Gabriel Filippa

Artificial intelligence is travelling at warp speed, beaming out endless spools of neo-Edo Nike temples, matrimonial Air Max and sneakers that look like they’ve crash-landed on the set of a Ridley Scott sci-fi flick. We’ve seen a revival of the Italian Renaissance, techno-coloured TNs sparked by electric fever dreams, and Swoosh stores teetering on the edge of post-apocalyptic worlds. Buckle up as we take the red pill route and travel deep inside the algorithm to comprehend AI’s circuit-breaking impact on the future of sneaker design.

Shock Me Like an Electric Heel

There’s already enough AI-powered sneaker design floating about social feeds to fry hard drives and melt synapses. Some are blatantly cartoonish, while others throw baroque, scientific and even convincing vintage patina into the mix. Take, for instance, the AI artist known only as Str4ngeThing, who went viral with Renaissance-inspired streetwear that looked a lot like Jerry Lorenzo had secured a Medici family commission in the 16th century.

‘AI is going to play a huge role in the future of sneakers. We all take ideas from each other. But now, by giving AI loose creative freedom, we can take inspiration from ideas that were once unimaginable,’ says Str4ngeThing.

The sentiment that AI will help break open new creative frontiers of the human mind was echoed by many of the artists we spoke to. ‘The limits of imagination are expanding beyond what has ever been possible before,’ says Sean Sullivan, a Portland-based creative director. ‘It’s our job to push forward and constantly explore and redefine those limits.’

Patterns and Paradigms

At its most basic level, generative AI creates images and words based on a variety of inputs, such as text, sounds, animation and more. The module will detect patterns and paradigms within existing data to generate reconstituted content in the form of (literally) anything – from Eminem vocals to accurate sports roundups for newspapers and intricate sneaker designs. The list of potential outputs is as endless as the inputs are creative. If you’re keen to get cooking, check out the AI-tech available from Midjourney, DALL-E, Stable Diffusion and Artbreeder.

‘The results can be quite random, but they also depend on the input and the AI model’s training,’ says Benjamin Benichou. ‘By providing the AI with specific guidelines and examples, we can somewhat control the output while still leaving room for creative and unexpected results.’

Generative AI is constantly evolving because researchers are combining the best attributes of different models with super-computers that actively seek out billions of extra data points. The ultimate Promethean tool for engineers, scientists, researchers and – you guessed it– sneaker designers, is therefore still in toddler mode, although it’s learning fast.

The Death of Artistry

Given generative AI already produces undeniably impressive visuals, the techno-Faustian pact to power up workflows and produce a kaleidoscope of imaginative content in mere minutes has obvious commercial appeal. But there are ethical quandaries associated with its use, among other more lethal possibilities such as ultra-realistic deep fake videos.

The art world has already provided several pivotal moments that have illuminated the difficulties of policing ownership and creation in an AI-enhanced world. In September 2022, the Colorado State Fair became the unassuming battleground for this debate. Jason Allen, a videogame designer from Pueblo, submitted artwork for a competition using Midjourney and Gigapixel AI software – tools that convert lines of text into hyper-realistic imagery. Allen spent roughly 80 hours on his piece, Théâtre d’Opéra Spatial, and after the judges awarded him first prize and a $300 cheque, it didn’t take long for the internet to sound off.

‘We’re watching the death of artistry unfold right before our eyes – if creative jobs aren’t safe from machines, then even high-skilled jobs are in danger of becoming obsolete. What will we have then?’ one commentator Tweeted. ‘Vacation time,’ quipped another user in response.

For his part, Jason Allen exonerated himself based on the fine print in the competition guidelines. ‘I won and didn’t break any rules,’ he told The New York Times.

Months later, Boris Eldagsen won the Sony World Photography Awards with Pseudomnesia: The Electrician. He later declined the W, citing philosophical issues. ‘AI images and photography should not compete with each other in an award like this,’ he wrote in a statement. ‘They are different entities. AI is not photography. Therefore I will not accept the award.’

Field Skjellerup, who posts content as @ai_clothingdaily, is well aware of the contradictions and potential for hypocrisy. ‘The underlying discussion surrounding influence and originality is present in art and design regardless. How is using a trained dataset of photos to synthesise new imagery from multiple influences any different from screenshotting people's work on Pinterest and putting them on my mood board for reference as a designer? Is it only that the whole process is now automated and can be operated in one swift motion that we have a problem?'

Feeding the Machine

The AI regulation debate raged and evolved throughout 2023, as lawmakers, lawyers, artists and authors tussled over myriad complexities. In May, Sam Altman, CEO of ChatGPT parent company OpenAI, revealed his biggest fears before US Congress. ‘I think if this technology goes wrong, it can go quite wrong.’ In a question-and-answer session that lasted nearly three hours, Altman called on Congress to create safety standards and carry out independent audits. The same month, Geoffrey Hinton, the so-called ‘godfather of AI’, left Google, warning of the impending threat of a technology he helped conceive.

The paperwork is piling up fast. In August 2023, a Washington federal judge ruled that AI-generated artwork is not eligible for copyright protection as it is created without ‘human involvement’. That decision backed the U.S. Copyright Office, as it asserted the same principle in March, though the case is still under appeal. Adding a few words of text to an image generator therefore does not constitute an act of authorship and can’t be copyrighted. Where that leaves IRL sneakers designed by AI is another nebulous matter that will undoubtedly be tested in court in years to come.

In September, a group of authors (including Pulitzer Prize–winner Michael Chabon) sued OpenAI in San Francisco, accusing the company of feeding their work to ChatGPT for training purposes. It’s the third copyright-infringement class action filed by authors against OpenAI. For context on why creatives are so incensed, try asking ChatGPT to tell you a joke in the style of Sarah Silverman – another writer pursuing redress through litigation.

System Overload: Blended and Barfed Out

Steven Smith, a design veteran at New Balance, Reebok and Nike, and now head of industrial design at Donda, views generative AI as a form of technological regurgitation. I ask him whether sneaker designers will even need to sketch anything in the future. Will they simply log into work and punch a few keywords into AI algorithms?

‘If you want a blended output of pre-existing content barfed out at you, go for it. I would rather use the power of our own minds to pave a new direction,’ he says. While Smith does find some generative AI sneakers interesting, he also feels it’s ultimately just a ‘distorted conglomerate of what’s already in existence’.

Having worked in the industry for over three decades, Smith’s analogue bullshit detector is just one of his finely tuned skills. He’s never been afraid to ruffle feathers or burn a bridge or two, but for Smith, AI will never replace the fundamental processes of blood-and-guts inspiration. ‘Generative AI is just another tool to me,’ he says. ‘It may lead you downa different aesthetic, but it’s no substitute for humanistic design. We try to deal with real thoughts and ideas.’

Skynet in Other Words

For many of us, the thought of rampant AI sparks a particular set of dystopian images – robot arms scything through elevator doors, biker jackets and metallic splooge – Skynet in other words. Regardless of how good Arnold Schwarzenegger looks in 2029 Los Angeles, AI is forcing many industries – fashion, scriptwriting and journalism to name just three – to stare down further existential threats.

‘Top people in the field are super worried,’ says Colm Dillane, founder of KidSuper. ‘It’s bad and getting out of control. I mean, AI is probably going to read this and go after me first.’

Known for his distinctively hand-crafted apparel, Dillane recently collaborated with Louis Vuitton for the Fall/Winter 2023 menswear collection. He is, among all of those invested in the fashion industry, a poster boy for relentless DIY attitude.

‘Is AI a threat to jobs?’ I texted him.

‘A thread to humanity,’ Dillane replied, ironically, auto-corrected.

I pose a similar question to ChatGPT. ‘Will AI make human sneaker designers obsolete?’ The response reeks of boring management-speak, a criticism many have made of AI-generated text. ‘The future lies in harnessing the collaborative potential of AI and human designers, resulting in a synergy that pushes the boundaries of innovation and elevates the field of design to new heights.’

That utopian sentiment is reiterated by Benjamin Benichou. ‘The potential for AI to revolutionise the creative process is immense. AI will enable creatives to push the boundaries, automate repetitive tasks and explore new aesthetics and forms. In the future, we can expect to see a more collaborative relationship between humans and AI, where each party brings their unique strengths to the table.’

Steven Smith, for one, is not fazed by the creative paradox – it’s the ‘Mr Anderson’ characters deep in the matrix who want to save a few dollars that ring his bell. ‘What alarms me is the businesspeople thinking it’s a substitute for the endless possibilities of a human mind. The mentality of AI being used by non-visual thinkers to replace us is alarming.’

Collaboration is an addictive buzzword that has provided unadulterated rocket fuel for the sneaker industry for close to 20 years, though nobody envisaged it would also describe the relationship between human designers and machines. While sci-fi films and piles of industry open letters will point to the ominous blinking red lights at the end of the doomsday tunnel, a symbiotic relationship between humankind and machine seems the most likely outcome. At the very least, we’ll have some wild sneaker heat for our feet when the Day of Reckoning™ arrives.

Ladies and gentlemen, hailing from Queens, NYC, he’s more seasoned than rib-eye and phatter than three links of bratwurst. He’s got a voice like Stubb’s Sweet Heat, layers like butter rum baklava, and has dropped two 990v6s that smacked the canvas harder than a suplex. He’s still the freshest way from A to B. No paid DLC. Live from the moon, it’s the people’s champion of the universe, the metaphysical ledge, the one, the only, Bam Bam Bronsoliño.

Good morning, Dr Baklava. What’s in the rotation?
I’ve been wearing my New Balance 990v6 ‘Lapis Lazuli’ non-stop. The 990v3 is also always in the rotation – the all-white Teddy Santis with sea salt. I’ve got all kinds of shit over here. I wear flippers. I always have some sort of aquatic footwear on like the Yucca fins. I also like to be barefoot a lot. Close to the earth. Build the foot muscles. Make sure that my stability is good.

I know you’re a big fan of basketball sneakers. Any new models catch your eye?
The Nike KD16 is the most promising basketball shoe I’ve seen recently. But still, I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing with the colourways. I really miss the good old days.

Can you give us an example?
I was always a big Charles Barkley guy. He was one of my favourite players back in the day. I’ve had his signature shoes for as long as I can remember.

What was it about Charles Barkley and his shoes?
The attitude. The shoes. They were chunky as a motherfucker. I remember exact points in my life when I had different Barkleys on. I remember being at a rec room dance party in 92 wearing the Nike Air Force Max CB with the big white teeth on the side. I also remember one Halloween in the 90s dressed as a Hasidic Jew. I had my grandfather’s suit on, wearing the Air Max CB 94. The purple ones with the bullet holes. I have lots of ill memories in my life wearing Barkleys.

What about Penny Hardaway?
I love Pennys. But I actually just remembered something very specific that always really bothered me about the Nike Air Max Penny 1. The front would crease in a very weird way. It fucking pissed me off.

You’ve talked about hearing, feeling and tasting colours. Can you talk us through your 990v6 collaboration?
The ‘Baklava’ was like my life’s work in a shoe. The name comes from fond memories of being in the kitchen with grams (my nonna). I’m also a water child, so that’s where the sole came from. It’s elemental. I’m fused with all the elements.

What dish would you pair with each colourway?
I’ve never cooked for a shoe. I don’t know what I would make. I think it’s about respecting them and taking them on good travels. Using them in good health. Going to sick-ass places. Dancing real good. Performing feats of strength and acts of heroism.

You performed acts of heroism in the AEW ring…
I broke it in doing crazy moves. The performance of the shoe held up. I wanted to show that it wasn’t just for show. I had nothing to do with the performance design but I stand behind it.

