As the creator of the lines Seven, Citizens for Humanity, and Rich and Skinny jeans, Michael Glasser not only almost single handedly launched the designer denim jean craze of the aughts but has also had his denim worn by Reese, Beyonce, Britney, Halle, Paris, Cameron and dozens of other perfectly assed creatures also identifiable by first name only. And he cuts an imposing figure behind his enormous desk on the second floor of the Rich and Skinny headquarters. Still, you wouldn’t take the salt-and-pepper haired businessman for a former drug dealer or money launderer; he looks far more like a proud papa you might see at, say, his son’s sporting events. Well, it turns out he’s that, too: his son Derek Glasser is a point guard for the Arizona Sun Devils. Here, he talks to The Fix about selling cocaine, overdosing on Quaaludes and avoiding jail time.
When did you first start drinking?
I was 13 years old, at a family affair, and I remember my mother getting totally shitfaced and getting undressed. To a 13-year-old who looked up to his mom, it was mortifying. My brother, who was seven years older than me, was drinking, too. When they got up to dance, I just went over and drank their drinks. I just wanted to experience it. I threw up and I passed out. The last time I had a drink, that’s exactly what I did, also.
Did you drink a lot after that?
Not really. I was always a goody two-shoes, an athlete; I was always taking care of my body. I didn’t smoke when everyone smoked, I didn’t smoke weed when all my friends were smoking weed. I was clean, clean, clean. Except when I’d go out on a date. On a date, once I had my car, I’d always have a bottle of liquor in the back. Today, I realize: who else puts bottles of liquor in their car at 18 but an alcoholic? I’d always take a swig before I went to the door. I always thought I was this hip, cool guy—this guy who got all the girls—but really I was scared shitless of girls. That was my way of fortifying myself for the date.
I was doing cocaine basically 24/7. I had a cook: literally all he did was cook cocaine. I went nuts. I would lose money; I’d lose kilos of coke. It was insane.
When did you get into the fashion business?
I didn’t go to college—my parents wouldn’t send me to college—so I started working at a very young age, and I was in the clothing industry and became pretty successful designing clothes by the time I was 21. My life was like a fairy tale: I was running around with models and I was this cool designer. I had no formal training and I thought everything was phenomenal.
I get the funny feeling that didn’t last.
It didn’t. I moved out to LA and that’s when I started to do drugs. I was basically doing pills: black beauties. I loved speed. I was introduced to coke, and then I was off and running, doing coke and Quaaludes. For a while, everything worked. Until it stopped working.
What happened?
Well, I was kind of fucked up in business, and someone called me asking if I could find a bank to loan money in California. I said, “What are you talking about?” And the person said, “We have these people coming out, and you’ll get one percent of all the money they put in the bank.” They were talking about 10 million a month, 20 million a month. I said, “This is the coolest thing in the world, this is easy,” right? So I cold-called some banks, like an idiot. I said, “Listen, I have a friend in Florida who wants to come out to California and put money in the bank, but they don’t want you to report it and they’ll give you X amount of dollars if you don’t report it.” So obviously, most banks said no. But this one bank in Manhattan Beach said yes. And unbeknownst to me, that bank went right to the government. So right from the beginning, the government knew about what was going on.
How did it go from that to drug dealing?
Well, I was a drug addict, and it wasn’t long after they told me about the money that they asked me if I could sell coke. I never was a dealer—I was a buyer. But I said, “Gee, I don’t really know, I never did that, but yeah, give me a kilo of coke.” It took me three hours, two phone calls, and the kilo of coke was gone. I called and told them I sold it. Two days later, someone showed up with five kilos of coke. Suddenly I was a major drug guy in this town. I was doing cocaine basically 24/7. I had a cook: literally all he did was cook cocaine. I went nuts. I would lose money; I’d lose kilos of coke. It was insane. After two months, the woman who initially got a hold of me came out to California and said, “Listen, we’re not going to do this anymore.” What she was really saying was, “You can’t do this anymore.”
Because you were busted?
I was fired. But the bank guys set up a sting, and they got the DEA involved. I was already out of there, but my life from that point had gone downhill.
How?
I was living on my friend’s couch in North Hollywood. I weighed 240 pounds because I’d stopped coke and was just drinking, and I wanted to kill myself, basically.
Did you try?
My friend had a gun collection, and I told him, “One day, you’re going to come home and find me dead.” He said, “I’m going to call you twice a day, and if you don’t pick up the phone, I’m calling 911, so you’d better pick up the phone.” One day, he brought home bootleg Quaaludes. And the next day, I took one, blacked out, and then took them all. So he called and I didn’t answer the phone. He got in the car and started to come home. On the way he called 911, and when they came, I was just about dead. In the ambulance, I died and they shocked me back to life. I had a week of intensive care. The first thought that came to my head when I woke up was, “There’s something wrong with you,” and that was the first time in my life that I pointed the problem back at me. Is that when you decided to get sober?
