Editor’s note: DP Dot Com celebrates 25 years of being the freshest nigga of all time.
When I had noticed that I was no longer the first person that the swoosh brand was checking for my feelings were a little hurt. I mean. hadn’t we done big things together? I still keep a copy of the love letter I sent to Beaverton, begging her to bring back the Dunk style. She was only interested in Jordan fans now and giving Air Force 1’s to undeserving rap artists. Where were these dudes when the Air Train was on the streets? I bet none of them knew you for your wild beauty during the Air Tech Challenge ’90 years. But there I was kicked to the curb, while some newjack rookies received all of your attentions.
I was holding on even though it was obvious that you were going in another direction. I wasn’t ready to share my heart again after so many years. Who would want my love anyway. Everybody wants someone that is younger and more beautiful than the next. My young, beautiful days were well beyond me now. I thought that I would just go to PayLess and settle down. Forget about what used to be and just be happy with the memories of the good times.
During the summer I bumped into a pair of leather ROD LAVERs and they told me that the three stripes brand was looking for a committment from an older guy. I admit that I was intrigued. The three stripes had the classic Forum in a New York state colorway that was my 1986 Shea Stadium workshoe. It was comfortable as all get out and that helped me scale the steep upper mezzanine seats with my Harry M. Stevens propaganda. So I visited the three stripes and we started dating a bit. I liked the way the three stripes reflected on their history. I thought that it was a real appreciation of the past, but I soon found out it was just a facade. The past was used just for exploitation without any serious reverence for the journey. I had traveled all the way to Paris in seach of the navy/burgundy ILIE NASTASE. Instead I found only disappointment.
I was prepared to go on now alone because there is no way in hell I would ever touch the apartheid supporters again. As soon as I had been told that Reebok’s Union Jack insignia was becaue of their support from South Africa I never again purchased a pair of the sneakers.
I rode the Metro to Les Halles to satisfy my heart with a delicious freshly prepared raspberry Gran Marnier crepe. As I walked through the courtyard I saw so many happy kids wearing their Dub-Zeros and the latest Jordan retros that were flooding the streets. As I walked past the most non-descript boutique I could hear a Wu-Tang baseline pulsating from the open door. I curiously looked inside just to see what a Parisian boutique that features Wu-Tang would sell.
The store was filled with NIKE Dunks. It was visually exhilarating to see all of these sneakers at once. There were colors that I hadn’t seen in America since the mid-eighties. The Michigan Wolverine’s high tops, the Iowa Hawkeyes, Kentucky Wildcats, the Ohio State, Syracuse’s orange and white. It brought back memories of heaven. When I went to the Latin Quarter I used to wear one Wildcat dunk on one foot and one Syracuse Dunk on the other foot. A fringe benefit from working at Shea Stadium was that I had ‘found’ several authentic Mets jerseys and caps because I was enterprising like that. My orange and blue color coordination was a favorite of those in my crew and the haters prah’lee felt a kind of way too, but we had too much posse for my mix match Dunks and my Mets gear to be an issue.
So even though the swoosh brand had apparently moved on it was obvious that she still had affections for me and she remembered all the good times that we shared. I decided that I could live with being her ‘old school john’ because she still knew how to make me feel like a million bucks when we were together.
Just don’t step on my feets when you see me in the streets.
One Hundred.