Can we get some more colourways? The crew here love them.
I remember when I visited Sneaker Freaker HQ. I was gifted the New Balance 998 'Tassie Devils’. I still have those. I’ve been wanted to work with New Balance for a long, long time. So I’m going to make the most of it. I got a lot more coming.

Can we confirm more colourways on the way?
We can confirm that there’s another collaboration on the way.

How far back does your relationship with New Balance go?
My mother actually introduced me to New Balance shoes. She had them for orthopaedic reasons. I always liked them because they had the flashiness of the 3M. When you take pictures your feet are on fire. It was just a classic grey look. I’m a simple man.

To be honest with you, no one was wearing them back in the day. There were a couple of stores in New York like Jimmy Jazz and VIM. They always had the New Balance 574s. No one really wanted them. They were viewed as trash. But then you started seeing more premium New Balance shoes in higher end, sporting stores.

You’ve known Teddy Santis for a long time…
Teddy made this whole thing happen. There’s been several transitional periods throughout my career where I ‘reset’. I was really trying to aim for something in the footwear industry. I was almost desperate to do something. I was creating something separately from New Balance but Teddy was like, ‘Nah, fuck all that. I got you.’

I’ve been talking with New Balance for years, but Teddy really drove it home. We’re just a couple of ethnic kids from Queens. Life is Zelda, bro. I met a wizard and he gave me the fucking key. Now I’m going to go play the fucking flute.

You’ve got the keys and flute, can you give us your crystal ball predictions for the back half of 2023?
I’m not great at forecasting trends to be honest with you. I’m usually late, and not trendy. Have you seen my hair? It’s like I just came back from Turkey…

So you’re heading to the desert island with your Charles Barkleys. What’s one LP and food dish you’re taking with you?
It might have to be Bach. The ‘Best of Bach’ on double CD. And I’ll take a motherfucking cheeseburger roll from 7-Eleven. It’s disgusting, bro. But there’s nothing I won’t be able to hunt. If I’m on that island and there’s something else there – I’m going to eat. Bountifully.

Are Crocs still the best shoes to cook in?
Absolutely not. There’s much better developments. I think it’s actually sitting on my countertop somewhere. I’ll display it soon.

What does the future hold for Doctor Baklava?
Doing lots of music. Art. I’m working out every day. Watching a bunch of fighting. Listening to people talk about fighting. Designing shit every single day in some sort of capacity. Clothes. Athletic-wear. It’s just like a fucking adult colouring book. There’s a thing that I develop, then I colour it.

Is there a lot of creative overlap when it comes to making music, designing a sneaker, or creating a dish?
The creative overlap is that everything is around me and happening at once. There’s no set timing for anything. It's a chaotic scene. I could be breakdancing and at any second I could just start painting. And then I’ll start bench pressing.

What is it about the sport of fighting that you dig?
I’ve been watching UFC since the inaugural event. Queens Blockbuster had all the videos. We also had the illegal cable box at my homie’s house. We were able to watch all the wrestling pay-per-views. To see human beings doing video game moves on each other, it’s just sick. It’s a real life video game for high stakes.

Can we see more ‘fatalities’ from Doctor Baklava in the ring?
Fatalities? Shit. Maybe abnormalities. Or friendships. I’m always ready. I’m just waiting for the rotary phone to ring. They have the special line. As soon as it rings, I pick it up, hang it up, and I’m there.

Any last words?
Put your heart into everything you do.

Loved by rudeboys, treated with suspicion by the constabulary, and waxed lyrical by dancehall DJs, the Clarks Desert Boot is a certifiable cultural artifact in Jamaica. Despite a ban on foreign-made shoes throughout much of the 1970s, clandestine trade routes between Somerset and Kingston maintained the brand’s indefatigable prestige. Al ‘Fingers’ Newman, author of the incredible Clarks in Jamaica book, explains how the Desert Boot became the baddest shoe in the Caribbean.

As told to Gabriel Filippa.

There has always been a steady flow of music, fashion and culture back and forth between the UK and Jamaica, mainly due to the colonial links between the two countries and the many Jamaicans that settled in the UK after WWII. Jamaican people loved British-made goods, which are traditionally associated with quality and prestige, and Clarks shoes are particularly revered on the island. Clarks targeted Jamaica as an export market as far back as the 1940s, when advertisements in local papers such as The Gleaner did a lot to establish the Clarks name.

Of all the Clarks models, the Desert Boot is generally regarded as the top style by Jamaicans – especially rudeboys. Various people have told me that rudeboys favoured the Desert Boot as it allowed you to be totally silent when creeping up on someone to rob them!

Another well-known Clarks-related story that a lot of Jamaicans seem to know is about Kingston police officer Joe Williams, who was active from the 1960s until the 1980s.

A so-called ‘bad man police’, Joe would go in guns blazing. The story goes that he once raided a Coxsone Dodd dance where King Stitt was selecting. He cut off the music and told everyone wearing Clarks booties to get to one side of the dance, and everyone not wearing Clarks to get to the other side. That was his way of rounding up the rudeboys because he knew they’d all be wearing Clarks. Apparently people were removing their Clarks and dashing them away to avoid being arrested. Many people in Jamaica told me they were beaten up by police just for wearing Clarks. ‘You must be a criminal’, the police would say, ‘How else could you afford to wear those Clarks?'

Rudeboys are known for their style and fashion. They also love Desert Boots in a big way, though to be fair, any shoe that says the word Clarks on it is a hit in Jamaica. The Desert Boot is a great looking shoe and the quality, especially pairs made in England at the Clarks Bushacre factory in Weston-super-Mare, is superb. Those UK-made shoes would last for many years. There’s a phrase in Jamaica, ‘My Clarks can’t bend!’, meaning ‘My Clarks cannot be destroyed!’ The crepe sole – known in Jamaica as the ‘cheese bottom’ – is another factor. The Desert Boot is so versatile it can be worn with a suit, shorts, workwear or jeans – and it always looks good. They were also a status symbol as they were expensive. As Jah Thomas told me, ‘Rudeboys love expensive things!’

When we met the DJ Jah Stitch, who sadly died last year, he told me that his posse, the Spanglers, popularised the Desert Boot in Jamaica. Always dressed to the nines and never without his Clarks, Stitch operated a sound system on Princess Street in downtown Kingston, where we went to meet him. He told me that the Spanglers set a lot of trends in West Kingston such as the Arrow shirt and the Mesh Marina (string vest). Like all rudeboys, the Spanglers love Wild West movies. They actually got their name from a villain called Jud Spangler in the 1964 Western The Quick Gun.

The photograph of Jah Stitch looks quite serene, but the photoshoot attracted a lot of interest and I had to deal with quite a few people behind the scenes while Mark got the image. In the mid 70s, Stitch was shot through the mouth. His face drooped to one side and he talked with a slur. Afterwards, Stitch came out of hospital and recorded the tune ‘No Dread Can’t Dead’ for Bunny Lee. Apparently it was a miracle he didn’t die. The high murder rate is one of the reasons Clarks sold so well in Jamaica. Since there are funerals almost every week – and you can’t be seen in the same pair of Clarks you wore at previous funerals – rudeboys always had to have a fresh pair.

In the 1970s, Jamaican prime minister Michael Manley banned the import of foreign-made shoes into Jamaica, so Clarks became even scarcer and more expensive. Touring musicians would buy Clarks in the UK and bring them home. They’d sell their music and records and use the money to fill their suitcases with Clarks. Producers like Henry ‘Junjo’ Lawes repatriated dozens of pairs to Jamaica. There is no social welfare system on the island, so many of the poorer neighbourhoods are looked after by local dons. Junjo would go back and distribute Clarks to his community. If you knew someone that was heading to the UK, the best thing they could bring you back was a pair of Clarks.

Some intrepid Jamaicans travelled to the small village of Street in Somerset, southwest England, where Clarks were made. If you really knew what you were doing you’d visit the stores that sold Clarks seconds, which are shoes with slight imperfections. For Jamaicans that knew about these stores, it was heaven on Earth!

The earliest tune I’ve found that mentions Clarks is from 1976, when Dillinger referenced Clarks in his track ‘CB200’. He talks about riding around on his Honda CB200 motorcycle buying various bits and pieces, including a pair of Desert Boots or ‘Clarks booties’ as they are known locally. In the mid-80s, dancehall artist Little John had the first big Clarks hit with a song called ‘Clarks Booty’. When that was played in dancehall, people would take off their Clarks and wave them around in the air.

There are hundreds of other Clarks references in Jamaican song lyrics. I have a collection of more than 200 reggae tracks that reference the brand. In 1978, Trinity voiced a tune called ‘Clarks Shoe Skank’. Then Ranking Joe put out ‘Clarks Booty Style’ in 1980 and Scorcher released ‘Put On Me Clarks’ the same year. Then of course in 2010, Vybz Kartel released three tunes about Clarks, which provided my inspiration to do the book.

I don’t think any country loves a brand more than Jamaica loves Clarks. It’s not a fashion thing that comes and goes. Clarks are an inextricable part of Jamaican culture that reaches all professions and demographics. Gangsters, police, doctors, politicians, nurses, hustlers, teachers, the young and the old – they all love Clarks with a passion!

Since debuting in 2019, Sam Levinson’s Euphoria continues to score straight-As in the style department. Powered by a pupil-dilating Y2K aesthetic and vault of superlative streetwear (thanks, Fezco), the series is also no slacker when it comes to sneaker game. To celebrate the season 2 finale, we linked up with assistant costume designer, Angelina Vitto, to break down the Y2K skate shoe revival, throwback 90s hoops sneakers, and the collaborative art that makes Euphoria the sartorial Dux of 2022.

Tell us about crafting the sneaker look for season 2.
When it came to new characters like Faye, our director Sam Levinson was really influenced by the Japanese anime, Cowboy Bebop. Faye wears Scottie Pippen’s Nike Air More Uptempo, so we paired them with knee-high socks almost as an aesthetic homage. An insider reference. Fez obviously has a good sneaker game. The actor, Angus Cloud, has some pretty specific tastes, so we made choices that would match his core wardrobe.

But my ultimate favourite is Jules. We put a lot of old school skate shoes on her, like DCs, Etnies and Emericas. She wears a pair of black DCs with hot pink stitching, they’re the exact same shoes I wore in Junior High [laughs]. A lot of the Y2K styles are coming back, obviously. The Gen Z kids are wearing the skate shoes I was wearing 17 years ago. It was fun to play with a really big shoe on Jules when she’s wearing a mini skirt and items like that. They’re so blown out.

Are the actors collaborating on wardrobe choices?
It just depends on the actor. Some people want to be really involved and are DMing us brand names that they’re into. Hunter Schafer (who plays Jules) is super involved, but she also trusts us. She was super into the whole skate shoe vibe, and I’ve seen her rocking them in paparazzi photos recently.

Javon Walton (who plays Ashtray) brought a pair of Air Jordan 1s and a Gucci tracksuit that he really likes. Javon is already so similar to the Ashtray vibe, aesthetically, so it makes sense to incorporate who that person actually is. He has good taste, and his parents have good taste, so it was definitely fluid.

Who picked out Fezco’s Charles Barkey Air Max CB 94?
We have another girl on our team, Claire Redman. She’s a total sneakerhead. She’s always buying crazy sneakers for herself, so she really took control of some of the more niche models.

The streetwear space is such a competitive market in 2022. What made you opt for legacy brands like Supreme and Palace?
A lot of it is what relationships that we already have. We have a relationship with Supreme and Palace, so they’ll send us items or we can go to the store and they’ll put things on hold for us. It just so happened that those brands worked really well for him. In terms of labels like Polo, that’s just what a dude like Fezco is going to wear. We wanted to pair these outfits with more lesser known brands like 40s & Shorties. We also used Sergio Tacchini and other lower-priced menswear too. But the colours fit, the silhouettes fit, and it just seemed cohesive. Basically, we’ll look through a lot of brands and pick out the stuff that we like the colour and cut of.