That’s when my dad and brother put me in rehab, in a hospital in the South Bay. I was there for 30 days and that’s where I admitted that I had a problem with drugs.
What happened with the DEA?
Well, when I was I think 40 days sober, I was living on my brother’s couch and there was a knock at his door. It was the DEA and FBI coming to arrest me. I said, “I was fired, what are you arresting me for?” I didn’t know at the time that I’d been involved in the biggest money-laundering drug case in the history of California. It was unbelievably publicized, all over the country. They took me to Ten-Mile Island for a couple of nights. I had no bail on me—none of us had bail going on. I was told I’d get out that day, as long as I didn’t have warrants for my arrest. I said, “Oh shit, I know I have warrants for my arrest; I never paid a parking ticket or speeding ticket.”
Would a traffic violation really matter in a case like this?
A warrant’s a warrant. But the guy comes in and says, “The computers are down today, so we’re going to let you out.”
The US Attorney would call me up every once in a while and say, “Michael, could you do me a favor? I have a problem with one of my agents. Can you take him to an AA meeting?”
You’re kidding.
No. And after that my sponsor told me, “You have to go tell them what you did.” I said, “You’re crazy, and there’s no way.” They didn’t know about this drug thing [because they only knew about the money laundering]. And he told me that if I didn’t tell them, I would get drunk again. So I went down to the US Attorney’s office and told him everything. Two weeks later, he called me and said, “This is the first time this has ever happened to me—I can’t believe you told us what you did—but everything you said was absolutely the truth.” I thought he was going to say, “You can go home, you’re free,” but he said, “That being said, I just want you to know you’re going to prison no matter what.” So I left the office, called my sponsor up and said, “Ed, listen, here’s what happened.” And he responded, “Michael, God didn’t take you this far to drop you.” I didn’t really understand what that meant. I thought he was out of his mind. But I was sober and totally immersed in the program. I’d go to three meetings a day. That was the place where everyone said to me, “Michael, everything’s going to be okay,” and for an hour a day or two hours a day, I actually believed them.
When was the trial?
The sentencing was a year later: August 1, 1983. And during the time in between, the US Attorney would call me up every once in a while and say, “Michael, could you do me a favor? I have a problem with one of my agents. Can you take him to an AA meeting?” I didn’t think twice about it. Now I think maybe he was trying to see if I was full of shit but I’d take those guys to meetings. The day of the sentencing, the courtroom was filled with people from AA. It was amazing. The judge started handing out sentences for 25 years, 20 years. Fifteen years was the lowest until he got to me. The US Attorney got up and begged the judge not to put me in prison because, he said, I had started to change my life prior to getting caught. And the US Attorney told the judge, “He helped two or three of my agents—this guy will be better served being on the streets and helping than in prison.” Until that point, I’d never really grasped the disgusting thing I really was involved in, and I started to cry. I was so sorry for what I did. He also said, “I’ve never read so many letters about a person.” My lawyer had told me, “They don’t read shit, just have a couple of [people send in] letters,” but my sponsor had said, “Get as many letters as you can, just get letters until they tell you to stop,” so I went around AA getting letters.
So what was your sentence?
I ended up getting five years probation and some ridiculously low fine.
A miracle like that could probably keep somebody sober a while.
Yes, but I stopped going to AA for a long time. And when I was 17 years sober, I cheated on my wife, and we got divorced. And one day after that, I was in my car in Malibu on a hill and I wanted to kill myself, because one more time, I had screwed something up. I called her up and she said, “Michael, is that the legacy you want to leave your kids?” I love my kids, so I didn’t do it.
When did you start Seven Jeans?
Well, one thing led to another, and [in 2000] we started Seven and it went crazy. We sold it and started another business and sold it.
Are you involved back in the program again?
Yeah, but I’m not back in the way some other people are back. I don’t go to enough meetings. I don’t live this perfect AA life.
Do you have a sponsor?
No, not now. I have friends in sobriety so we talk, and if there are issues, they’ll pull the rug out immediately.
And you’re open about your sobriety?
I’m proud of it, but it’s not my identity. I was very fortunate that when I got sober, at some level, God removed the obsession for me. [Pause] It’s been an extraordinary journey. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change it.
Anna David is the author of the books Party Girl, Bought, Reality Matters and Falling For Me. She’s written about sex addiction, gambling addiction, Thomas Jane, Tom Sizemore, and many other topics for The Fix.
