of stitches and I sewed it while he died. The whole collection was based on death and him, taking care of someone. Danny [McDonald] made me skeleton jewelry for that; it was profound. I liked the meanings to be very subliminal, but Danny's work could really [put] it truly out there, so it helped me further that voice. We found a vacant storefront on Broadway not far from White Street. It was run-down, but it was all glass. I had people doing spoken word, like performance artist Judy Elkin [whom] I met when she was dating Olivier Zahm. Nikki [Uberti] threw some firecrackers. Julianne Nicholson lay on the floor and did a speech; Gillian [Haratani] from Art Club 2000 crawled out on stage and she had Jack Tilton's dog with her because she was pet sitting. The [models] would go out and take off their clothes and just have a swimsuit on. My grandmother made knit booties that we put high heels inside of and sewed to them. Mark Gonzales made hundreds and hundreds of programs by hand. He drew on envelopes and he wrote "Run Collection" and poems and jokes and drawings. We put them in this old desk we found and they were just overflowing over the floor; you’d just come in and take one. Then I chose quotes, one from Marcel Duchamp—"There is no solution because there is no problem"—and one from David Lee Roth—"Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you a yacht big enough to pull up right alongside it"—because I wanted that strange uncanniness of these two brilliant quotes from the most opposite figures in the world. We folded them into this football and those were passed out to the audience, so that was a further exploration into complete performance.

Gabriel Asfour, designer of Threeasfour: There was an element of performance art that was added to her collections. A lot of downtown designers showed at galleries or off spaces that were not at all traditional runway venues—actually that was more common when we started—and the choice of the space was already kind of a big deal.

Danny McDonald, sculptor: I was making jewelry really on a limited basis, for Rosalie [Knox], basically, and other friends. Just trying to make really weird stuff, and Susan would always notice it, and then at a certain point she borrowed some stuff. It was almost like I was collaborating with Susan by remote because I was making all this stuff with the idea, like, "This is for Susan," and [it] happened to really work conceptually with what she was doing.

Rose: I was never officially part of Run Collection, but since Susan and I were married, by default I ended up being involved in most of the collections. I wasn't involved in the design-side of things, but I helped to organize and produce most of the presentations and a few of the films. We lived together in a loft on Canal Street that doubled as her studio, so I’d wake up in the morning to a sewing circle of girls working on Susan's clothes. Run Collection was most certainly a family affair.

Frankie Rayder, model and muse: Community is really big. You can't write an article about Susan without mentioning her ex-husband Aaron. He had Alleged [Gallery] which was the center of a lot [of activity]. Everyone would come together for the shows; it was all interwoven. There was a lot of energy and a lot of power of community; everyone was feeding off each other. It was a really beautiful time, and a very pure time; it was when fashion and art had this pure exchange. Watching Aaron set up a show with his friends was like Susan preparing for a show with her clothes. Some people would float between the two of them, and they also had their own group of people. It was just this really beautiful artistic relationship they had, [in addition to] their loving relationship.

Run 5 Sleepers October 16-20, 1997 Purple Institute, 9, Rue Pierre Dupont, Paris

Cianciolo: I’ve always made dolls since I was young. I don't know why, but for Run 5 I decided to make dolls that were life-size, and I patterned on one of my mannequins, because I was really obsessed with mannequins and I was working with Ralph Pucci. [Then] Olivier Zahm said, "Why don't you come to Paris and do a show at Purple Institute?"

As we were hand-carrying everything onto the plane, we found stuffing in France, and sewed them there. Because it was so exhausting, some would have no legs or [were] missing an arm. Of course, this then got interpreted into something mutated and sick. It wasn't exactly that, but I was okay with the abstraction.

I based it on the ethereal dream state. There were five dolls, and I cast five women and said, "You’re going to lay down and sleep for two hours on the cold ground with the dolls." It was when Rita [Ackermann] was married; I made the clothes for her wedding. Kim Gordon, Jutta Koether, Chloë Sevigny, and I were in the wedding party. All of our outfits then just became the Run 5 collection. I dressed all of the women in them. Then I shot a film with Anette Aurell that was all these people sleeping in different locations: in the park, in an abandoned building. The idea was that you would go in [and] see this silent performance [of girls sleeping on the ground with dolls], and then you would see this silent film, and I had five Walkmans you’d put on, you’d pick which one. Different people made special [tapes]: Kim Gordon gave me a cassette, two guys from the No-Neck Blues Band; Judy [Elkin], who was in Run 4, did spoken word pieces . . . I can't remember who else.