You want the name recognition, but at the same time we’re creating costumes – we don’t want to bring people out of it by putting Fezco in a colour or cut that you’d never see them wear.

How does an iconic model like the Converse Chuck 70 reveal the character of Rue?
Rue is a character that is not going to have a bunch of different sneakers. It’s just a classic silhouette. You’re really not focusing on the shoe – it’s just a grungy pair of high-tops. She wears the same sneakers for everything and the same black band socks. That’s just something she wears – no matter what. We literally don’t change her socks. And usually it’s the same underwear, too.

I know your partner-in-crime Heidi Bivens (costume designer) was recently quoted in saying that she wasn’t interested in making the wardrobe look affordable to high school students in season 2. Did you ever think about incorporating more upmarket sneakers like the Balenciaga Triple S or the Dior B23?
Balenciaga actually sent us sneakers for Fezco, but the scripts changed a lot throughout the series. We were going to do Balenciaga on Fez’s first scene, and then on Jules’. We were actually looking at 1980s stock.

Still, we bought a lot of expensive shoes for Fezco and Ashtray in the first season, so I don’t think it changed too much. I think breaking the doors open was more about just being open to everything and picking an item that suited the scene visually.

Were you interested in time-stamping the show in 2022, or did you want to make the series more fluid?
Obviously, if you’re watching the show in 20 years, it’s going to feel like a very specific milieu. But I also feel like we did it in good taste. It’s very Gen Z, obviously, but there’s also characters that are timeless. I think Fezco is pretty timeless. It’s just a vibe that wouldn’t look out of place in the early 2000s, 1990s or 1980s. The same goes for Rue’s character.

There are things that are trendy, obviously. I don’t love the word trendy, but there are definitely items that are very 2022.

Were any sneakers left on the cutting room floor?
Not really. The only sneakers we didn’t end up using were from 1017 ALYX 9SM. We bought a pair for Jules, a black, kink Burberry-esque pair, but we just decided to stick with the skate shoes. We just felt like they were cooler, paired with layered shirts, jewellery and mini skirts. Or even bookending baggy pants and crop tops.

What are you personally wearing in 2022?
There’s a sneaker store in LA that I really like called Sportie LA. They have a lot of deadstock sneakers. I tend to go for a more retro look for my sneaker game. I have a brown leather pair of adidas shoes with yellow stripes that I wear a lot. Usually with soccer shorts. I tend to try and stay comfortable because I’m running around all the time for work. My friend’s telling me now that I’m a mix of 1980s Italian mixed with 1990s Ralph Lauren [laughs].

Blasting from pirate radio stations at 140bpm, grime’s rapid-fire breakbeats reverberated from council estates in the early 2000s. Mutating from garage, dancehall and jungle, grime’s crude, cathartic sound delivered an honest portrayal of East London’s struggles in a new millennium. One of the most anarchic ascents in British music history, this is the story of how style and sneakers helped grime’s frenetic poets plough forward in search of a new identity.

‘Grime was about alienation’, says Simon Wheatley, author of Don’t Call Me Urban! ‘It was raw and painful.’ By the early 2000s, London’s council estates were flooded with young MCs desperate to articulate the struggles of their hand-to-mouth existence. Transmitted by pirate radio stations like Rinse FM, Deja Vu FM, and Heat FM, grime slowly found a voice through the static.

At the same time, American hip hop had become an economic and cultural powerhouse. MTV beamed out from televisions across London, and 50 Cent’s debut album Get Rich or Die Tryin’ was advertised on billboards, bus stations, and trains across London. In some ways, the LP had become allegorical for grime.

‘Grime reflected the desperation of living in deprived circumstances’, says Simon. ‘But it also celebrated absurd material values. It wasn’t just about being able to buy a house and look after your family. There was an aspiration to be a billionaire.’

The sense of social and economic alienation splintered London’s poorest boroughs. For this reason, underground events like Lord of the Mics (LOTM) provided an important remedy for artists looking to share their lyrical talent.

Often filmed in grubby basements, LOTM was founded by Jammer and Chad ‘Ratty’ Stennett in 2004. Battling over grime’s syncopated breakbeats, MCs like Skepta, Kano and Wiley all eventually participated in the clashing. For a long time, grime lacked a fundamental aesthetic because it only existed on pirate radio. LOTM provided grime with a space to physically manifest.

‘Being able to wear something that was fresh – that was everything.’ explains Natalie Onofua, founder of the website Higher Melody. ‘The Air Max 95 was huge, because they were affordable. If you came out wearing a pair of dead, beaten-up shoes, you’d get cussed.’

Originally designed by Sergio Lozano, the anatomical Air Max 95 was nicknamed ‘110’ for their price, and set a paradigm for Air Max obsession within grime. With the genre still mostly confined to clandestine radio airwaves and underground battles, grime struggled to reach a global audience, so wearing a simple Nike tracksuit and Air Max sneakers quickly became the loudest flex.

For grime’s earliest adopters, it was all about finding creative ways to stunt your fit without burning a hole in your wallet.

‘A big thing for us was colour coordination’, Natalie remembers. ‘We’d swap out our 110’s laces to match our tops and hair ribbons. We didn’t have much money, so getting acknowledgement from your peers was everything.’

But for a long time, bigger brands like Nike weren’t eager to sponsor grime because of its associated violence. One of the first groups to break through was More Fire Crew from Waltham Forest, East London. But in the video clip shown on MTV, the Nike sweaters and sneakers were all blurred out – an irony considering the huge capital brands would amass from the movement in the following decades. (Dizzee Rascal, for instance, one of grime’s godfathers, released his first sneaker collaboration in 2005: the Air Max 180. He followed up with the Air Max 90 ‘Tongue N Cheek’ in the leadup to his 2009 LP.)

Jordan Hughes, a photographer for NME magazine, was witness to the second wave in 2015, when grime’s raucous sound had ears ringing across the globe. For Jordan, grime was less besotted by US hip hop’s materialist peacocking, and more concerned with establishing its own British identity. ‘For US hip hop, it’s all about looking like you’ve got as much money as possible’, he says. It’s a notion further explored in the lyrics of Skepta’s ‘Shutdown’: ‘You tryna show me your Fendi / I told you before, this shit don’t impress me’.

The idea of a British identity was also apparent in Skepta’s first sneaker collaboration: the Air Max 97 SK. ‘That was a huge moment for everyone in 2017’, says Jordan. ‘Like Dizzee, here’s another relatively normal guy with a Nike collaboration. For us to get recognised globally, it was huge.’

Modelled on the unique geographical palette of Morocco, the Air Max 97 also took aesthetic cues from the Air Tuned Max – a sneaker beloved by Skepta in his youth.

But as artists like Stormzy, Skepta and Dizzee Rascal continue to launch high-profile collaborations with the likes of Nike and adidas, there’s still a deep sense of nostalgia for those documenting grime’s fledgling years in East London. For Simon, what began as a guerilla ascent powered by pirate radio and DIY software in some ways became a disappointing ‘reflection of corporate America’. And as grime became more commercially successful, the wardrobes reflected the newfound wealth.

‘Now it’s all about flossing because there’s money around’, argues Simon. ‘It’s all about the Gucci and Prada trainers. Even for the fans of grime. We’ve got this ridiculous situation now where people living in a council flat are spending 250 pounds on a pair of trainers. It’s just absurd, really.’

Has grime managed to establish its own unique identity, or has it conformed to American cues from across the pond? Furthermore, can ‘corporate American’ help emblazon a path for young British artists, or is it a marriage based on the bottomline? As grime continues to evolve and manifest in new frequencies like drill across the globe, Jordan believes the paradigm is shifting. In his mind, the community is now more aware than ever of the impacts of fashion.

‘I think a few years ago, we became very aware that high fashion labels generally weren’t using black culture in a positive way.’ Jordan argues. ‘It wasn’t helping black communities. If you were wearing Gucci, you weren’t necessarily helping black culture. You were just making rich people richer. I think it’s become more about community. About rising together as one through fashion or music. I think that’s why Skepta’s Air Max 97 SK did so well. Because there was this element of rising together. I think you’re starting to see people look after each other before anything else.’

In a way, it’s the same raw transmissions that powered pirate radio and pumped blood through silhouettes like the Air Max 95: a strong sense of community.

Get rich? Sure. But help the others tryin’.

Josh Marsh was holiday in the Philippines in 2012 when a boat he was on capsized off the coast of Manila. For the next 52 hours, Josh, his friend Tom, and Tom's dad were stranded on board with no shade and no supplies. Their tour guide, Ruben, dove from the boat and tried to swim to shore for help. It was the middle of December, with temperatures hovering around 31 degrees. Ships passed without stopping. They thought they were going to die.

With a few years between himself and this very close call, Josh sat down to tell VICE what it's like to survive being lost at sea. We talk dehydration-induced hallucination, sharks, and why he decided to save a bottle of Tanduay rum.

VICE: Hey Josh, so just to set the scene: you were visiting the Philippines a couple of years ago with your friend, Tom, and his dad. Why did you decide to take the boat out that day? 
Josh Marsh: We were staying in Banton, an island near Manila. The plan was to head to Marinduque, which is about a 40-kilometre crossing. We were warned of rough weather and waves, but our guide insisted it would be okay to get across. Once we took the boat out, the weather turned quickly, and the engine started taking on water. Eventually, it conked out and we started bucketing water. We drifted sideways and were picked up by a big wave, it capsized the boat pretty quickly. We were all floating in the ocean trying to figure out what happened. Then we started grabbing whatever we could find floating up from the boat. The first thing I grabbed was a bottle of rum...

Wait, the first thing you grabbed was a bottle of rum? 
Yeah. It was decent rum, and it was the first thing I saw floating up.

Was it expensive? 
About $6 a bottle.

What else did you grab?
Our guide, Ruben, grabbed a kitchen knife and dove underwater to cut the [boat's shade] canopy free so we wouldn't be dragged under. Then we climbed to the hull of the boat and sat there trying to figure out what to do. Ruben decided to grab a diesel canister, tie it to his wrist [so he could float], and swim to shore to get help. The island was pretty far off by this point. We told him it wasn't a good idea, but he was adamant. He started swimming out to the island. We kept an eye on him for as long as we could until he disappeared behind the waves.

Did you think about swimming to the island too?
I thought about it. The other option didn't seem great—sitting on the boat, waiting to be rescued. The island was in the distance but it didn't look impossible to reach. It was one of those decisions you have to make. But I decided to stay on the boat with Tom and his dad.

So it was just the three of you on the boat?
Yeah.

At this point, what was going through your mind?
We were basically just waiting for Ruben to make contact with someone. The hope was that he'd reached the island and was sending help.

Do you know what happened to Ruben?
He was never found. He drowned at sea.

What was it like once the sun went down?
The first night was terrifying. There was no moonlight. We were cold and hungry and had no idea what was lying beneath the water. We could hear the waves coming, but we couldn't see them. That was probably the scariest thing: knowing that if a wave knocked you off the boat, you probably wouldn't have the strength to get back on. We were so physically drained… We knew once nightfall hit rescue wouldn't happen until the next morning, if at all. We had no light on the boat so we just sat there, in the dark. The waves were relentless and we were deliriously tired. That night bioluminescence lit up the water surrounding the boat. It was actually really beautiful. [There were these] tiny creatures in the ocean emitting this strange glow. We were all transfixed.

Were you okay, physically?
My leg was pretty sore from an accident I had earlier on the island—the leg had an open wound. So, in the water, I was pretty worried about sharks. But once the sun came up, our spirits were up in the hope of rescue.

