HE rose from a city college student promoting concerts part-time to become one of the most powerful men in the music business. But as he plops resigningly onto an armchair in the great room of his New Jersey estate, one would never know that Russell Simmons is the godfather of the multibillion-dollar hip-hop industry, a man who single-handedly launched the careers of legends like LL Cool J and Will Smith, and brought underground rap culture to mainstream America and the world.
Wearing a sweatsuit and his signature baseball cap, the man who founded Del Jam Records in t984--and made a mint off it four years ago when he sold his interest in the record label to Polygram Records for some $100 million--watches the artistry around him with some impatience and some pride.
He's not in the comforts of his high-rise offices on 7th Avenue in New York City, heading Rush Communications, a vast conglomerate of businesses that includes a footwear company, an advertising agency, a luxury watch company, and male and female clothing lines that alone grossed in the neighborhood of $400 million last year. He's not meeting with his twenty something staff, laying the groundwork for his new Russell Simmons Beverage Company, which will soon release its first product, the Def Con 3 energy drink. He's not in meetings with top officials at Visa, planning the marketing campaign for a new credit card that will carry his name. He's not being interviewed by a television reporter about the validity of reparations or the invalidity of the Rockefeller drug laws.
No, on this day the 45-year-old Hollis, Queens, native is on the other side of the Hudson River, playing the role of an acquiescent family man and watching his wife, Kimora Lee Simmons, the daughter of an African-American father and Japanese mother, and a dozen or so contractors put the finishing touches on the renovations of the couple's fabulous 35,000-square-foot home.
The two work as a team on most things, including the family business. But the home is clearly her area, and he's keeping out of her way.
The home--believed to be one of the largest on the East Coast--is decorated with numerous pieces of lavish furniture once owned by famed fashion designer Gianni Versace, and the one-of-a-kind, $93,000 Egyptian-style crystal urn situated precariously on a side table. In the foyer, a sign reading "Colored Waiting Room" greets visitors. It's a Freedom Movement original that Russell purchased for the sole purpose of dichotomizing how far African-Americans have come as a race.
Nowhere can this progress be seen more than in his professional life. While Simmons continues to serve as chairman of Def Jam Records, which by many standards is one of the most profitable music companies in the country, he has since set his sights on new business areas.
He continues to see great growth potential in the Phat Farm clothing line he started 11 years ago. Last year, Phat Farm, which sells everything from sportswear to bags to belts, had a wholesale business of $300 million.
Three years ago, he launched the Baby Phat brand, which, under the creative direction of his wife, did $70 million in business in 2002. The woman's brand is growing at a much faster pace than Phat Farm. "Baby Phat is doing great," the 27-year-old Kimora says. "It's a lifestyle brand, which means it's everything from clothing to handbags to lingerie. We have coats, swimwear, cell phones. I'm creating shoes right now. We are also branching into home, which would include bedding, candles, dishes, skin care, hair care. It's a full line, and it's been growing every year."
The relationship between the two would make a great story in and of itself. When she met Russell in 1993, she was a top fashion model. In fact, the two met at a fashion show. At the time, she was a 17-year-old model who had been in the industry since she age 13, when she was a 5-foot-11 muse to the house of Chanel and its designer Karl Lagerfeld. Russell was a 35-year-old businessman, looking for fashions for his new clothing line. "I went backstage, and the other models told her to stay away from me because I was too old," he says, as he props his feet up and engages in a rare interview in his home. "She told me that she was 18. Her mother said it was okay if we dated. She had lived all over the world. She spoke a bunch of languages, French, German, Italian, Japanese. She had a certain polish and sophistication, and she was and is a lot of fun, and very independent."
Their 18-year age difference, their perceived cultural differences and his well-publicized wealth made for a volatile mix early in their relationship. "Women at the time were very bitter and jealous and did not want us to date ...," she says. "People thought I was some young [Asian] girl who stole this rich Black man. I'm multicultural and very much a Black woman. So it was very difficult in the beginning ... We come from different worlds. I was very mature for my age, and Russell has always been very playful and young at heart. It evens out. We had obstacles. But those obstacles made us more interested in each other."
Today, the couple is inseparable. Having purchased their multimillion-dollar house two years ago, they promptly proceeded to gut it and remake it into their dream home. The estate has 10 fireplaces, and is furnished with handmade furniture and antique artwork. The dining room table, made of cherry wood and gilded with 24-karat gold, seats two dozen people and is decorated in shades of regal red. A 12,000-square-foot, seven-bedroom guesthouse is situated behind the main estate. He routinely complains to his wife about changes to the home. Like her project to replace the stucco exterior with a type that, he says, is so high-maintenance "it will melt if you breathe on it." But deep down inside he likes his new digs. "It's a nice house," Simmons says. "It's good for entertaining. I have always lived in the city, so it's different."
Simmons calls his wife "an amazing businesswoman and an amazing mother. All of the things she can handle at one time. She doesn't go anywhere without the kids. She will take the girls and fly to Europe to do business. She's never spent a night away from the girls."
She is also, he says, "a creative force." She has worked for every designer. That's why she is such a good designer now. It has everything to do with her credibility and the reason she is in the forefront in her market. She knows what she's doing. She knows high fashion. I'm proud of her."
The selling strategy that runs throughout all the couple's companies is the ideal of American justice, not the crutch of race. Eighty percent of the people who buy Def Jam records are not Black. Neither is a large percentage of the people who buy Phat Farm and Baby Phat clothes. Therefore it infuriates him when people try to pigeonhole him into a particular category. "I'm not running an ethnic company" he says. "I make pink argyle sweaters, for goodness sake."
Russell's brother, Joey Simmons, better known as Reverend Run from the legendary rap group Run D.M.C., is president of Phat Farm Footware, a company Russell hopes will challenge the big sneaker companies.
Using campaigns that matter to the hip-hop community, Simmons travels across the country, spearheading rallies on the latest issues of the day in such unsuspecting places as shoe stores, where he mixes sneaker signings with talk about economic justice and self-awareness. It's his focus on social issues that has made him a force in the world of activism, even in a climate where celebrities are systematically beat down for speaking their mind. Simmons appears to say what he thinks without much thought to the repercussions of his words. He believes it's important for his company to have a voice. "Everybody else is punished for saying things, but what's the worst thing they can do to me?" he asks. "Dissent built this country. I criticize adults and they get mad at me. I'm an adult, and I still think adults are messed up in a lot of ways. Adults many times lack courage. They have old ideas and a lack of vision."
He believes firmly that young people are changing and evolving for the better. It's part of the reason he created Def Poetry Jam on Broadway and on HBO last year. Both the theater and television show highlight the re-emerging poetry scene among young people. "They are much more conscious now than they were five years ago," he says. "I go to schools in the ghetto and ask how many of them like poetry, and all of them stand up and say things from their heart. In their poetry, you hear a connection to the heart versus just the loud music. It's in style now. Rappers and poets are talking about much different subject matter, higher aspirations for themselves and their community. You hear frustration, but now you are hearing solutions, survival techniques"