Anette: Susan was going against everything. She was going against all of fashion. Nobody does [the work that she did]; in a way [it was] like the haute couture, Yves Saint Laurent or Madame Grès or whoever. In a way, Susan did that but without that kind of money. At the same time, it's not like the haute couture for rich people and these perfect tailored [things]; [Susan's are] unique pieces and really soulful. They had an old spirit, sort of like the Quakers. They’re very warm, you know, very warm and handmade. [Susan] also recycled things that already existed, so it was kind of sustainable. Each work is an art piece. She is really on that line where fashion and art meet.

Julie Gilhart, fashion consultant and former Barneys New York fashion director: Susan was doing what all the stereotypical Brooklynites are doing now—craft, niche, sustainable, artistic, authentic, quality. It's a trend [now]—back when Susan was doing her collection it was unique and original. She was so far ahead of her time.

Desiree Heiss and Ines Kaag, Bless designers: We came to know Susan in Paris . . . and were immediately captured above all by her as a person: an outstanding, very charismatic appearance; always with a gentle, colorful eyeshadow; her way to dress, her slow way to speak in this beautiful dark voice. Susan in boring clothes is simply not imaginable. She is one of the few people we can think of that has an effortless yet significant "style" that is very strong, as it is 100 percent coherent with her personality and can't be disconnected.

Run 6, Diadal 1998 The Rotunda, 79th Street and the West Side Highway

Cianciolo: For Run 6, I made the film Diadal, which means "victory" in Hungarian; Rita named the film. I introduced the Run do-it-yourself skirt kit—well, it was introduced for Run 6 and then again at Run 9. The reason I wanted to make the film was to give demos of how the skirt was cut apart and made. I think Run 6 was maybe my favorite collection because I built these collars and pockets and sleeves that all came apart and you could connect them; it was a really fascinating collection. Because Rita [had] started playing music then, I said, "Okay, will you do the score."

[It was presented] at the Rotunda, which is a circular amphitheater on 79th and the West Side Highway. I asked Paula Hayes, a really incredible fine artist who works with plants, to do these installation still lifes of plants and she built these cement pots for them and we just put up this giant screen in the center of this rotunda outside and screened the film. Frankie [Rayder] did this live performance afterward in front of the screen, just whatever I told her to do. It was very abstract: She stood up there and did some movements, whatever I came up with. Rita played with a group of the No-Neck guys before the screening in that amphitheater. I remember putting up these large drawings outside, like taping them up outside everywhere, posters we made, things like that. That was, again, my idea of layering—like, how many things could I possibly layer.

Gilhart: Susan was so creative in not just her clothes but her presentations. There were a lot of very cool artists emerging at the time, and she seemed to be just as much a part of that as she was a part of the fashion business. I had to have her in the store because her clothes were so interesting and different but also because she as a designer-artist was just so cool. There was definitely this one-of-kind, handmade, handcrafted feel to it. It wasn't luxury, but had a more non-urban rustic feeling to it. It was deconstructed but not harsh, if that makes sense. Susan stood out. That's why people loved her and followed her.

Rayder: When I met Susan, I had never sewn in my life. There were a bunch of girls sitting around a table and she just gave me a needle and a thread and I just watched her; it didn't matter that I didn't know how to do it. She taught me how to knit. I was 20 years old learning to knit for the first time, and I gave her this ugly piece that was all messed up and it became a part of a dress; someone put something else on and everyone was working on top. Susan was the master grand architect of the whole thing. A lot of it was like the layers. That was the beauty of her work. She had people that just did knitting, she had people that were better at sewing, then she just had people, like me, who didn't know what they were doing but she loved to have them around. There was this really interesting structured non-structure to it all.

Knox: Susan is like a master deconstructivist. She would always cut stuff and sew it back together a little bit different, or cut different parts of things and sew it together. I guess at the time Ann Demeulemeester and the Antwerp designers, and Martin Margiela and Comme des Garçons—all of those things that were a little bit arty and austere and not so feminine—[were] sort of pushing the boundaries of what could be considered good looking. Fashion [was] just changing—and these designers were at the forefront of what was cool. There was Helmut Lang, too. There was just more of a no-nonsense vibe of things then. I see it as being more serious.

Run 7 November 1, 1998 Gallery 360°, Tokyo and Andrea Rosen Gallery, 525 West 24th Street, New York City

Cianciolo: When Aaron Rose and I got married, one of his collectors said, "We’ll fly you to Tokyo first class, print 1,000 copies of Susan's book, and do a show at 360 Gallery in Tokyo." It was my wedding present. [After Tokyo] we did the show at Andrea Rosen's new space in Chelsea.