Did any ships pass you in the morning?
Two ships passed us. We tried to flag them down to no avail. We were trying to signal them with a tiny camera flash, but we kept dropping into the gullies of the waves. It was a long shot. We were pretty defeated.

Once the sun came up, was it hot? I'd imagine the sun could be pretty full on out there without any shade.
I was very badly sunburnt, and it was impossible to keep hydrated as we didn't have much water. The heat stroke combined with sleep deprivation made it very difficult to get a grasp on reality.

So you started losing touch with reality?
Once the sun fell on the second night, I started having these vivid hallucinations. I saw park benches, palm trees, and people in the water. I saw cars and marinas. Things I might have wanted to see: Images of salvation. I kept thinking: If I can just swim out to that park bench then everything will be okay. I kept slipping into micro sleeps. I remember falling into the water. I drifted through the ocean for a long time before I felt a hand grasp my neck. It was Tom. He heard me go in and was pulling me to the surface. I was lucky. It was so dark. He must've heard the splash of me [hitting] the water.

Did you have any other visions?
The most vivid hallucination I had was of a marina. I thought our boat was drifting directly into one. There were two big rock walls on either side. In the distance, I saw a car with people standing next to it, waving. There were all these blinding lights coming from the headlights. I screamed out to the people for rescue. It was incredible. I thought we were saved. But as we moved closer, the waves began to transform into giant, solid concrete walls. I thought we were going to crash right into them and that the boat would be destroyed. When the sun rose, the waves had eased again. I thought that during the night, we had made contact with a hotel concierge, and that he was sending help. I thought we'd anchored at a hotel. I turned to Tom and he told me, "Look around, we're in the middle of the ocean."

What happened the next morning?
This huge cargo ship materialised in front of us. We screamed and screamed, and tried to flag them down with an orange tarp we were waving around. The ship looked like it was passing us. We couldn't believe they didn't see us. But then the ship sounded its horn and began to turn towards us. They dropped a cargo net out and we dove off the boat. We climbed aboard the cargo ship. The crew were incredible. They gave us clothes and food and took us to the nearest port. They saved our lives.

Do you still have the bottle of rum?
Nah, I threw it overboard at some point. But Tom brought me back a bottle from the Philippines a few years later. It's still on the shelf.

Designed by a young Christian Tresser in 1997, the Nike Air Max 97 ‘Silver Bullet’ shot right through the heart of Italy in the late 1990s. Affectionately nicknamed ‘Le Silver’ by locals, the AM97 was shaped like industrial liquid, Tresser’s metallic, bicycle-inspired design firing-up the fever-dreams of Italian futurism. Pedalling relentlessly into the future, the AM97 was lovingly laced by Italians from all walks of life, from dealers to DJs, models to street artists – it was love at first sight.

This is the story of how the supersonic Air Max 97 found a place in the heart of Italy’s burgeoning sneaker scene.

When Christian Tresser first started work on the Air Max 97, the pressure was mounting. ‘This shoe is going to make your career,’ he was advised, ‘Don’t blow it.’

‘[The 97] had already been through two designers before me,’ Tresser remembers in Lodovico Morano’s seminal book, Le Silver. ‘Being an avid competitive cyclist, I had my eye on the mountain bike world. I thought mountain bikes looked very futuristic ... I headed into the materials room and just plonked down the sample books and started cutting stuff out: metallic fabrics, 3M and, again, meshes. These combinations of materials felt really good to me, really right.’

For Tresser, the image of the bicycle was the perfect articulation of speed and futuristic aesthetics. Pairing the industrial dynamics of bicycles with the image of a water droplet radiating outwards from a puddle, Tresser conceived the Air Max 97. The very first sneaker to introduce a full-length Air unit, the silhouette was emblazoned by the industrial ‘Metallic Silver’ colourway, a high-speed, mechanised silver and titanium palette that had particular appeal for those in Milan – the manufacturing heartland of Italy.

In many ways, Tresser’s original blueprints were echoing the rattling, raucous voices of the Italian futurists of the early 20th century. In the minds of the futurists, the bicycle embodied ideas of machine-devotion, speed and youth. In the words of F.T. Marinetti in The Manifesto of Futurism from 1909, ‘We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed.’

The Air Max 97 ‘Silver Bullet’ struck a chord in Milan. When it first released in 1997, the sneaker was glowing on the shelves like remnants of an alien spaceship.

‘They looked like they were from another planet,’ says Sha Ribeiro, a member of the graffiti group Lords of Vetra. ‘I mean, wearing them, you look like a fucking alien from another planet entirely.’

In the bowels of Milan, the Lords of Vetra bombed the city’s entrails, simultaneously lighting up the underground with the Air Max 97’s polyurethane midsoles and supersonic 3M reflective details. Named after the park Casa Vetra in the middle of Milan, the Lords of Vetra dedicated their youth to graffiti and everything that came along with it – tagging, bombing, drinking and stealing.

As a child, Ribeiro would fly with his father, a flight attendant, to New York City, where he would buy Nikes (still not readily available in Europe at the time). Ribeiro still remembers the first time he saw the Air Max 97. It was Christmas Day, 1997.

‘They cost around 150 euro, which was a shit-load of money at the time. My birthday was around Christmas time too, so I asked my mum if I could have them for birthday and Christmas. We went into the store and they didn’t have my size. I ended up wearing a size lower and my feet hurt like hell for an entire week. After that they stretched and it was fine.’

Riberiro’s experience didn’t exist in a vacuum. Italians in the 1990s were becoming more and more conscious of American and English brands – usually through family and friends travelling to style meccas like New York City and London.

Sabrina Ciofi, the fashion editor of Sport & Street Collezioni in the 90s, grew up in Florence. Like Riberiro, she was also exposed to the American and English zeitgeist through her father, who travelled for work.

‘He brought us incredible stories, photographs, music, but above all, clothes and sneakers by brands that did not exist yet in Italy,’ says Ciofi. ‘I started to get passionate about English and American clothing and sportswear brands. Their aesthetic expressions later became the basis of my professional choices. We made zines, exhibitions of graffiti artists, imported brands such as Stüssy, Carhartt and Supreme, and tried to explain what their origins were.’

Before the AM97, Italy’s matrix of subcultures largely adhered to their strict aesthetic parameters. Rich kids wore Stan Smiths. Scenesters at the club wore Buffalo. Graffiti kids wore PUMA or adidas. But when the AM97 arrived, it evaded any one, monolithic cultural definition.

‘Honestly, to me they seemed ugly and tacky, but they were the perfect sneaker to introduce to the Italian mainstream,’ says Ciofi. ‘The 97 allowed Nike to become ‘The Brand’ in Italy, and form the basis of the new wardrobe for anyone aged 0 to 100.’

The fact that the AM97 had no strong ties to any sport or subculture allowed the sneaker to become the ultimate chameleon, a sneaker with an enviable clean sheet, if you will – which is more than can be said of Italian parliament at the time.

In fact, the Air Max 97 arrived at a historic period of social and economic upheaval for Italy. The Mani Pulite (the so-called ‘Clean Hands’ operation) had uncovered rampant corruption in politics that shook the nation to its core, and Italy was struggling to heal from the economic and moral implications.

In a way, arriving like Riberia’s blazing AM97s in the underground, the sneaker lit-up Italy in a loud, unapologetically lurid glow that radiated collective pride. The return of the Italian la bella figura.

As is often the case, it was the burgeoning club culture that best captured the spirit of Italy in the late 1990s, and the Air Max 97 was playing a huge role in that sphere. Bringing together Italians from all walks of life, the AM97 became one of the sartorial hallmarks of this new era.

‘The 97 felt like proper gold fever,’ says Luca Benini, who founded Slam Jam in Ferrara in 1989. ‘Really. It was the first sneaker to allow people into the clubs at the time.’

Of course, Italy is now recognised as a forefront of sneaker culture and streetwear (thanks largely to bricks-and-mortar storefronts like Benini’s Slam Jam), but it wasn’t always the case.

‘Back in the days before the AM97, you weren’t dressed well if you wore sneakers,’ says Ciofi.

For a country literally shaped like a designer boot, the idea of wearing sneakers to a club was sacrilege. But in the following years, the Air Max 97 would infiltrate Milan’s high-fashion circles, paraded down the runway by legendary figures like Giorgio Armani, and lauded by Italian street culture.

For those in Italy, ‘Le Silver’ forged deep-rooted emotional connections that remain to this day.

According to Ciofi, ‘The AM97 was a unique and absolutely all-Italian phenomenon linked to a time when street life in Italy was particularly fervent. That has not yet been repeated.’

The ‘Silver Bullet’ pierced the affections of a nation uniquely sensitive to the amorous contours of the heart. And while you never forget your first love, if anyone is going to fall head-over-heels for a boisterous, bawdy brutto-bello again, it is of course, the Italians.

Global collective Brain Dead are far, far from creatively catatonic. Recently connecting with Reebok for the interstellar Zig Kinetica II, Brain Dead’s effervescent energy has seen them launch the Chuck 70, Beatnik, Pump, Classic Leather, a Clog, and even a climbing shoe – all in the last 12 months! We hooked-up with creative director and co-founder Kyle Ng to chat about sneaker functionality, the social responsibility of a brand, and the fever-dream futurism of Reebok in the 1990s.

Strap in: It’s time to head to the stars.

Congratulations on launching the Brain Dead store in Harajuku, Japan! How does a place like that inform the Brain Dead aesthetic?
You know what’s funny? I would say I used to be really inspired by Japanese design and streetwear (which I love), but now I’m more inspired by Californian design. Like Gotcha, and vintage workwear and outdoor wear.

Do your sneaker collaborations follow a similar Californian look?
Well, the Reebok Zig Kinetica II was inspired by Japanese kaiju. So there’s definitely a lot of Japanese influence there obviously. But a lot of our other sneakers are very outdoor and performance-inspired – things that are nostalgic to me in some way. I’ll often look at sneakers from the 1990s and activities I do for fun.

You love climbing, right? It must’ve been a nice moment to collaborate on shoes designed specifically for that activity.
To be honest, I love clothing. I love working within it, but at the end of the day, I think I’m less interested in apparel at the moment because of COVID-19. What I really love is activity. So, when I can make something practical that assists my hobbies, that’s when I’m happiest. Whether it’s paintball, rollerblading, skateboarding, rock climbing, or even frisbee golf.

What’s your view on functionality in the sneaker space?
It’s funny, because I was wondering: ‘Why do people love sneakers so much?’ I’m not a person who boxes sneakers really, or takes really good care of mine. Back in the day with the New Balance, I skated them, all the early ones. I wasn’t collecting to collect – I really believe in this idea of using them.

Can you tell us a little bit more about the Brain Dead x Reebok Zig Kinetica II
I was talking to Reebok about old shoes I wear like the Zig Kinetica and the ATV sneakers. They showed me the new Zig Kinetica II and I was really into it. Initially, I was inspired by looking at my Japanese kaiju toys. I’ve always loved the airbrushing of them, and then I saw the side panelling of the Zig II and figured, ‘what if the colourway of the shoe was inspired by the kaiju airbrushing?’ We developed the whole campaign movie around the Japanese kaiju concept.

You’ve been working with Reebok for quite some time now...
I’ve always loved Reebok’s weird progressiveness. They’ve been this low-key brand with crazy designs like the Pump, Mobius and Shaqnosis. From the super progressive shoes to the Club C, they’ve got everything I need. I always end up wearing Reebok more than any other brand.

