I Can't Buy Into Sneaker Nostalgia That I Didn't Live Through

Nostalgia reigns supreme in sneaker culture, but is it all that it's cracked up to be?

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Complex Original

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I was born in 1986, two years after the G.O.A.T. Michael Jordan signed with Nike and released his first signature sneaker, the Air Jordan 1. I don't remember what it was like when the NBA banned his black-and-red sneakers, and I don't have any nostalgia for that moment. Not because I don't think it's important to sneaker culture—it's huge—but because I wasn't around to see it.


For those that know me, it's not a secret that I prefer runners over basketball sneakers, and I've never owned a pair of retro Jordans. It's not because I think high-top silhouettes are corny or can't be worn with a pair of jeans, but it's that I don't connect with the continually sold nostalgia associated with reissued basketball sneakers—the ones that everyone clamors over.


The strongest memory I have of Michael Jordan is when his Chicago Bulls beat Charles Barkley and the Phoenix Suns in the 1993 NBA Finals. I ran out to the local Olympia Sports the next day and bought the championship T-shirt with caricatures on it. I was hyped. It wasn't because Jordan wore his VIIIs that year, which remain the only O.G. Air Jordans I've ever owned, it's because I was a kid who got caught up in the excitement of a sporting event taking place—and John Paxson hitting the game-winning shot to clinch the series.


I don't want adidas Mutombo 2s just because he beat the Sonics in them, or a pair of Etonic's "The Dream" because Hakeem wore them in his rookie season. These moments mean nothing to me, because I don't remember them. I can't pretend to have interest in storylines that never crossed my mind until a sneaker was retroed.



 I can't pretend to have interest in storylines that never crossed my mind until a sneaker was retroed.


But, on the other hand, I can't help but get enamored with running sneakers from the late '80s and early '90s. It's not about the memories associated with the sneakers—I could care less if Hi-Five wore matching "Persian" BWs. It's cool, but that's besides the point— it's that I look at them from an analytical standpoint: Are they comfortable? What's the colorblocking like on the sneaker? What did they mean to the progression of footwear design? Did a boutique do a refreshing collaboration with the silhouette? Those are the things that matter to me. If you can't agree that the Air Max 95 is a marvel of construction, I don't want to talk to you.



That same line of thinking makes it hard for me to co-sign a sneaker that's been re-released just because a brand had a basketball player on its roster 20 years ago, and there's a hard push to make everyone recall which sneakers Derrick Coleman or Kevin Johnson wore. Let's be real: they're not trying to sell their product to 40-somethings who are raising children, they're going after impressionable youth with cash to burn. To be frank, it's awkward to push a sneaker to an 18-24-year-old crowd if they weren't born the year it was initially released.


That doesn't go to say there isn't a place for runners to be retroed, though. Adidas randomly brought back the EQT Racing this year, and it was great. That's because the sneaker is a living history lesson. It's easy to look at it and say, "OK, this is where the modern lightweight running enthusiasm comes from." And adidas didn't drop the EQT with a tale that's meant to pull your heartstrings. It was just a good sneaker that felt right to bring back. Sure, it was a sneaker from 1991 that was given a proper comeback, but it was also appreciated by people who didn't mind seeing adidas' ZX series updated with woven uppers this year.

This rationale, sadly, doesn't extend to those trying to preserve a sneaker's O.G. aesthetic. If a Hyperfuse upper or full-length Air unit was fused to a Jordan IV, there would be outrage. It wouldn't be O.G. anymore, and 'heads would cry foul. This mentality has permeated the brand's subculture so much that it's even going to re-release "Remastered" versions of its sought-after sneakers—meaning they're closer to the original versions in construction and materials—for a premium, and that's exactly what the customer wants. Everyone is so afraid of a sneaker not meeting its original specifications, even if they weren't around back then.

It makes sneakers like the Air Jordan III trapped in time. Conversely, the Air Max 1—which was also designed by Tinker Hatfield and equally definitive to Nike's legacy—is free to be interpreted by Nike and no one is storming the Pompidou Centre, where the sneaker gets its inspiration from, because of it. Nike just put a Lunar sole on the white/red Air Max 1, and it was received well. It's also made updated versions of the Infrared Air Max 90, and the sneaker's history wasn't damaged. A Patta x Air Max 1 is just as great to me as the original white/red and white/blue.

These same edits can't be done to the Jordan III, though. If Nike could just release the III with a Lunar sole, it would be a huge win for the brand. But people are too hungry for original versions of Air Jordans. Just look at the talk behind a "Black Cement" Air Jordan III '88 being released, which is reveled for being a part of Jordan's history and an integral piece of basketball progression. But it can't be allowed to move even further forward.

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To be honest, I'm guilty of nostalgia, too. I've admitted to wanting an Air Kukini retro because my mom wouldn't buy them for me in 7th grade, and I still reminisce over Stevie Williams' first sneaker with DC, because it's the moment that really piqued my interest in sneakers. But my perspective as a sneaker connoisseur isn't held captive by these two moments. I acknowledge them as two pivotal parts in my growth as a person, but I'm able to look past them and see the future. These were snapshots from my teenage years, not a fleeting instance from when I was in kindergarten. If you can't escape a feeling you had when you were five years old, you need to grow the fuck up. There's going to be way cooler things to look forward to than preserving something you're told to cherish.


This doesn't go to say that if you love the way a sneaker looks and feels, you shouldn't obsess over it endlessly. I'm a huge proponent of that, in fact. And if it shaped the person that you are today, then you should never forget it. You shouldn't, however, put on a front that something impacted your ​life—in this case, a sneaker—at an age where you're more concerned with playing soccer in your friend's backyard than keeping sneakers on ice or appreciating the texture of a piece of leather.


So wear your Air Jordan IIIs, but don't tell me it's because you remember Mike dunking in them from the free-throw line if you're around my age or younger. I'll leave that to Russ Bengtson, DJ Clark Kent, and everyone else who actually lived through those days, as I continue to wear my Air Max 1s—just because they're a dope sneaker.

Matt Welty is an editorial assistant at Complex, and he's never entered an Air Jordan raffle. You can follow him on Twitter here.