When I got hit with a text last week from my extra connected homie in the Downtown NY fashion scene saying, “I have a pair of Air Yeezy’s for you,” I was like, “oh dope, new kicks, sure why not I’ll take them.”
I haven’t really been up on my kick game in a while. Somewhere down the road I just lost interest. The fad got played out to me, too many people with too many cool shoes… who cares, was my thought. I started throwing my money away on expensive high heeled Balmain and Fendi instead. I’ve been very satisfied with my three basic pairs of sneakers for the past couple years: my “Venice Original” Chucks I skate in, my go-with-everything black and white Adidas, and my “Heavy Metal” Vandals from Nike. That’s all I need, I’m good.
I can’t remember the last time I bought new kicks or even got excited about a pair, really. This is coming from a former sneaker ADDICT. I’m talking a new pair for everyday of the week; always kept obsessively clean; couldn’t wear ’em if the toe was too creased, and so on. For such a long time I crammed my big white girl feet into youth size 5’s… but those days are long gone and I just don’t care about that kind of shit anymore.
That’s the era of the sneaker game I come from—ripping souls out because they HAD to be a size 5 or less. I was always jealous of the girls who could rock the size 4 and 4 1/2’s. They looked so much more fly to me than my BIG ol’ size 5 or God forbid a 5 1/2! Chinese foot-binding syndrome. What a mental mind twist. Sick, demented, I know. It’s a wonder my feet still walk. I even had a guy tell me once that my feet looked too small for my body, like baby doll feet. I lived for that.
Thank goodness (for my toes sake) I grew out of that phase, and now wear my legit comfortable size. The illusions young girls live by, which brings me to the present.
Yeah I still love kicks, you just won’t catch me going out of my way to have the latest, hottest pair. No sneakers have given me that fever in a long while…
But when my rad undisclosable connect hit me up on May 31st with, “I got these Air Yeezys for you, they don’t drop ’til the 9th of June,” I won’t front, I started to get that old thing back. The excitement of having the hottest shit on, that exclusive pair that stands out. That Jordans and gold chain style of living it up… wait I’m getting ahead of myself. I hadn’t even seen these things yet. Word on the streets was they were “busted” and “wack.”
But I know better than to be influenced by the salty opinions of swagger-less haters. Besides, word on the inter-web was that they were auctioning for $80,000. Yeah I typed that correctly. The world might be loosing its mind. Straight up. These things better roll you a blunt and come equipped with rocket fuel for 80 g’s.
“Be prepared to get stopped in the street, a million times,” my homie said. “Just don’t tell anyone where you got them please. Mad people hitting me already.”
Alright. I had to touch these things for myself and see what all the fuss was about. Was I going to cringe at their sight and sell them right away or was I going to be swept off my feet, so to speak.
The moment arrived and I stood in an undisclosed midtown lobby holding a giant Nike bag filled with possible gold. Temptation had the best of me and there was no way I could wait a minute longer as I stepped into the street I gently ripped open the box to find….true gold indeed! Or Wolf Grey/Pure Platinum for that matter.
As that tennis-ball smell—that only brand new sneakers posses—daintily crept out of the box an involuntary squeal let out. I was back in the game!! With my old addiction finally fed and released out of its confines my mind began flooding with visions of all the crushing I would be doing: all of the hate, dap and glory I would receive. Oh it was on.
“As I stood there mesmerized by the soft grey snakeskin that would take me to new heights of streetwear fame, I quickly sobered up as I realized I better put these shoes away before someone creeps up and hits me over the head for them.”
I hurried home to whip out brand new socks and plot the right outfit (as well as wash and set my hair in rollers, one must have impeccable hair when flossing on a level of the Yeezy magnitude). But fist, I snapped a quick photo and tagged it on Instagram. Fully not anticipating the flood of desperation that would hit my inbox to follow.
I was offered a few left legs and considerable amounts of money for my connect or my pair. The twits, texts, and e-mails flooded. Sorry peeps, I’m hanging on to these joints. And honestly, like truly speaking… they may very well be the most comfortable sneaker I’ve put on my feet since ’99. Hands down, no lie. I’ll hock the Louboutins instead.
Maybe I should just put these platinum sensations on ice and wait ’til everyone else has dogged theirs, then step out hitting them in the heart with my pristine pair. Wow, I was hooked all over again, caught up in the hype. I needed to find my way back to reality because one can’t daydream of sneaker conquests ALL DAY LONG. Oh, but just one more quick whiff… the smell of brand new sneakers will always bring me back to that place. A smell that tickles deep and excites me in ways too inappropriate to describe. Yeah, I’m 16 again. A sneaker fiend again. I’ll admit it now… I never left. I was just waiting for that one pair that would sweep me away.
WAIT A MINUTE??!! These things glow in the Dark???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!