Is that what initially sparked your interest in Reebok? The experimental nature of models like the Pump and Shaqnosis?
Yeah, they’re just so futuristic. I really love the Pump because it’s so wild. I’ve never been a ‘hype shoe’ guy, but when you wore the Pump it was like, ‘Oh, dude. The Pump? That shoe’s insane.’ Growing up, finding the shoe was like discovering a whole new technology.

Did you find it easy to marry Reebok’s futuristic spirit with Brain Dead’s psychedelic aesthetic?
It’s the perfect pairing. I love it. You know, it’s funny, a sneaker like the Brain Dead x Reebok Club C or Beatnik will sell-out completely. But something like the Brain Dead x Reebok Pump Court is harder to sell and more progressive – it’s all about how you push the future.

How did you build the Brain Dead storytelling around the Reebok Beatnik?
The Beatnik has this futuristic folk element that I really love. The stained cow-hide was really inspired by my dog Suzy, but I love the combination of the synthetic and organic, the futuristic and alien. We had this primitive idea of the Beatnik fused with a futuristic perspective.

Brain Dead released the hiking clog last year. Why do you think clogs are having such a moment in the sun?
Well, I’ve been wearing clogs everywhere. I was wearing a lot of wooden clogs that I’m really into. I had a brand called AXS Folk Technology, so I’ve always been into this idea of, ‘What if we take something like wood, which is sculpted, and then mix it with Vibram soles to create a hyper modern upper.’ Honestly, I didn’t know if it was going to work. I was like, ‘Who’s going to buy these?’ Two years ago, if you’d have asked me if I’d do something like the clogs or climbing shoes, I would’ve told you it wouldn’t have worked. But then I realised, if I love all these things, then why wouldn’t it work within Brain Dead? Our brand is like an individual. A person can wear clogs or Reebok or ASICS or Vans. Once you realise that, a brand can be anything.

Can you talk about your relationship with the Converse Chuck 70? How did you alter the perspective on such an iconic silhouette?
The Chuck is always really hard because it’s such a classic shoe, and you don’t want to change too much. I thought immediately of cross-hatching, because I just love those lines. Obviously the cow thing is something I got really excited about. But with the Chuck, I’m a bit of a purist, and like keeping it simple.

Brain Dead have such a strong voice in the social justice space. How important is it for the brand to throw support behind movements like Black Lives Matter?
At the end of the day, having a brand is like having an identity and a persona. It should have some identity. And that’s what people probably like about a strong brand: a strong sense of authenticity and identity. Whether it’s in politics, interests, or tastes in music or food. You have to build this picture of the character, almost like it’s a movie. At this point, if I’m not speaking up for the people that support me, then what the fuck is my brand about?

I understand that we live in a capitalist society, but we have to really look at what happens if society is just focused on making money. There are a lot of things that irk me about what’s happening right now, and then COVID just hit me hard. I just want to focus 100 per cent on what I believe in, and I don’t really care if people don’t like it. If it has a strong sense of identity, and my partners and brand really believe in the same thing, then we’re just like, ‘Fuck it. Let’s do it.’ I think it just made us inherently bigger and better.

Product to me is merchandise for a lifestyle. It’s about building real stories and having people relate to it, and understanding that to be a good person, you need to be well-rounded. Make sure to love everyone. Make sure to take care of things. Make sure you open your mind to film and art and culture and music, and make sure you’re not just buying things for the sake of it.

Do you find it hard to reconcile having these ideas while working in fashion? Given that fashion has long lived in a kind of ‘bubble’ of late capitalism, and is sometimes impervious to outside noise.
Again, I don’t feel guilty about making product. We’re making TV shows, animations, and music. The product is merchandise for those ideas. I’m definitely less interested in the fashion world or fitting into it, if that makes sense.

We’re working with a non-profit organisation called ‘All Rise’ with Ashima Shiraishi. The idea is to make climbing and outdoor activities more accessible to marginalised communities. We built walls inside a climbing gym where kids can go and climb for free. It’s built just for them. We realised we could do anything. We need to change the way private companies look at helping and engaging with marginalised communities and build within their system.

No matter what, if you help the community, you’ll reap the rewards of that.

I think there’s an expectation now that brands should do more than just sell gear.
Moving forward, it’s like, ‘What’s the point of a brand? What’s the point of consuming? What’s the point of all this shit?’ We’re not for everyone, and that’s not elitism at all. It’s just that we’re not trying to do things just to sell you something. Brands have to realise that people aren’t just consumers. People want to learn. If you’re a good designer and a good storyteller, you’ve got to challenge yourself, and actually really give back to the things you love. It’s not just about: ‘Oh, this is cool, and I’m cool. So this validates my coolness.’

We’ve got to take chances as designers and creatives. And yeah, sometimes you fail, but these social contexts and ideas really matter to me. If we don’t take chances, then we’re just fucking monotonous.

Do you think the fashion industry is becoming more aware of their responsibility now?
I do think so. A lot of people talk shit because you’re doing virtue whatever, virtue signalling like the bigger brands. But at the end of the day, they have to start somewhere. And it’s awkward – we’re baby giraffes right now. It’s awkward and it’s weird, but at the end stage, we’re all in this together to do the right thing. I think it’ll just be the status quo.

Setting up these concrete, communal spaces is obviously incredibly important to your brand.
Right now, one of my favourite movie theatres closed down, which is the biggest one in L.A. I was pretty distraught because that’s where I go with my girlfriend every week, and it was a place that’s for a culture. I thought, ‘How do we show movies without worrying about ticket sales? What if we just opened stores in the theatre, and worked with movie companies to make exclusive merch that you can only fit at these theatres?’ For the most part, people are just watching Netflix or HBO or Hulu or whatever, and they’re not really getting out there and expanding their knowledge of different films. So we’re really looking at physical spaces. We need to give back, because that’s what our brand is built on.

It takes a lot of guts to open a cinema during a pandemic...
I feel like if you just push the energy, it’s going to work in the end. If we just opened Brain Dead retail stores, I’m not sure how successful that would be, to be honest. How about a store with a climbing gym? Or one with a movie theatre. Or a skate park! Inherently, people love these things because it’s literally built right into their hobbies and interests. I think that’s important, and it’s going to be very relevant moving forward. If every store you open has the same stupid shit, then people are going to get sick of it pretty quickly. You don’t need to come in and shop at Brain Dead at all. You can come in and watch a movie. Or eat lunch. The point of our physical spaces is not just to sell you a product.

What’s coming up for you guys?
We’re about to open a store inside the climbing gym that will carry all the All Rise stuff, but we’ll also have branded gear that’s more climbing focused. That’s really exciting. Obviously, the movie theatre and restaurant are opening. There’s another store that we’re opening in L.A. that’s themed, so I can’t really say yet, but it’s going to be insane. Then we have some stuff in London, and probably Canada and China, by the end of this year that are crazy concepts. Physical spaces that are not just retail is the most important thing.

The Whitehorse Club sits off the Burwood Highway to the east of Melbourne. An Italian social club, it plays host to bocce and billiard tournaments, baptisms, weddings, and wakes. On Thursdays it offers pensioners a special luncheon. With its pearl white exterior, purple drapes, and neatly trimmed lawn, the building has the architectural mood of a new-age church, a place of alternative spiritual devotion.

On Friday night, The Whitehorse Club threw open its doors to one of wrestling’s most perennial figures. Twice voted Most Popular Wrestler by readers of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, winner of 21 WWE championships, and record-holder of WrestleMania’s longest undefeated winning streak, Rob Van Dam.

Inside, a crowd of people file in across polished timber flooring to surround the ring and watch a parade of wrestlers provide foreplay before the main event—Rob Van Dam verses Syd Parker. The host, a tall, Mediterranean figure with a sparkling blue jacket, introduces the first match: crowd favourite Maddog verses country-bumpkin Cletus. The host is lacking a little theatre and I suspect he’s just filling in for the night—taking a break from hosting club functions. But the performative element he’s lacking is offset by Maddog who storms out like Cletus has flogged another bottle of his whisky.

Maddog is the stuff of outback nightmares. The kind of guy you hope doesn’t show up when your car breaks down on the Stuart Highway. The kind of guy that’s banging around in his tin shed at all hours doing God-knows-what. Cletus is your typical scrawny Aussie country kid that used to bully you in High school. That guy you wish you drop-kicked in food tech.

These two do a nice job flinging each other around the ring but it’s evident Cletus is just cannon fodder for Maddog’s wrath and at one point it actually looks like Cletus is going to have his head ripped off. They’re in the corner of the ring and Maddog has him in a headlock. His shining blue eyes search for the right area of Cletus’ neck to apply pressure. The referee looks a little worried until Cletus is flipped into the middle of the ring and pinned down for the count.

Next up are the women.

The venue staff step out from their kitchen duties to check this one out. The chefs are on their phones, filming Katie Forbes prance around the ring wearing an inconceivably tight, sparkling pink outfit. She throws her long blonde hair back and blows kisses at the crowd in the front row. The match doesn’t last long. The obvious wrestler and punk rocker Kellyanne pins her to the canvas after humouring her for a little while.

Ding ding ding. Intermission.

During the break, fans are encouraged to take photos with their champions. There’s lots of merchandise: DVD’s, t-shirts, posters and toy figurines. But the fans behave differently beneath the lights of the foyer. During the wrestling they yell, berate, and chant as one. There’s a bar situated near the ring but no one really drinks. They’re already drunk on adrenaline. Encouraged by the wrestlers, they bully, harass, and cheer for their fighters. The noise in the arena is perpetuated often, as wrestlers and coaches step up to the metal gates and scream back at the crowd. There’s a physical boundary between the wrestlers and the crowd (steel gates and ropes), but there’s no emotional boundary, and the wrestler’s will often jump the gates to pile-driver each other anyway.

But in the foyer, the fans approach the wrestlers in a shy, stilted manner. It’s hard to pin down an exact demographic (generally, most of the crowd seem to be males between 25 and 30), but it’s apparent that these wrestlers are offering everyone something larger-than-life. An exaggerated physicality and personality. From beyond the ring, the crowd are involved with choking, slapping, kicking, and humiliating wrestlers. They’ve got loud voices that are listened to, responded to, and offered deliverance in the form of outlandish physical violence. It’s a far cry from the awkward exchanges of money and photos in the lobby.

After the intermission, a weapons match gets underway. The crowd brings along an array of miscellaneous objects (light sabers, globes, piñatas, cricket bats, dildos, keyboards) to throw into the ring. This is a violent match and there’s real blood being spilt. The two wrestlers slam each other into tables, chairs, and bins. The crowd are in a frenzy. There’s a young girl bouncing on her dad’s lap as he’s yelling and swearing. When Gabriel Wolfe shoves a dildo down Slade Mercer’s throat they’re totally out of control, chanting, “You are a sick fuck.” Amidst a pile of broken tables and chairs, Slade Mercer is crowned champion with blood streaming down his forehead.

Then the lights dim. Time for the main event.

The lighting technicians paint the room green to signal the entrance of Syd Parker. Out he steps, looking part reptile, part teenage angst. He twists and struts around the ring with his girlfriend trailing behind. She takes time to defend her boyfriend from the crowd’s verbal assaults. They target his weight, his pallid skin, his gigantic green Mohawk. The couple lie across each other on the canvas like lizards, waiting for their prey—Rob Van Dam.

Out he comes to a roar and his signature tune ‘One of a Kind’. It’s a classic rock anthem: The fear I see when I look in your eyes / makes you believe I’m one of a kind. His outfit is stretched further than I remember. His hair has thinned and his arse is a little bigger (he’s 43) but this was still Rob Van Dam, and when he jumps up onto the ropes and sticks his thumbs behind his head and gestures at his back the whole crowd is ecstatic, chanting “R.V.D.” Syd Parker then spits green powder into his face and they’re off, throwing each other out of the ring and into the crowd. Mouths drop open, partners legs are grasped, fingers and teeth are clenched. Their all-American hero was unloading an assault on that weird street kid. That lizard that ran away from home. The fucker with the loud girlfriend.