A Wolfgang Tillmans exhibition was on—all his photos were up—and we put up this little velvet rope and showed in the center. Liz [Goldwyn] called Sotheby's and asked if we could borrow mannequins. They had these Lucite vintage ones, and then I called Ralph Pucci and I went through his garbage and found all these broken mannequins. [These were placed] in the front room; in the back room I set up flea market–style fold-out tables.

That was when I started being in the performances myself. I was at one table—it was different people at different tables—and one at a time people would sit down and I would do a demo, and Jennifer Hamdan, she was my head assistant, did the same. On one table we had the books piled up and you could buy a book. I’ve been repeating this exhibition; recently [I did it] in Los Angeles at 356 South Mission Road, where I lined up the tables in the same way with performers at each table giving demonstrations, referencing the things that I did then.

Rose: I think my favorite collection was Run 7, but that could change tomorrow. Something about the juxtaposition of colors and materials seemed to me to be very "iconic" Susan.

Duong: Susan was in her shows back then—I mean, I wouldn't even know if I could call them fashion shows, it could have been an art performance. What's the difference? I was looking at pictures of Susan's last art show and to me it felt like it's the same thing except she used [to use] women to carry the clothes. It's a continuation.

Goldwyn: I was working at Sotheby's and I would wear these crazy suits that [Susan had made], and the guards would run after me and say, "You got your skirt caught in the escalator!" And all my family friends would say, "Lizzie, you have strings hanging off of your clothes," and they’d try to cut [them off]. That was also the time when Margiela was really popular and there was a whole deconstruction movement happening in fashion and Susan epitomized that for America.

Asfour: I used to look at Susan as a deconstructionist, but when I knew her better I started realizing it was more about repurposing, which was a new form of construction. It was basically repurposing but with instinct, because each piece has its own feeling, so there was not this mass-production type of energy in it. It was just personal; each piece had its own personal touch in it and that's what made Susan special to me. I feel [repurposing] is the future because there's something about not wasting things, about knowing how to use things that are existing that's very daring. At the time Susan was doing it, nobody was doing it. She was not thinking green, she was more doing it out of instinct and I feel like she was quite successful at it because she has her own style, and it was not fitting anywhere and it was its own kind of voice.

Run 8 February 15, 1999 Lady Mendl's Tea Salon, 56 Irving Place, New York City

Cianciolo: Lysa [Cooper] and Liz [Goldwyn] pretty much produced that show. Liz found that space. [I met Lysa through Andrea Rosen]; Lysa was close with Francesco Clemente [and] she asked if he would buy one of my dolls. That was the money we used to produce that show. The tea that I chose was very specific, and the silver [samovars], that setting, I just remember how special that was, and Liz's sense of detail . . . .

The casting was mostly non-models. Rosalie [Knox] was photographing, but she was in the show, I was in the show, Anette was in the show, Carla [Wachtveitl] was in the show, Liz cast Anh [Duong]. Dame Darcy, who's some sort of famous comic artist, wore an outfit that Rachel Feinstein later borrowed for her opening at White Columns. I remember Dame Darcy smashed all the lights in the back room and the hotel was not happy about that, but fans came out of the woodwork because she was in the show; she has some kind of cult following.

[The models served] these chocolate truffles made from a family recipe I got from my cousin who would make them every Christmas. We made them physically in my studio and served them on these silver trays. The textiles for that collection—like peacock feathers—were just outrageous; they were very, very intricate. I had started to get more and more involved in the labor and the couture aspect. I would say and that's why that location was perfect for that collection.

McDonald: The [presentations] were always pretty incredible; the space was always part of the show. Susan's approach was very much a context specific, sophisticated sort of art angle on fashion. I remember one time I was like, "The models are incredible!" And she was like, "Danny, I don't use models, I use people!" She always had interesting characters and was just doing things differently.

Duong: Honestly, [what Susan was doing] didn't feel so different than the couture because it was really about one's own fantasy and a very strong point of view. Okay, it definitely had a grungy aspect, but to me it was always couture. Her work is one-of-a-kind. She had her own vision; it was not commercial clothing, so it sort of falls in the same spirit [of the couture]. I remember [Susan gave me] this jean skirt. I remember precisely because it was hand-stitched, it was like embroidery with stitches, and the cut of it was really cool too. Again, the uniqueness. You knew if you were wearing that skirt you’d be the only one to have it; nowadays everybody has everything and who cares, everybody's wearing the same clothes.

