My pair of Nike Air Force 1
The nostalgic, sentimental sneaker
Grade four.
My Reebok Allen Iverson ANSWER 4 sneakers finally succumb to the rigors of concrete courts and grass-stained recess adventures. My attempts at fadeaway jump shots and crossovers to emulate the early 2000s NBA star make giving up these sneakers a lot more difficult than I realize.
It’s a sunny spring afternoon during this trip to Toronto’s Yorkdale mall with my mom and sisters. My need for new sneakers means a stop at the now-defunct Athletes World. The store is loud and busy. Shoppers examine potential purchases and shout out their sizes to nearby employees. Nike, Adidas, Reebok and the somewhat forgotten K-Swiss and Sean John brands litter the displays and clothing racks of the blue and silver store. Through the shuffling crowd, my mom and I make our way to the wall of sneakers. Immediately, I’m drawn to this unassuming, monochrome pair: the Nike Air Force 1. The AIR on the heel and enlarged Nike swoosh on the sides peak my interest. In a youth size 6, I’m enamored by the comfort and styling. My childhood loyalty to Reebok and Iverson end in a split second.
At 10-years-old, little do I know of the sneaker’s deep history and pop culture significance. This includes iconic stories like Philadelphia 76ers legend Moses Malone dominating the Los Angeles Lakers in his red and white high tops during the 1983 NBA Finals, or that the sneaker predates Nike’s astronomical popularity spearheaded by the Air Jordans craze in late 1984. Outside the court, the story expands to the vibrant hip hop culture that sustains the sneaker’s popularity well into the 2000s. From Mos Def to Jay-Z, the Air Forces were their go-to sneaker for concerts and appearances.
However, the most striking fact is that everyone seems to embrace the silhouette, versatility and comfort — Detroit Pistons forward Rasheed Wallace patrolling the paint in his signature patent leather player editions (PE), rapper Nelly writing a song about buying multiple pairs and even your next door, middle-aged neighbour cutting the grass in them.
While its origins lie in being the first basketball sneaker to utilize Nike Air technology for on-court performance in 1982, Nike designer Bruce Kilgore unintentionally creates a universal sneaker transcending sports and subcultures. I do not know it at the time, but the Air Forces will become synonymous with my own nostalgia and sentimentality for classic sports figures, vintage pop culture and personal stories as I get older. Whether it’s researching how the sneakers become fixtures for sports fanatics, fashion enthusiasts or those just appreciating the subtle design, my curiosity to understand every story and detail grows beyond that initial sighting on the sneaker wall in Yorkdale.
— — —
Fast forward to the high school years, and the sneaker loses its lustre. Hoards of students make the black pair the de facto uniform shoe and the white pair the standard for civvies days in my Catholic school. The allure of retro Air Jordans, particularly the Space Jam 11 pair, became my most sought-after sneaker. Sadly, not only for the nostalgia and not for being a true fan of Michael Jordan’s game (which I was too young to even admire first-hand), but for a yearning of acceptance from my peers. I fall into the need for exclusivity, yet self-consciously scramble to remain embedded in the “hype,” and the Air Forces are played out. Their over-saturation and over-exposure lack interest for my teenage years that were preoccupied with figuring out how to fit in. That curiosity of wanting to understand the sneaker’s history and universal appeal is seemingly gone.
So I thought.
Years of figuring out what I can pull off and what fits an “aesthetic” ends with the realization that you simply wear what you like, hype or no hype. This mentality includes a return to the Air Forces, but with a greater emphasis on that sentimental factor beyond the consumer aspects and most importantly, reigniting that curiosity of my 10-year-old self.
Also, the difference now is that it’s not just about the white and black pairs anymore. It’s about the potential because the conventionalism that was a bore for my teenage self can be viewed as the perfect canvas for designers to construct and deconstruct their visions.The sneaker’s sudden resurgence may be attested to varying degrees of celebrity worship and trends, but it goes much deeper. The era of collaborations in the fashion industry is a testament to new creative risks that are innovative without compromising the sneaker’s familiarity and history.
Among my favourites is from Errolson Hugh and his brand Acronym, who cut into the sneaker and put a zipper through it as a signature of techwear’s focus on functionality. In a 2017 interview with High Snobiety, the Ryerson University fashion alumnus calls his creation an “intervention into the shoe.” Acronym’s iteration wants to “make the shoe as different as possible,” but still maintain the iconic familiarity of the Air Force to keep them “completely recognizable,” Hugh says. This design was launched as part of Nike’s 35th anniversary of the sneaker in 2017.
Other notable projects include Rei Kawakubo’s Comme des Garçons teaming up with Supreme to create the “Split Swoosh” — a balance between her avant garde approach and streetwear influences in 2018. Samuel Ross’ A Cold Wall creates a pair that represents a techno-dystopian future with homages to the simplicity of the original grey and white 1982 high tops. Virgil Abloh’s Off-White pair has the ironic quotation marks, embellished AIR and recognizable zip ties.
The list goes on.
Yet, that creative drive that celebrates the Air Force goes beyond the major collaborations and established brands. Outside of high fashion, licensed products and athletic wear is the sneaker’s track record of being used for do-it-yourself (DIY) projects. On this level, the Air Forces influence new, unlicensed interpretations that equally showcase the sneaker’s potential.