Van Dam climbs the ropes yet again. Preparing for his signature Five Star Frog Stomp. Syd’s girlfriend slips into the ring to hold and protect her boyfriend. The crowd boo and demand blood. Van Dam rises. The crowd chants. Then he takes off, flying through the air. They brace for impact. The kitchen staff peer out from the pass. This was going to hurt. Rob Van Dam body slams them, immortalising them both across his chest, and dripping buckets of certified WWE sweat onto the canvas of the east Burwood Whitehorse Club.

This article was previously published by Acclaim Magazine

Written and photographed by: Gabriel Filippa

Chi Modu is responsible for some of the most enduring sneaker imagery from hip hop’s Golden Age. From Eazy-E flashing his adidas Campus atop his lowrider in Compton to Snoop Dogg lacing the Cortez in South Central LA, Chi Modu was out shooting joints before the understanding of sneaker culture had even developed. We linked up with the legendary photographer to discuss which sneakers owned the airwaves during hip hop’s fledgling years.

You grew up in New Jersey back in the 1980s. What were you wearing back in those days?
I mean, New Jersey and New York, they’re really side by side. So by 12 or 13, I was riding my bike across the street to Manhattan. Everything blends in because of proximity – you’re always triggered by the same styles. We had the mixtapes as they came out in Harlem, and that’s what ended up being modern hip hop. Back in those days it was early, early Nike stuff. I remember when Waffle Runners came onto the scene. I remember when the Jordan 1s came out with the matching sweatsuit because my roommate in college had the full red and black sweatsuit with the shoes. He wore that shit every day in 1984. Every day. He was the man on campus for a minute. It was like, ‘Oh, you got the Jordans?’ Who knew that all these years later it would still be here and even more popular.

I know Snoop loved the Cortez, and Biggie was obviously tied to the Timberlands, but what else were people wearing?
You see Snoop with the Cortez in your face. You see Eazy-E with the Campus, which I think they started calling Comptons because of him. I mean this whole sneaker culture is relatively new. What I mean by that is as a culture. We wore them because sneakers are like our shoes. We were the ones that really turned sneakers into something acceptable. Now you’ve got Louis Vuitton and other high-end labels jumping in. Prada were the first. We were all rocking the Pradas to show you we were doing it – we’re buying $300 Prada sneakers, two or three pairs. Everybody’s wearing those shoes in the streets, in New York for sure. That’s dimmed down a lot. You don’t see the Prada sneakers really like you did. We were really the first generation to turn sneakers into almost formal wear. Prior to that, if you were dressing up you were wearing dress shoes. So it was really more a part of our fabric. We didn’t study them to the level that people do now.

What’s your view on the super luxury sector these days? Do you vibe on any of the sneakers?
The Louis Vuitton and all that? No, I’m not feeling that. I’m actually an athlete. I played soccer in college, so my sneakers actually still have to be sneakers. For me, there’s a little bit of a limit with my kicks. I need my sneakers to be more focused on function over style. Honestly, I’m a photographer so I’m out in the field, so I need things that actually work but look good from bar to boardroom.

What other athletes were you guys into?
You could find a lot of Shawn Kemp’s shoes. Allen Iverson was huge. When Reebok had Iverson, they had a lot of juice. He was a cool representative with a nice looking shoe. You can’t really disconnect the two. You can have a celebrity endorser but the shoe really has to work. Take the Jordans. The designs were good early on, and then he ended up being a game-changer on the court. It was the perfect storm. Remember, this was all happening at the same time as Mike Tyson, as hip hop. It was like jumping to another era. All these movements were happening simultaneously. It was the first time people were actually wearing sneakers to work because of what we were doing. We were really very disruptive.

Do you think sneakers still have those cultural affiliations?
Footwear was more anti-establishment back then. That’s how it began. But the way it’s going, sneakers are becoming almost establishment footwear, which I think is not necessarily to the benefit of real sneaker wearers. It’s become a bit more of a game rather than just what you’re comfortable in. It’s almost like, ‘how many of the run were released? Did you catch one?’ That’s sort of an odd concept, if you really think about it at its core. If I like something, I’ll buy it. The rarity of it, I don’t really care as much. Do you know what I mean by that?

Are you suggesting that hype and exclusivity is more important than the actual integrity or design of the sneaker?
Well, I mean, I’m a photographer. I’m a pretty technical person at my core. How things fit matter. My shoes matter, my jackets matter, everything I wear is a thought process based on what I do. So, for me, sneakers are my tools with some nice elements of style, but I actually have to wear them. So I wear all my shoes man, I do.

Do you get sent a lot sneakers?
It’s funny. In my career, I never really got sent a lot of products. I just buy the shoes that I like. If I like it, I buy it. So I’m not really biased. I don’t really owe anybody anything. I mean, I get a lot of the ACRONYM shoes from Errolson. He always makes sure that I catch everything he does. So, that’s cool. No one else sends me product, so it’s nice to be down with ACRONYM. In fact, I’m wearing the zipper Air Force 1s on my feet right now.

Just on that – the idea of brands linking up with artists. Did you ever think it could become such a lucrative relationship?
Well, the collaboration between adidas and Run- DMC was huge. That was mega. No one has really hit that level of really breaking the ceiling, crashing the ceiling. So even now, even with the Travis Scott sneakers, I’m not sure if they ever reveal how many pieces were ever made, but I guarantee you it’s a very small number. That’s how you’re able to maintain that high price point and rabid fan base. I mean, I don’t really wear things because celebrities wear them. I think celebrities, to a certain extent, follow the streets. So they’re almost the secondary market, because it’s the pulse of the street that they copy. They don’t trigger the streets. The streets actually trigger them. That’s where their stylists get their research. That’s where it all comes from. I think artists add a little more spotlight on a hot item, but they’re not the driving force. It’s the streets.

The cape is on, and the gloves are off – Brooklyn’s KidSuper is on a mission to destroy the status quo. Armed with his latest PUMA collection (feat. a pencil-holster equipped PUMA Suede), Colm Dillane and his flamboyant entourage continue to fire death-or-glory straight from the hip. Fresh off his LVMH nomination, we caught up with KidSuper to discuss the mind-melting resale industry, the Héctor Bellerín cleat collaboration, and his omnipresent arch-nemesis: unoriginality.

Congratulations on your latest PUMA collection! Can you tell us how it all came together?
Right before I signed with PUMA, I had done some little one-off stuff with Nike and adidas. And I was like, ‘I think we’re getting to the level where we deserve our own shoe’.

Obviously, when you do Nike or any of these other brands, it’s really about what they have in their silhouette arsenal, right? No matter how good of a designer you are, if you get one of these popular silhouettes, it’s going to be a hit. So I was like, ‘Man, let’s see what PUMA will allow me to do’. And what was cool with PUMA, they really let me do whatever I wanted. So, a lot of the stuff that we designed was fully custom original shoes.

We did the Suede, which was actually our least original shoe. But I also thought it was cool because the Suede does have a cool history. But obviously, we wanted to be as original as we could be, with the colour, the toe, the laces, and the pencil holder.

You wouldn’t cash in on a silhouette like the Dunk?
It’s not that I wouldn’t want a KidSuper Dunk. I just don’t think a lot of Dunk collaborations should be praised so much. But people are getting ‘best sneaker of the year’ for literally colour-switching. Even if they gave you an Air Jordan or whatever that’s popular right now, and they’re like, ‘Hey, do you want to pick colours?’ You’d probably come up with something cool. There’s no ugly colour scheme, really, if it’s unique.

You can’t really mess-up an Air Jordan or Dunk…
And even if you do fuck it up, there’s something cool about a fucked-up colourway, so you can’t even fuck that up. None of these are completely original shoe designs. You’ll always see ‘The Top 10 Sneakers of the Year’, and it’s the same every year; it’s the same silhouettes.

What were you wearing growing up?
I was a soccer player. So when I was a child, you could only catch me in indoor soccer shoes. Then I went to high school in New York City, in Brooklyn, and you couldn’t wear the same shoes two days in a row, or you’d just get absolutely obliterated, which is pretty hilarious. So I had five pairs of shoes, and I would just alternate. So you would never catch me wearing them twice in a row.

What kind of sneakers were they?
I wasn’t the hype beast type of guy. I would wear really weird outside-the-box shoes that people didn’t really have but were cool to me. But my school was like – everyone wanted the ‘Tiffany’ Dunks. Reselling was actually a huge business for a lot of the kids that went to my high school. That’s what they did for money: buying and selling sneakers.

Which has only become a bigger and bigger industry.
Now you can be a fucking millionaire off it. Actually, what’s really funny is that I went back to my high school, and I wanted to do a collaboration. We were going to do a ‘Shark Tank’ kind of thing where all the students were going to pitch me ideas. And whoever had the best idea, I was going to give the $20,000 we raised.

I was going to be Mark Cuban of my high school. While I was there, they were like, ‘you should go to the entrepreneur club. They probably have some ideas for this whole project’. So I went there, and one of the kids was a sneaker reseller, and he had his own house. He was in high school and had his own house, a BMW, and over 100 employees. He would get all these little kids that were in high school to wait in line for him. He had a little friend that was super enthusiastic about KidSuper. I ended up giving him my car. He didn’t even have a license; it was awesome. But yeah, the sneaker reselling world, it’s super big. I just wasn’t so into it because the money determined how ‘cool’ you were. I was always against that, and I was just always about making my own stuff. A lot of my shoes in high school were hand-painted and stuff, which sounds like I’m an emo dude, but it wasn’t like that.

KidSuper’s always been about making your own product. How does working with such a big brand change that creative process?
Everyone asks me this question, and, I think back in the day, companies didn’t give you so much creative control. But nowadays, having an unhappy creative working with a brand is just such negative press.

It’s in the brand’s best interest to have me happy nowadays. So it was funny. I don’t know if you saw that J. Cole wore the KidSuper puffer jacket. I had to fight so hard for that jacket. I was like, ‘Guys, this is the standout piece. This is what we need to make. This is the piece that people are going to want to wear.’ They’re like, ‘No, it won’t really sell that well. It’s releasing in February – it’s not that cold.’ And then it ended up being the piece that J.Cole wore, so it’s funny.

Speaking of big names. You worked with Héctor Bellerín last year for the cleat.
That was probably the coolest shit I’ve done with PUMA, and maybe in my life. What’s cool about Héctor is that he pushed almost as hard as I did for it. Did you see the video on his channel where he’s talking about making the shoe with me? So, he did that all himself. That’s him and his creative team, which is kind of nuts, right? So he pushed super hard for it. And I mean, I’m such a fan, it was funny because he’s asking me streetwear questions, and I’m like, ‘Dude, why the fuck are we talking about clothing?’ I was like, what’s it like playing with Iniesta and Xabi?’

Do you feel like New York City has developed more of an appetite for soccer?
New York City is a complete exception because everyone here is an immigrant. A lot of people here are soccer-first. So it’s not that shocking. I mean, basketball is definitely still the cooler sport, but we’re well on our way. And I think I’m solely responsible for it, completely alone in this battle of making soccer cool [laughs]. A lot of the time, people have roots in countries that love soccer. So everyone is connecting with their roots. My Mum’s from Spain, and my Dad’s from Ireland.

Is designing more football cleats something on the KidSuper agenda?
I literally beg PUMA every day.

