I’m an avid sneakerhead. To me, sneakers are not simply functional footwear, but individual works of art that push the boundaries of fashion with their bold and unique designs.
As someone from Minnesota, I believe there is a difference between “tennis shoes” and “sneakers”: “Tennis shoes” are solely for exercising, or shoes that are capable of supporting more athletic activities, while “sneakers” are a more diverse offshoot of this style, an everyday shoe that can be employed for many occasions. Variations from Converse, Nike, New Balance and Sorel take up permanent residence in my closet. Finding a great deal on sneakers is a rare but thrilling experience — and you never know what new styles might drop, if they might complement your unique style or identity perfectly.
Sneakers have quickly become one of the most popular fashion products on the market, even among luxury brands, quickly assuming a powerful role in defining American culture for the past century. Sneaker designs are deeply integrated into the popular culture of each decade, shifting with the values and movements of the time to present new trends for individuals to take part in by wearing the shoe.
It’s this collective fascination with the shoe that has driven the creation of sneakers that redefine what a sneaker can be, each configuration more playful and creative than the last. This widespread interest has cultivated an environment for sneakerhead subculture to thrive.
My definition of the word “sneakerhead” aligns closely with that given by Oxford Languages: “a sneaker enthusiast” — an identity often characterized by a fascination with innovative design and an awareness of current trends, such as the A Ma Maniére x Air Jordan 3 or Adidas Yeezy 450. When I talk to friends, new acquaintances and other members of Gen Z about shoes or a shared passion for sneakers, this seems to be the most agreed-upon view of the term.
Nonetheless, the term has experienced a transformation throughout the decades as sneakers interacted with American society in different ways. ‘Sneakerhead’ was especially prevalent in the 1970s and 1980s in association with individuals who were inspired by the looks of different athletes and popular figures like Michael Jordan and Mick Jagger. As sneakers became more prevalent in association with these celebrities, demand for these shoes increased dramatically, creating a huge market and community of people interested in the product.
Sneakers slowly became their own fashion sector, giving rise to an entire subculture of people who were passionate about these styles.
In many cases, sneakers have been linked to expressions of social identity, promoting political messages and support for certain causes through specific phrases or designs on the shoe. Researchers leading a study on the sneakerhead subculture said their participants were particularly passionate about purchasing more limited-edition items and learning about the history of certain styles. Underlying the study was an emphasis on the ability to connect with others over shared interests in the sneakers and the memories associated with shoes from their specific era. This camaraderie fostered between fellow sneakerheads is what draws many people to the community.
In my experience, sneakers have been a catalyst for connection: Classmates whom I had never spoken a word to have struck up conversations with me by expressing their love of my shoes; I have forged stronger bonds with acquaintances based on a shared passion for the Nike SNKRS app or a certain shoe style. These moments of genuine interaction have become memorable details of otherwise monotonous days — occasions that I remember each time I wear the shoe that prompted these conversations. My shoes symbolize something more profound and authentic than their physical materials.
For LSA sophomore Camden Do, a self-identified sneakerhead, sneakers give the wearer the opportunity to participate in a rich tradition modeled by icons from popular culture. The additional visual appeal of artistic designs makes sneakers a powerful tool for self-expression.
“I think the two things I love the most about sneakers is that certain shoes have a lot of history behind them whether they were big in hip hop/pop culture, worn in a big NBA championship, etc.,” Do said. “And the fact that some shoes are essentially wearable art because they’re so unique and have stories behind them. Just like clothing, I think sneakers are a way to express yourself, and I like that it’s something I can wear every day and show people something that I’m interested in.”
For others, the term ‘sneakerhead’ denotes the practice of buying and reselling coveted merchandise. Several sellers — like Santiago Mejia and Matt Cohen — have achieved much financial success in building a business out of an extreme enthusiasm for sneakers. The rise of internet resale sites has promoted this practice even further, so much so that economic experts have examined the profits of the industry and factored them into total profit estimates within the footwear sector.
These resale businesses certainly play a strong role in the sneakerhead community, especially due to their current accessibility and prevalence on internet and social media resale sites, further amplifying the versatility of the shoe.
There is an active, vibrant community of individuals who are passionate about this product, whether for the emotional value held within the soles and laces or for the possibility of launching an entrepreneurial endeavor.
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2018. The fresh air was intoxicating. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I was able to take such a deep, fulfilling breath. A perfect continuation between inhales and exhales brought my body to a supreme state of relaxation. The wind was crisp, and if I hadn’t been wearing enough layers, I might not have been so at ease.
My surroundings seemed to come straight out of a fairy tale, with small shops selling jewelry and food lining the street, a massive, thousand-year-old monastery towering above me and my close friend. The towers and spires scraped the sky above us on the rocky island as we continued our descent down the circular, sloping streets. It was a setting I had never even known existed, a storybook-like experience I had never thought possible.