Carla Wachtveitl, Chanel executive: The stitches, I remember the stitches. They were everywhere. They were brutal and fragile at the same time. They struck a chord in me; I was attracted to them. Sometimes it's like a piece of the fabric is falling apart, but not quite. It's perfect for impermanence, "hanging on a thread." Susan's clothes can be puritanical, demure, grandmotherly seeming at first glance, but also eccentric, punkish, gypsyish, or stone-agey. [They are always] poetically handmade. Full of layers. Often sexy, actually . . . in my world/interpretation.

Run 9 September 11, 1999 Alleged Galleries, 809 Washington Street, New York City

Cianciolo: Run 9 was at the new Alleged that Aaron opened on Washington Street across from [where] the Whitney is now. At the time we would go there in the morning and there was meat blood everywhere and no one in sight. I built these collapsible structures out of wood with brass hinges with Aaron Lown who did the palettes for Run 2. They were based off of the dowels fused to hang kimonos; [that's what] we were using for references. Everything about them was exquisite. I just was so in love with them. My concept was I made a couture dress—in my words—for each one; there was only one dress to one structure. If you were a collector you may want to have that structure.

It was a beautiful, big space and it was just those structures, you know, physically it was so breathtaking and the colors very pastel, and it was enormous amounts of embroideries and working with shiboris . . . . I started to see a healer at that time because my pinky finger turned black because [of all] the draping and the sewing. I’ll never sew like that again, ever. That show got so many orders and there were so many pieces only I could produce by hand on the mannequin. I pushed. I was like This is the most labor-intensive I’m ever going to go in my life and it was just layers of embroideries and hand-painted and everything was completely by hand. I wanted to push the limits.

We always had this sense of humor to [the collections], so I said to Aaron Rose, "I’m going to open up the exhibition to anyone in the world who wants to make an animal of any kind and drop it off and be in the show." And he was like, "Please don't do that, that's like a nightmare." And I was like, "We’re doing it!" So of course, one artist, Libby McInnis who I worked with a lot, she made the most giant animal that was possible. People dropped off crazy [things]. That's when I started to open up more community-related [aspects].

And then there was a performance piece [as well]. We all wore Run T-shirts at the opening [and] I came out with a perfume. I had a back room [where there was a screen that I painted], and this low Japanese table. I found a glass blower [who] made these glass perfume bottles by hand with different stoppers and then Kim Bennett painted the labels by hand. Jennifer Hamdan and I came up with the scents. I remember Liz [Goldwyn] was in the show and the performance. She was in the back room with Jennifer and you could sit down at this low wooden table and try each perfume.

Rose: I always saw her work as sort of above both descriptions [of fashion and art]. She elevated the act of dressing into an art form, and brought the idea of fine art to a more pedestrian level because the pieces were accessible. Susan never had any issues about this dichotomy. I think the press always cared about it more than she did.

Gilhart: Susan's wasn't a huge business, but it was interesting and collectible. It was the cherry on top. For a customer who was buying a lot of Comme des Garçons or Dries Van Noten, pieces from Susan's collection were really intriguing and had that bit of intellectualism they craved. It was current, but not branded and big. It felt very underground/downtown and that was just the right spot to be in then.

Run 10 February 6, 2000 Andrea Rosen Gallery, 525 West 24th Street, New York City

Cianciolo: Run 10 was my reaction to [Run 9]. It was at Andrea's place in Chelsea again and I said, "We’re changing the whole thing and we’re going to do a straight runway." I asked a furniture designer Chris—the husband of Jennifer Hamdan—to build a runway. I remember Vidal Sassoon sponsored the show and gave me $10,000 and I spent [almost] the whole thing on the runway and the benches that they built by hand. The rest [of the money was spent] on models. I asked a casting agent, "Can you cast me old models, like over 30 or something?" Kim Gordon was in it.

I did completely tailored suits, it was very Bernadette Corporation. I felt. It was all these beautiful suits and blouses, but the intricacy . . . . [For example there] was this white linen [piece that] we sat there for months and, like, pulled each thread to build patterns. I never even wanted [the wearer] to know [about the labor involved]. There were months of embroideries all on the inside because I thought that was the beauty of the early times when all this personal embroidery would be on your slip.

Well, the press hated it and no one understood it. Of course, now I think it's looked at as exquisite. I mean, if you know how to tailor a suit, to me that's when you know . . . . That was the thing, I was never bullshitting from the beginning. I love designers that have never studied, but especially coming from my background, it was important to me to become a master at a tailored jacket. I got to go to a top college, which was so rare where I came from. To be able to make a tailored collection was like an art.

