August 2000
Suddenly Susan
Not so long ago, Austin women in need of couture clothes had to go to Dallas or Houston. Now Susan Dell (the wife of Michael) is selling her own high-dollar designs in a tony boutique. It's your classic riches-to-rags story.
On a drizzly spring morning in Manhattan, Susan Dell, the wife of billionaire computer mogul Michael Dell, strode through the double doors of the Fashion Tower, an art deco high-rise on Seventh Avenue, and hurried to a meeting at the headquarters of her fledgling couture house, Susan Dell Inc. The 36-year- old blonde, who had arrived in the city after a dizzying evening in Austin hosting a fundraiser for the Austin Museum of Art, went unnoticed amid the dirt and din of the Garment District, though she had the look of a woman whom life is treating well. Luminous, lithe, and perfectly turned-out, she wore a sleeveless black ensemble of her own design and carried a Gucci black alligator purse, having pared down her constellation of jewelry to a simple diamond drop necklace, a platinum Rolex, and two diamond rings of astonishing heft. She stepped off the elevators, pushed open the frosted-glass door that bears her name, and walked briskly to a conference room. Pausing only to set down her laptop—Dell, of course—she put a well-manicured hand on her hip, beamed at her assembled staff, and said, "Let's get started."Working girl may seem an unlikely role for Susan Dell to have chosen, given that her husband's success in the computer industry has forever redefined the term "rich Texan." At 35, Michael Dell is the wealthiest Texan of all time and the ninth-richest man in the world, having amassed a fortune valued at a staggering $17.5 billion. His colossal wealth has catapulted the Dells into the heady world of the fabulously well-to-do, and in Texas it has made them one of the highest-profile couples around. The Dells' 33,000-square- foot Austin mansion sits atop Thompson Mountain, a peak that offers panoramic views of a landscape that has been fundamentally changed by the Dell name: Not only is Dell Computer the biggest private employer in Central Texas, but it has also helped attract the infusion of high-tech money that is reshaping Austin. Among members of the city's burgeoning social scene, the Dells are referred to as Michael and Susan, having reached the sort of iconic status that makes last names unnecessary.
These days, the Dell name most often in circulation around town is not his but hers; after playing a supporting role for eleven years, Susan is now taking center stage. The Dallas native is routinely described in superlatives: She is the most vibrant, the most stylish, the most gregarious, the most driven, and—as several socialites admiringly noted—the fittest and thinnest of the city's nouveaux mega-riches. Marriage to Michael Dell has made her one of the most-talked-about women in town, as have the five-figure couture gowns that she has designed for the city's elite for the past several years. But nothing has gottenmore tongues wagging than the recent opening of her exclusive clothing store—called simply Susan Dell—in the well-heeled Westlake area of Austin. Designed by renowned architect Charles Gwathmey, who drafted the addition to Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim Museum in New York, it is no ordinary dress shop. The high-dollar boutique (its burnished-steel door alone reportedly cost $40,000, although Susan denies it) is the first retail outlet for Susan Dell Inc., the start-up company that she plans on building into nothing less than a fashion empire. To succeed, she will first have to persuade her critics that she should be taken seriously. From Seventh Avenue to Westlake Drive, skeptical observers are asking the same question: Is she for real, or is she—as plenty of eye-rolling Austinites have speculated—simply a bored socialite trying to elbow her way into the fashion world with her husband's billions? Under her direction, Susan Dell Inc. has lured talent away from some of the nation's best designers—Calvin Klein, Donna Karan, Richard Tyler, Randolph Duke, Vera Wang—and now boasts three floors in the Fashion Tower and a staff of 45. The fashion press has begun to take note; in February Women's Wear Daily weighed in with a glowing write-up, and in May Harper's Bazaar praised the label's "clean, elegant designs." Still, breaking into the couture business is hardly easy, though Susan Dell appears less concerned with turning a profit than with building a brand, one that is inextricably bound up with her own identity. "Since the day Michael and I got engaged, I've been 'the fiancée of' and then 'the wife of,'" she says. "And before that, I was 'the daughter of,' 'the sister of,' 'the friend of.' The good news is, I'm thrilled to be all those things. But I'm also Susan Dell."
Her determination to make her mark was clear in her Manhattan offices, where, in a conference room graced by white orchids, she set to work refining her label's fall collection. She was both informal with her staff—"Very cool," she said with a smile when she noticed that a willowy design assistant had dyed the ends of her hair pink—and decisive. All eyes were on her as she made rapid-fire rulings on everything from the shape of the new Susan Dell dress boxes to the color of the new Susan Dell hangers, keeping in constant motion as she fingered fabric swatches, examined seams, and nixed particular designs ("That isn't my client"), never stopping to sit down during the nearly five-hour session. Frowning, she listened as a technician described how a white wool top had come in "way, way off spec." Reflective, she talked about the need for "trans-seasonal" clothes and a palette that could move from day to evening. Appraising a platinum-colored satin gown, she cut off the straps and made adjustments while circling the fitting model, in the process transforming the otherwise unremarkable dress into a striking sheath. "Fabulous," one of her design assistants whispered.
At the conclusion of the meeting, she smiled and was gone, dashing out onto Seventh Avenue, which was cluttered with dress racks and double-parked delivery trucks, and ducking into a waiting car. She had given a bravura performance, but the question persisted: Was the wife of Texas' wealthiest man merely dabbling in dresses? Back in Austin, she didn't flinch at the charge, instead addressing it with characteristic forthrightness. "I want to build a house as big and lasting as Chanel," she said, her aquamarine eyes fixed resolutely on the future. "This is not a hobby."
Before she was Susan Lieberman, doctor's daughter and all-around golden girl, who knew early on that her life would be extraordinary. To expect less would have been out of character. Her father, noted Baylor University Medical Center cancer surgeon Zelig "Zeck" Lieberman, is a 72-year-old fitness fanatic and a study in self-realized positivity, a relentlessly upbeat man whose vitality has defined his brood. To meet Lieberman and his sons—Susan's older brother, Steve, is president of the Weitzman Group, a Dallas-based real estate company, and her younger brother, Randy, is a venture capitalist—is to be struck by their collective drive. Athletic and self-assured, they have firm handshakes, broad smiles, and the zeal of motivational speakers. Conversation frequently touches on "playing hard," "embracing life," "thinking positive," "setting your priorities," and "being the best." Susan exhibits the same unflagging optimism and ambition, often with an eye toward shaping her public image. Casting herself as a tireless champion of self-improvement, she likes to expound on the virtues of personal challenges, trying to dispel any notion that she might be a lady of leisure. "I set goals for myself, and I put every bit of myself into them," she says brightly. "I make a huge investment in blood, sweat, and tears."Susan came of age in a five-bedroom house in the North Dallas neighborhood of Russwood Acres, a comfortable enclave of late-seventies suburbia. The Liebermans routinely spent their weekends running together, racing to improve their times. Susan kept pace with her brothers but also cultivated her femininity: She was meticulous about her appearance, even for swim meets and family waterskiing outings for which she primped at length with a curling iron. "No one has ever looked better getting ready to be plunged into a lake and pulled along at forty miles an hour," recalls Randy. At the suggestion of friends of her mother, Marilyn, she began modeling with the Kim Dawson agency in junior high, doing runway work and department store catalogs; though she soon tired of being a "mannequin," her interest in fashion was piqued, and she dreamed of someday being a buyer. Academics did not always hold her interest: After the ninth grade, the self-described "social butterfly" transferred from the exclusive Greenhill School to the bigger, and more social, W. T. White High School, where she was named a Sophomore Beauty.