As my friend and I walked, arms linked, feelings of ease and comfort flowed through my body. Even today, I can remember what it felt like, physically and emotionally, to stand on cobblestone streets on a school trip and experience true bliss. I remember this moment each time I see my white-and-navy-blue-patterned New Balance sneakers I wore then, which now reside on my shoe rack.
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2019. Though it was the middle of July, I had a blanket draped over me as the wind ripped through my friend’s Toyota Sequoia, every window and sunroof open to the nighttime air. My hair flying everywhere, we recited the lyrics to “She Looks So Perfect” by 5 Seconds of Summer as it played from the speaker lying on the car’s floor. At 1 a.m. the suburban streets of Minnetonka, Minnesota were completely empty, no one to disrupt our journey to Domino’s Pizza.
We had to sneak out of my friend’s house to obtain our perfect late night snack, undetected by her parents sleeping upstairs. As soon as we made it out of the house and purchased our delightfully cheesy meal, we stopped at a nearby park to admire the sky. Once we’d parked, I couldn’t help myself: I raced out of the car onto the grass, the Big Dipper above me and my Air Force 1 Sage Lows on my feet as I tore through the field with wild abandon.
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2021. I looked out my car’s driver’s side window, and saw a familiar black car pull up across the street. As I opened my door and stepped out, the driver of the other car mirrored my actions. We shared a smile in the restaurant parking lot and immediately hugged, exchanging small comments of shared happiness at seeing each other. I was elated to at last reunite with my best friend from middle and high school after nearly six months apart, as we attended universities hundreds of miles from each other.
We spent the previous six years of our lives seeing each other almost every day, so our separation made the transition to college even more difficult amid the typical chaos that characterized our freshman year. We made it back home after an arduous start to independent life, finally able to spend time with each other once again. We walked into the restaurant, masks on and side-by-side, sporting identical pairs of Nike Air Maxes that we’d purchased on sale together over Winter Break.
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Shoes are a medium for experiencing everyday life — they offer us the protection we need to embark on great adventures or accompany us as we experience small moments of joy each day.
No matter the setting, sneakers have been my constant companions — whether I am facing immense challenges or cultivating important relationships outside the confines of my own home. Each memory, from extremely momentous occasions to ordinary positive interactions, has implanted itself into my mind and is instantly recalled every time I tie my shoelaces. Maybe this is because the value of the product lies equally within its ability to complement the wearer’s tastes as well as its capacity to carry us through each milestone.
However, as an active participant in this culture, I would be remiss not to confront the stark barrier to access that exists on its perimeter. Sneakerhead culture is wide-reaching and has many active participants. However, it can also signify a certain economic privilege in being able to spend money on shoes with at times extremely expensive prices — certain Air Jordans can sell for up to $2,000. I certainly do not have the capacity to allocate hundreds of dollars on a pair without a thought, but I do have enough financial freedom to even be able to consider buying these popular items.
But engagement with the culture isn’t exclusive to purchasing every new sneaker that hits the market — you can be just as involved with the sneaker community by simply admiring the innovation of new designs.
Moreover, I can understand how, on the surface, my deep appreciation for shoes can be considered superficial with its emphasis on material possessions or visual appeal. Perhaps fashion and possessions such as shoes, jewelry and clothes are ultimately unimportant. After all, they are ephemeral objects, destined for deterioration over time.
Materialistic belongings certainly aren’t everything, and having too many of them may have drastic consequences for oneself and the planet, with additional socioeconomic and human rights implications. Placing too much significance on the things we own is definitely a cause for concern.
But, with adequate advancements in sustainable product creation and a continued commitment to improve the manufacturing industry, objects can once again play an important role in documenting significant societal events and developments. Placing importance on certain products, within moderation, is a way for us to reconnect with our personal values and relationships and to track how they have evolved over time. Their presence enhances the tangibility of the memories we have attached to them, memories that might otherwise be difficult to grasp over time.
There is a common ‘get-to-know-you’ question that asks: If your house was on fire and you could save only one personal item from the structure, what would it be? There’s a reason this question is employed so often as an ice breaker in new social contexts. Certain items simply do hold a place in our hearts: Photos, wedding rings, high school diplomas or any small token can symbolize a significant moment or achievement in someone’s life.
Within a consumer-capitalist society, it’s incredibly difficult to unravel this intimate association between ‘things’ and our own identities. Sneakers are the epitome of this emotional connection to the items I own. They represent the growth I have undergone and the memories I have created over the years.
Statement Correspondent Sarah Stolar can be reached at sstolar@umich.edu.