How close were you to actually playing professional soccer?
When I was 17, I was playing youth professional, basically for a team. Could I have made third division somewhere? Yes. Would I have been a superstar? No. I mean, even now, I feel like sometimes I play, and I’m like, ‘Oh shit, I could be professional’. And sometimes I play, and I’m like, ‘Oh my God, I’m fucking horrible’. But people keep asking me to design jerseys for teams.

You created the original KidSuper Sidekick shoe. Would you ever revisit the idea of making your own sneakers?
The KidSuper Sidekick was my rendition of the adidas Stan Smith – a simple shoe – because I never do anything like that. But I was like, ‘Look, let’s just make this a real classic KidSuper thing’. And everyone loved that shoe. I think it was just an easy wear and looked cool. But I didn’t feel like it was a huge achievement, as it was a pretty standard shoe. It wasn’t like I reinvented the wheel on that one. Right now, I’m making these Crocs. They look like they’re made out of clay-croc material.

The Crocs are popping-off in a big way right now. Are you a fan of the Yeezy Foam Runners?
Kanye really needs to be given his flowers as a designer for shoes. I mean, he shaped the way we even desire sneakers. Who else has been able to create a generation-defining shoe that isn’t already a popular silhouette? Only Kanye West.

When preparing your KidSuper SS21 ‘Everything’s Fake Until It’s Real’ show, did you consider making miniature Suedes for the models?
Do you know the brand BTS, the Korean superstars? So, I bought their doll set, and they came with really intense sneakers. So I was like, ‘Okay, these look like fucking Jordans’. I just popped those bad boys on and called it a day. That was the hardest, most physically demanding project ever. So, making sneakers was not on the top of my list.

What’s in the pipeline for KidSuper?
I have this fashion show that’s happening now, which is super difficult, and I’m working on it as we are talking. But after that, the LVMH award gets announced in September, so in September, my whole life could change. We’re working on a KidSuper mixtape, so I’m going to DJ Khaled and bring people together. Music is such a big part of KidSuper’s success. I really like unexpected collaborations, so I really want to get Shania Twain featuring Young Thug. But, supposedly, Shania Twain’s retired.

If anyone can get Shania Twain out of retirement, it’s KidSuper.
That’s what I’m thinking. Shania, we need you. I love you, Shania.

Chances are that Nike SB footwear designer Bryce ‘The Sandman’ Wong is the brains behind all of your favourite Dunks from the ‘Striped Box’ era. A kid from Southern California, Wong first got off the leash in 2019 with the ‘The Dog Walker’, a ballsy inline release that helped spark the rabid SB revival. With a hefty portfolio of collaborators, including The Grateful Dead, Neckface, Todd Bratrud and Oskar Rozenberg Hallberg, Wong’s designs have left us footwear feral all over again.

How did you get involved in sneaker design?
I grew up in Southern California, so I was very much into skate culture. I was always a creative person – doodling in class when I was supposed to be studying. I remember, for my 15th birthday asking for power tools so I could make stuff (when most of my friends were asking for an Xbox).

Once I hit college, being a starving artist was never really on my plate. My parents are from the healthcare and medical field. I was like, ‘Okay, I need a paycheck, but I also want to be creative and make things.’

My first gig was at Vans in California, so I met a ton of cool people and got connected. I began to understand the weight and importance of sneaker culture and collecting. Specifically, I was learning how performance and style intersected. The experience was eye-opening. Funnily enough, when it was time to graduate, one of my buddies at Vans ended up getting a gig at Nike SB.

When I first started at SB, I was working on seasonal narrative stories like the Blazer Edge ‘Hack Pack’. After that, I ended up falling into the collaborations and Quickstrike releases. Design is cool, but storytelling is really what I fell in love with.

What’s behind the resurgence of the SB Dunk?
I think it’s a mixture of timing and luck, honestly. After the Air Force 1 started to taper down, a lot of interest shifted back to the Dunk. I think a lot of sneakerheads were looking for another chunky shoe with heritage and expression. Virgil Abloh was also really popping off around 2017, so we saw a lot of crazier, aesthetic shoes.

The first shoe I designed was the Nike SB Dunk High ‘Dog Walker’ in 2019. That’s when we started to realise that people were open to wearing riskier, more ‘out there’ sneakers again. Sneakerheads were also really starting to gravitate towards skate culture. After I landed the role of lead collaborator and Quickstrike designer, I really started talking with skate stores and brainstorming the types of stories we wanted to tell.

At SB, we really get to tell our own stories. It was a little more ‘protected’. Because Nike is such a big sportswear company, we really relied on people working at SB to have an authentic take on what would be cool for the brand.

But that kind of changed a little bit once Travis Scott wanted a Dunk. That was one that just landed on our laps, and we were like, ‘Uh-oh.’ After that, the projects were still cool, but they started to come from elsewhere.

Was there anxiety around the Travis Scott collaboration? Obviously, SB have always been about authenticity and grassroots collaborations.
Totally. I mean, we’ve always been about telling stories like Concepts’ ‘Orange Lobster’, you know what I mean? That’s straight from an account. We know sneakerheads get it.

So to bring somebody in who’s very important to the culture but not necessarily tied to it was always going to be a challenge. We had to make sure that it still felt right.

Can we take a deep dive behind some of the models in your portfolio? Maybe we could start with the trio of Grateful Dead colourways…

That’s definitely one of my favourites. The project initially got legs because one of our East Coast friends is a huge Deadhead. He was like, ‘Yo, I got the connect. We should smoke some weed in the park together and brainstorm.’

At that time, we were trying to tell stories and educate people on the fact that SB had been around a long time – well before 2020. It’s kind of funny, actually. Even now, people who are getting into sneaker culture are wearing Dunks, and they’re thinking, ‘Oh, where did this new shoe model come from?’ And you’re like, ‘You know this thing has a history that goes way back, even past SB?’

So I think a lot of the collaborations were trying to educate and reintroduce fun stories from the past.

The ‘Three Bears Pack’ was a legendary trio from 2006 (the ‘Black Box’ era). With The Grateful Dead collaboration, we wanted to tell new stories that have ties to the past and be able to point people back there to educate them.
Back in the day, a lot of us would throw on a Grateful Dead tee to go skating, so it was sick to actually meet some of the members of the original squad. We landed on three shoes, which was a huge lift. Up until that point, we hadn’t done a pack of three for a Quickstrike. I was pretty stressed out.

But the philosophy at the time was: ‘Let’s do something crazy with our Dunks because we have the rest of SB to pay off our bills. So who cares how crazy these things are?’ This was at a time when people really understood the cultural cache of a wild launch – even if it’s super low numbers and we’re not making much money, which is really rare at Nike. You don’t hear that often.

I spent a lot of time sketching different Swooshes and working on the zipper tongues (which referenced foam-padded bags that are used for certain ‘activities’). It was just so fun to dig into the details. We actually put the name Owsley Stanley on the shoe. He was an audio engineer that used to make the acid for the band.

It’s the details that make the project. It takes things from ‘good’ to ‘great’.

Just on ‘sketching the Swoosh’. Nike seem to be a lot more open these days with artists and designers manipulating the logo – which wasn’t always the case. Did you have free rein when creating the shark Swoosh for the Oski Dunk?
I think, at the time, things had loosened up a little. It probably wasn’t just SB. But after our projects, Nike definitely cracked down. I specifically remember getting an email from legal HR after the Oski collaboration. They were like, ‘Hey guys, we have new rules that are going to be set up because of stuff like this.’

At the time, I was thinking, ‘Damn, maybe we’ve been pushing things a little too far.’ But at the end of the day, how many people can say they drew a shark as a Swoosh? Not many. But apologies to anyone else trying to mess up the Swoosh – I messed it up for them.

What was it like working with Oski?
It was fun. At the time, we were both kids sitting in a room like, ‘What kind of shoe should we make?’ Oski wanted sharks swimming all over the shoe and the Swoosh. I thought it sounded a bit like a kid’s shoe, but it was definitely something I could work with.

I was only in my early 20s at the time, and I didn’t really understand that the Swoosh was super precious and that we needed to be precious with it. So I just said, ‘Screw it, let’s try it. I think it’ll be dope.’

Still, I think because SB hadn’t truly popped off again for ‘this era’, people weren’t scrutinising things as closely. We didn’t really expect it to blow up, but the minute it got leaked, it just exploded. Oski, being a badass skater, also did a bunch of clips repping them, and then he did a bunch of cool activations. It all came together so perfectly.

Initially, it was only supposed to be an athlete colourway with Oski’s name on the shoe. But we just flipped it on its head. It was really sick because it led to numerous skaters coming to us asking for something more than just a colourway. The shoe started a lot of conversations.

How did you and Neckface arrive at the patchwork-style Dunk for Halloween?
We sent Neckface a patchwork book of different designs we could make at Nike – chenille, woven, hairy, etc. And he just said, ‘You know what? I just want to put patches all over the shoe.’ A week later, a box arrived at the office. We had no idea what it was. It was a pair of Neckface’s old Dunk beaters that he had colour-corrected. Then he had taped all these different illustrations he had drawn to the sides.

Basically, I looked at this thing and thought, ‘I’m just going to make this into a shoe’. It looked like a DIY home project with insane Neckface graphics. But it ended up being a really extensive project because we had so many different patches that had to be perfected and considered.

It was super sick because it ended up being just so raw.

What are your plans for the rest of 2023?
I’ve recently moved on from Nike SB. It was a happy and sad moment. I miss SB a lot because it was so authentic to my come-up. I love the team. But it was time for me to hand over the reins to someone that was ready for the challenge. The division is in super good hands. I know they’re still trying to get weird with it and do some crazy stuff.

I’m now at Nike Virtual Studios and digital goods – the umbrella that houses RTFKT. It’s a lot of community-based activations and Web 3.0. For instance, when I was at SB, I put the shoe out and then somebody bought it. The relationship ends. With my new role, I’m really focused on telling stories that go past the relationship between just consumer and seller. We’re focused on embracing the people who belong to the community.

Take shelter, sneakerheads: Nike are coming for us like the Terminator T-1000. Customisers, collectors, retailers and brands are burying their sneakers in shallow graves before they get scythed by the Swoosh. Already in 2023, Nike have BAPE and Lululemon in the crosshairs.

Yes, the legal muscle is filing more paperwork than Waystar Royco, so it’s time to protect ourselves. Make sure to carefully read our stringent guidelines before we all end up in the can, trading our knockoff sneakers for a ciggie and half a bar of soap.

Do not inject your Air units with blood, urine, or any other bodily fluid that will compromise the integrity of the silhouette. Contaminating any of Nike’s proprietary Air technology will result in eternal damnation (you will be banished from the SNKRS app).

Do not open your backdoor unless expressly required to do so by Nike or are the direct offspring of His Airness. Stringent, weekly DNA tests will be required for any retail outlet claiming genealogical coherence.

Anyone falsely claiming a blood relation to His Airness or any other Jordan Brand athlete will be forced to attend Charlotte Hornets games for three consecutive NBA seasons.

Do not use American Express corporate cards to purchase and resell sneakers – unless your mother is in an executive position at Nike. And if that’s the case, please inform her that her latest package has arrived at Nike HQ.

Do not flip, reverse, invert, toss, tear, tumble or tweak the Nike Swoosh unless you are a musical artist with a considerable following or a high-end Japanese imprint. Individuals in the teaching institution: please refrain from correcting students’ work with the Swoosh. Consider using other copyright-free motifs like stars, smiley faces, or a simple IRL thumbs-up.

In terms of vocal encouragement, consider phrases like ‘Let’s go, Johnny’ and ‘Stick it to ‘em, Ginny’. Any mention of ‘Just Do It’ will require pre-authorisation from governing bodies and will be categorically denied unless prior written applications are lodged and consent is given.

