“How much do I want to play into the fact that my culture’s been so much of my life, and how much do I want to say f*ck it, I want to do something completely and utterly reactionary?”

I would agree to say that this sentiment is evident throughout the sensibilities of us native New Yorkers who have enjoyed years of being at the forefront of culture, but are now at the crossroads of nostalgia and progression; the recurring theme of “upholding culture” doesn’t always fit well with the implications of the “on to the next one” plight of today.

HOWEVER…

There are certain instances where they meet perfectly- basketball is definitely one of those examples. This summer, we, the once gatekeepers of the global epicenter- its MECCA-,  have been engaged more than ever with the culture of basketball. Between The LeBromination, the World Basketball Festival (which hosted some of the fr-fr-freshest events I’ve attended this summer. Shouts to 94×50 & Nike for looking out..), and the myriad of tournaments that turn the playgrounds into the proverbial hollowed grounds, there are feelings of an imminent return to glory.

Rik Cordero’s attentive eye and the homie Lemon Andersen’s ultra-focused prose  have essentially, in one clip, visualized this locally-focused, globally-minded “get down or lay down” sensibility in their self-described “ode to NYC” entitled “The Imperial”.

The Good Lord knows I’m as New York as they come, and this “25th Hour-esque” juxtaposed lens on our daily lives is remarkable, and is living proof that reports of our fall from grace have been greatly exaggerated.

I’m truly looking forward to their next two interpretations.

Tweet This Post

Earlier this week, the really good folks at 94×50 & NSW flexed their creative + marketing muscles and allowed me to partake in a very uniquely curated one-night experience.

It basically happened like this…. a delivery man showed up to my office with a mysterious paper bag (with the exception of my name etched in Sharpie, it was unmarked). I opened the bag, and removed its contents-  a miniature orange Nike box, suited for either a baby or  an adult with abnormally tiny feet. Inside the box was a burner (if you don’t know what that means, please watch The Wire), and a strip of paper with instructions to text my name to a random number. It texted me back with a time and address.

Now, there aren’t many brands that could pull of a Matrix-esque invitation process and keep the mystique (and expectations) high, but if there is one thing I know, it’s to never ever-ever-ever-ever-ever come here no more doubt Nike.

I showed up to said location, my expectations wide open, and there was a party bus waiting on the corner. Jumped on the bus, and saw a bunch of colleagues, friends, and influential people I hold in high regard on board. I sat down next to the homie Jonathan Mannion, and asked him what this was all about, to which he responded, “I have no idea”. If he didn’t know, it was safe to assume nobody did.

The bus took about 20 of us to Tompkins Park, where Bobbito (random!) was in the middle of the playground, along with a bag of DD hot chocolate. After greeting everyone, he kicked off the evening with anecdotes on his career, and the role that the Air Force One played throughout. (Light bulb!) I know a lot of self-proclaimed and industry-recognized sneaker/cultural anthropologists/historians, but I’ve never encountered someone who is as genuine about his affinity for sneakers, their underlying stories, and their cultural relevance, as this man. As a marketer in a volatile industry (and consumer) landscape, it’s an anomaly to witness someone who lives way beyond advocacy to the extent that he does- he’s now the validator for the brand, a conduit for its ongoing relevance.

Bobbito @ Tompkins Park from suitsiswatching on Vimeo.

After his monologue, we boarded the bus again somewhat reassured enlightened, and were off to destination #2. After about 10 minutes, we pulled up in front of an unmarked building (for a brand that owns the world’s most iconic logo, it sure has a fixation with unmarked sh*t), boarded an elevator, took it to the 6th (or 3rd- I can’t remember) floor, and walked down the hall into a studio…where Clark Kent was waiting for us. In the same vain as Bobbito, he kept the evening’s program going by offering his unique perspective on Ones. He also broke down his next collaboration with the brand, and per his request, I won’t go into it. But it’s ill. Like super dope ill.

After about 30 minutes in the studio, we got on the bus again for what would be our last stop of the evening- Crif Dogs/PDT in the Village. I’d never been, but I heard about it, and I was pretty hungry. So I OD’ed. At the end of the night, they gave us each a pair of the buttas.

The above slideshow has all the evidence. (I had no idea what I was getting into, so all I had to boot was my iPhone. It was pretty dark throughout, so apologies for the less-than-spectacular imagery- you can check Yoshi’s pics and account of the evening here…)

In retrospect, it was very well-presented, and impressive shot in the arm to the unique culture that was bred, and still lives, here. Peace to Heron, Kristen, Will, Will P., Jonathan Mannion, Va$htie, Chad, Scott, Yoshi, Susana, Bradley C., Chris Vidal, Paul Rivera, and shouts to NSW x 94×50 – you guys really bodied that, and illustrated a sensibility and passion that usually gets lost within the process.

Tweet This Post

…seen this week around the city. That Nike ad sports some spellbinding copy.

(who said brands are having trouble emotionally connecting?)

SUITS!

Tweet This Post