All of the press was so obsessed with all my embroideries and they trashed [Run 10]. There were all these big backers from Italy that flew in, but what happened was I started to have a mental breakdown from the pressure. So many people wanted me and they were all fighting and it never ended and [it was] all about money and who was going to do a bigger production run, so I got to see like, wow, this was what the real fashion world was like.

Asfour: After deconstruction was done, there was time to do reconstruction again. Hussein Chalayan was already pioneering, then newcomers were coming in, like Junya Watanabe, who was basically taking the elements of fashion and putting them [together] in a different way, following the human body, being more [interested in] freedom of movement and the freedom of spirit. At least from our perspective, that was the intersection with our lifestyle. The body had to be more agile, it had to be more free, and more you were conscious that the environment around you had to be in accord with your anatomy and your movement. The people we met downtown had all that vibe; they were these kind of free spirits—and rebels as well. They wanted to change things. They were not satisfied with how things were. They wanted to do something different.

Run 11 September 17, 2000 75 Eighth Avenue, New York City October 9, 2000 Purple Institute, 9, Rue Pierre Dupont, Paris

Cianciolo: When I went into Run 11, I was such a mess. I just did a whole series of kits, hundreds of kits.

I rented this storefront in Chelsea and [the show] was all street cast by my assistants, people I knew, ex-models, musicians, and everyone wore the collection. It was [organized like] a fake store: Chris Johanson made fake money, Run money, and you would go to each station and you’d pretend you were buying something and get a demo. At that time we called it a guerilla storefront as pop-ups didn't exist yet. I opened one day in New York and one day in Paris at the Purple Institute, which was my last official show.

Liz said we had to rent a trailer that I could sit in on the street. She was like, "How are you going to do the hair and makeup? The dressing?" Shiseido sponsored it, so I made a whole series of cases for all of the Shiseido products by hand, and I did, [as] a joke, a mock of a home collection, called Run Home, and the home collection Kiva Motnyk that I do now, it's based off of that. [Run 11] was the last collection, which I think I knew in a sense.

Krasilcic: I think, in a way, we were the resistance because we didn't go down the path of mass production, investment, and structure.

Rosen: I think that the ’90s were very much about [feeling] that you had a right to be. And it wasn't a political right; it wasn't like now, like we’re going to stand up and have a right or a sign. There was a freedom to actually be individualistic. [It was] the right to be completely embodied with self, not as a reference to something else, but as a thing itself. [It was] that idea of realness, of having an authentic personal experience and being responsible for that personal experience. As Félix González-Torres would say, "If you have the right to a point of view, you have the responsibility to a point of view." It's about embodying that today is different than yesterday and my outfit is different than yesterday and this is the person I am today and it's not because I’m taking on the identity of some store-bought designer. There's the object, and there's Susan, and then there's the wearer; it was a collaboration.

Rose: We were just making things. Everything was very much in-the-moment. Everyone involved was just having fun and being as creative as we could. It's only in retrospect, especially through discussions with younger people who have been influenced by Susan's work from that period, that it seems like it may have had some impact. It's always so hard to determine what makes something influential. For everyone involved in Run collection, it was just about making something of our time. Susan wasn't influenced by other designers. Maybe that's the difference?

Rayder: Susan just hasn't changed. We laugh now about it because she's like, "I’m just doing the same thing that I’ve always done and now people are like, ‘Wow!’ " But everyone was like, "Wow!" in the 1990s about her. It's just everything was so different; social media changes so much and people become . . . their star shines so much brighter in this way that isn't necessarily real. If, in New York, in the early ’90s, we had access to sharing information the way that we do now, Susan would have gotten just as much credit and then I think it would have exploded even more.

Run Restaurant March 9–17, 2001 Alleged Galleries, 809 Washington Street, New York City

Cianciolo: Run Restaurant was physically the next season but it was [really] how I kind of transitioned out. I introduced [it] at Aaron's gallery and at the same time told him I felt we should separate and he agreed, told the studio I was closing, and so even though Run Restaurant was very joyous and beautiful, all this—I see the press that talks about it was "ashram"-like—it was very bittersweet . . . .

Ackermann: Susan's art was and is about love and caring, teaching people to care and to appreciate the daily wonders. Her work has the ability to bring people together and become an entity, almost in a tribal sense when women sit in a weaving circle. She gives an opportunity to awaken everyone to their own creative call. She is like a wizard or a modern-day shaman who teaches self-healing and survival with craft.