Do not talk, text, reference, or share any work by agitator Warren Lotas. Anyone found wearing a t-shirt or hoodie by the apostate will be swiftly disrobed, hosed, and placed in one of Nike’s re-education outposts.

All West Coast artists found in correspondence will be introduced to Nike’s revolutionary Air Tuned cushioning system via the face.

Nike have never plagiarised anyone else’s designs. This is a universal, monolithic truth. Much like the sky is blue, the earth is round, and NFTs are lame. Still, Nike reserve the right to hunt down anyone trespassing copyright laws in Zuckerberg’s virtual space and will not hesitate to employ any and all neo-techno-interrogation techniques.

Any civil dissonance will result in the individuals responsible reporting directly to Nike’s Ministry of Truth and Swoosh.

Now, how many fingers am I holding up?

Do not deride, defame or slander Nike or any of its subsidiaries at any event, public or private. Nike reserves the right to use any technology – new or existing – to ascertain what was said or written on Earth or any future cosmic settlements in perpetuity.

How many times did you bust your ankles emulating AND1 mixtapes? Founded by three college kids from the University of Pennsylvania, AND1’s soaring ascent took the basketball industry’s breath away in the 1990s and 2000s – the fledgling label somehow going toe-to-toe with market titans like Nike. Immortalised by Vince Carter’s Slam Dunk Contest in 2000 (where he laced red and white Tai Chis), AND1 looked destined to become the king of the court.

So why did things go south?

To celebrate the premiere of UNTOLD: The Rise and Fall of AND1, we hooked up with Oscar-nominated filmmaker Kevin Wilson Jr. to hit rewind on the greatest hoops show on earth.

One, two, three, AND1!

How did this project come together?
I grew up on AND1 in North Carolina. Basketball is a huge, huge part of our community and culture down there. I grew up in Durham, so there’s UNC and Duke. I’m a big Tar Heels fan. I wouldn’t call myself a hooper, but I played a little bit when I was younger.

We were trying to find where we fit in, my friends and I. We weren’t able to go to the big UNC basketball games, Duke games, or Charlotte Hornets games because we couldn’t afford them. So, when the AND1 mixtapes came out, I think I was at my friend’s house, and he showed me. It was volume three when Hot Sauce first came to it, and I was hooked.

We just watched him relentlessly and went outside and tried to practise the moves. It was a big part of my childhood, and it brought us all together. It was the reason I became friends with certain people. We were all wearing the AND1 sneakers.

I remember going into a classroom, and there was one guy who was wearing the Too Chillins, and I was wearing the Too Chillins. We were the only two cats in the class who were wearing them, and we became best friends. We’re best friends to this day.

So, it was a big reason I’m a part of the community I’m part of. When the project came to me, I jumped at the opportunity. We talked about what AND1 meant to all of us and what I wanted to do with the story. For me, I really wanted to give players an opportunity to speak their truth unfiltered because the last I can remember, I was enjoying the mix tapes and the show, and then everything just went away. I never really understood why.

I heard some light rumblings that the players were unhappy. I was always curious about what happened, what players were feeling and what founders were feeling. So, I talked about what I would do and the environment I wanted to create for everyone to speak their truth. Then we started making it together, and we spent two months shooting. We started at the beginning of 2020. Then we took our time over the next two years to really put the story together and present it in a way that was not a glossed-over, sugar-coated fantasy of what happened but the truth of what happened. I’m really happy with what we arrived at.

What was unique about AND1’s marketing? How were they able to go toe-to-toe with a Goliath like Nike?
For the first time, people were really able to see folks who looked like them and looked like the community in the mainstream. Basketball at that time was, for the most part, very fundamental. There were cats doing flashy moves here and there, but they weren’t doing what Hot Sauce and Main Event and Shane the Dribbling Machine were doing – jumping over motorcycles and all this crazy stuff.

AND1 approached the game with passion and trash talk. People crowded, lining the court and spilling onto it. People in New York and Philly, places where street ball was king, saw that all the time, but it was sort of relegated to that community.

When streetball hit the mainstream, people went crazy. It was attractive. It was fun and flashy. Flamboyant. The way people were dressing – people could wear their ‘fro’s out. People could wear their diamond stud earrings. They looked like your friends and cousins playing out there, so that was attractive. When you’re finally able to see yourself reflected and feel like, ‘Hey, I can go out there and be part of that too.’ That’s a recipe for success.

Vince Carter wearing the AND1 Tai Chi during the 2000 Slam Dunk Contest was obviously a huge moment for the brand. How did you tell that story?
I remember watching that dunk contest with my stepbrother. We’re both huge Vince Carter fans. I recall the Tai Chis because I had a pair. What was crazy about that moment was that he wasn’t even signed to AND1. He wasn’t an endorsed athlete. He just liked the sneaker and decided to wear them. They flew off the shelves after the Slam Dunk Contest. Everybody was talking about those dunks. The way his feet were positioned in the air – it was the perfect way to showcase the sneaker.

You couldn’t pay for that kind of publicity if you’re AND1. If you’re a kid back in North Carolina, it’s like, ‘I don’t have to get Air Jordans If I can’t afford them. I can go get these Tai Chi’s and be able to rock it like Carter.’

We wanted to make sure we showcased that story because that was the height of the brand. That was when AND1 was making the most money. That was when they were at the top of the game. That was when they were challenging Nike, giving them a run for their money. I think Nike was at number one, and AND1 was right at number two, chasing their tail. That was when everything was going well – right before everything went south.

How come AND1 weren’t able to maintain the momentum?
Well, the sneaker market is extremely competitive. When you have someone like Nike, a titan of the industry, they were always going to tap into what AND1 were tapping into. Nike ended up catching on. Other brands also caught on. Nike were trying to figure out ways to appear less ‘establishment’ and connect more with the people on the ground level. That’s what AND1 was able to do early on that nobody else was doing.

Quite frankly, Nike obviously had more resources than AND1. AND1 had one sneaker designer, Tom Austin, and a very small group of people supporting him. Nike just had and continues to have a huge base with which they’re able to create and continue to demolish competition. That’s what ended up happening.

For the founders, when they saw that Nike was catching on, other competitors were catching on, and sales were starting to drop, they wanted to make sure that they were able to get out of it on top when they could. So, the company ended up selling. When you end up selling a company, if you don’t sell to someone who understands the culture and understands what made things so successful to begin with, I don’t think you’re going to achieve the same fruits that you were initially able to achieve, and I think that’s what happened.

Do you feel that David Stern’s dress code of 2005 impacted the brand?
I don’t think so. People were still able to rebel and do what they wanted to do. AND1 is a company known for inviting people who were rebelling against the establishment. The biggest example was Latrell Sprewell, who the NBA and David Stern pretty much wrote off after he choked out his coach in practice. AND1 quickly invited him into the fold. In many ways, the dress code, crazy as it was, helped the brand. For one, AND1’s success wasn’t just confined to the NBA. It wasn’t just Sprewell and Kevin Garnett leading the charge. It was those guys who were on tour, on the road. They wore whatever they wanted to wear. They did what they wanted. In fact, the crazier it was and the more trouble they got in, the more people wanted to connect with the brand. AND1 were always the brand on the edge. Breaking rules and doing things their way. I think that’s what resonated with folks in the community.

Was money a source of tension between players and owners?
Oh, absolutely. There were players who definitely felt that they were taken advantage of by the company. There are two sides to every coin. As a filmmaker, I try not to side with the players or the owners. I like to give people the opportunity to speak their truth. Then folks can form their own opinion about what happened.

Quite frankly, the founders had a point to be made in terms of their business model and what they intended to do. I don’t think they intentionally exploited the players, but I wouldn’t dispute those players when they say they weren’t paid their worth. From my point of view, if it weren’t for Main Event, Shane, Hot Sauce, AO, Half Man and all those guys, the company wouldn’t be what it was. Had it not been for The Skip Tape to come along and turn it into The Mixtape Vol 1, who knows what would’ve become of AND1? So, I don’t think the players were wrong in feeling what they felt.

Could something like the AND1 phenomenon happen today?
I think it is already. What AND1 was able to do in the 1990s and 2000s is what’s happening every time you log onto Instagram and see a kid. You don’t know where they live, but they’re posting some crazy ankle-breaking crossover or some wild dunk. That was essentially AND1. And I don’t know if a single brand is going to be able to take that and commodify it anymore because everybody has the opportunity to do it themselves. Players, quite frankly, can make more money if they’re able to gain a following by posting on their own platform. That was the kind of thing that the AND1 players were talking about, which is why they felt that they brought a much bigger value to the brand than they were actually compensated for.

I think people are smarter these days and have more opportunities to control their own brand and content. To post what they want to post and gain the following. Look at The Professor. He’s got millions of followers. He’s doing his own thing now. Maybe the younger generation of players doing their own dope stuff can come together and create a collective brand of their own.

It’s been a sole-crushing few years for the Beaverton crew. Facing stiff competition from rival sportswear giants and big-bark underdogs like On and HOKA, Nike’s dominance began to waver. Under the guidance of tech-evangelist John Donahoe, whose CV includes the top job at eBay, Nike prioritised a shift to direct-to-consumer (DTC) strategies and the scaling of digital operations, effectively shutting out boutiques and retail partners that had long been fundamental to Nike’s cultural clout. In the innovation department, things were grinding to a halt. Nike leaned heavily on retro models to buoy sales – a short-term economic shot in the arm that soon flatlined.

On June 28, 2024, Nike experienced its worst single-day stock market loss of nearly 20 percent. The TL;DR version of all this? Nike had lost its aura. In September, Donahoe finally stepped away from Nike and 30-plus-year veteran Elliott Hill took up the mantle. The internet was flooded with a CV that screamed old-school, grassroots Swoosh-head – a kid who stoically packed boxes in warehouses and fielded questions from customers on the phone. Never mind the visuals (read: another middle-aged white guy), the intern-turned-CEO was the American Dream writ large – a rags-to-riches heart-warmer auspiciously positioned against the backdrop of a new election. While Donahoe was fed to the vultures with Nike hoping all the bad juju gets chewed up with him, Hill was a golden ticket for Nike’s PR machine.

But can Hill, in a political analogy too obvious to resist, ‘Make Nike great again'?

Repairing Relationships with Retailers

Everyone knows retail partners are ground zero for cultural influence. Under Donahoe’s reign, Nike made an aggressive pivot towards a direct-to-consumer (DTC) strategy, prioritising its own stores and online platforms over traditional retail channels. The decision caused major rifts with many of Nike’s long-standing retail partners. Nike forfeited prime real estate on the shelves, which was quickly swallowed up by rival brands. Hill will look to mend some of these broken relationships, but trust takes time to build. Sneakerheads are quick to smell doggy doo-doo, and Nike may have to crash on the couch for a while before being welcomed back to the bed. In seeking to recapture the elusive currency of ‘cool’, of which stores are the ultimate arbiters, Hill will have his hat in hand and shoes by the door.

Getting Back in the Innovation Race: Or, Make Some Cool Shit

While Nike’s competitors have happily bankrolled footwear innovation, Nike’s R&D department has stalled dramatically. With a one-eyed focus on scaling digital platforms and building a techno-topian retail platform, Nike have seemingly forgot one key component fundamental to the success of footwear brands: new product. For several years now, Nike have produced little in the way of groundbreaking new technology, instead leaning on sales from its retro catalogue – a strategy that has delivered short-term financial gains but failed to push the brand forward.

If Hill can renew investments in performance innovation and sports where they have traditionally dominated like basketball, football and running, then we have no doubt Nike can quickly make up ground. What Nike really need is innovative product that will cut through the endless spools of content flooding our feeds. And if innovation is too much to ask, how about just some fucking awesome shoes?