— — —
On a cold fall evening, my usual commute home from Ryerson campus is met with an unlikely conversation with local artist Evan James on the TTC subway. With headphones on and a sketch book in hand, James is working on some quick drawings, jamming and smiling to himself — the perfect example of someone making the most of a train ride home after a long day at school.
Immediately, I am captivated by the Air Forces he is wearing. There are browns, yellows, reds and black that stand out on the white leather of his low tops. The most eye-catching element is literally a large eye with a blue pupil using the swoosh as its base and outline.
Originally from Vancouver, James is both a visual and musical artist. As the conversation progresses, James enthusiastically describes his creative process and why Air Forces are the ideal canvas for his designs. He shares a similar nostalgia for the sneakers, and says he felt it was necessary to explore its potential through his own vision. James shows me his Instagram account containing his musical projects, paintings and sketch drawings. Perusing through them, I see Air Forces with different colour palettes and eye designs. One particular post shows four, maybe five fresh pairs awaiting James’ future ideas.
“There’s no gimmicks, they are just nice and tasteful shoes,” James says in a follow-up. He admires the conventional qualities like comfort and the timeless design, but he strives to put his own signature on each pair he owns.
“I paint on shoes that I want to wear,” he says.
— — —
Familiarizing myself with new stories on the sneaker’s history again, I find that this recollection is not lost with my fellow Ryerson students. Circling back to the basics, I re-examine why the general release sneakers continue to be as important as the collaborations.
Second-year Ryerson journalism student Issac Fontes says the sneaker’s simplicity makes them “a timeless classic.” Fontes is a fashion enthusiast with a passion for 1980s and ’90s hip hop. These passions are represented in his own style, blending contemporary pieces from Supreme with vintage Nikes, Vans and oversized flannels. He appreciates the Air Force’s new sense of life stemming from celebrities like Toronto rapper Drake, who can be seen with the white pairs or his own OVO branded iterations at Toronto Raptors home games. However, Fontes views this as a sign of the general sneaker’s sustained relevance.
“The shoe already has a long lasting legacy behind it without the current hype and collabs,” Fontes says. “The new collabs with brands like Off-White and Cactus Plant Flea Market just help add to the legacy and the longevity of the Air Force’s popularity.”
Despite his admiration for the collaborations, he maintains a personal attachment to his well-worn low tops. It’s his nonchalant, essential style piece for the daily commutes to class or when he’s on the move securing those crucial streeter interviews for his journalism work.
“It’s perfect for pretty much all styles of pants and outfits,” he adds.“They can go with anything if you style them right.”
— — —
August 24, 2019.
I’m getting ready for another year at Ryerson. When I draw up my annual list of what I need for the upcoming school year, I stumble upon the end of summer sale for Livestock, a Toronto-based sneaker boutique. After a year of seeing the white low tops in varying conditions everywhere I go, I think to myself, “There has to be a story behind every purchase.” It cannot just be for the current trends.
I take the plunge and get my own pair for the first time since the Yorkdale purchase years ago. I take off the AFI metal lace hinges to make the pair similar to the 1982 versions and immediately integrate them into my everyday wardrobe of cropped black pants, rolled up jeans and baggy cargos. The Air Forces fit into my aesthetic-free choices this time around(no hype necessary). The white leather quickly breaks in as they gradually accumulate new blemishes and imperfections. There are detractors to wearing dirty Air Forces, but I like to think that every crease, scuff and dent represent the adventures and mishaps of the tumultuous student life.
From my sports fan perspective, long gone are the days of NBA players using the sneakers, as they’ve become more reserved for Nike’s lifestyle branches. This does not stop me from reminiscing about Rasheed Wallace’s ability to dominate in the paint, go for a three-pointer and get a technical foul in the most entertaining way possible. Memories of Wallace helping the underdog Pistons beat the super team Lakers in the 2004 NBA Finals will forever live on in my childhood(I’m sorry Karl Malone).
In terms of staying in this nostalgia, my curiosity expands to conversations with fellow Air Force enthusiasts. I ask about their own pairs, and why they continue to choose Air Forces every day. Most answers say versatility and familiarity, while others recall wearing them during their own adventures and milestones. Some include humorous stories like unintentionally matching with family members, friends and significant others when they meet up, or how they completed chicken wing eating contests in them, to name a few.
From the casual fan to the enthusiast and if its Acronym, Off-White or a general release that has seen cleaner days, this simple Nike sneaker manages to stay as equally relevant today as it was in 1982. Bruce Kilgore’s name and design do not garner the same attention as, say, Tinker Hatfield’s work on creating the Air Max 1 or the early Air Jordans. Nonetheless, I’d like to think the Air Force’s relevance to pop culture has its own level that will always be worth exploring.
While the sneaker will experience its inevitable rise and fall as trends come and go, there is more than enough content and conversations to satisfy my nostalgia and sentimentality. Arguably, the sneaker will remain universal among subcultures either as the everyday sneaker or another canvas for new projects to be realized. What I take from recalling my journey with the Air Forces is it’s the stories that will always count in the end, whether they are the ones today from designers, artists and friends, or the ones I recall when I was 10-years-old.
