I love sneakers, and I’ve been called a sneaker-head, but I learned this past weekend that I’m nowhere near the sneaker-head that has come to define the recent explosion in sneaker collecting.
I am to true sneaker-heads what the occasional pot smoker is to Charlie Sheen. I love my kicks, and I can’t resist impulse purchases when I see something I like. But I wear my sneakers, and I’m not going out of my way to buy a pair of game-worn Kevin Garnett Nike Flightposites from his Minnesota days so I can put them up on some shelf somewhere (though I do still own an original pair of Flightposites).
So when I walked into Sneaker Con New York, I was smacked in the face with the Wall Street trading-floor madness. I’d never been to one of these before, and the organized confusion of it all was overwhelming.
People were buying, selling and bartering never-worn sneakers, clearly worn sneakers, sneakers that definitely didn’t look like sneakers, and sneakers that had a snarky nostalgia to the...