In a culture that shouts ‘conformity’ from all angles, my sneakers are the manifestation of my individuality, both externally and internally. At school, a dress code comprised of a collared shirt and dress pants limits the expression of who I am. On the basketball court, my uniform connects me to my teammates, but also discourages individuality. Sneakers provide me an outlet; they convey snapshots of my personality and taste that I otherwise cannot communicate. Concealed within the stitches of the sneakers, however, lies part of me others can’t see: the long walks to the train after school, the hours spent in the gym training, the elation of seeing a new box on my front door step as I pull into my driveway. While a passerby may not see these parts of me, they exist in my sneakers, even if only I can tell.

Individuality, however, is trapped in quite the paradox when it comes to sneakers. Brands like Jordan and Nike want me to feel different and unique when I buy their products, but yet they mass produce their sneakers for everyone to own. Many buy sneakers for the popularity, but it is so much more than that for me. I have discovered and been welcomed into a community of collectors who share my passion. We are the ones that know the story behind the sneakers, of how the famous pair of red and black ‘twelves’ came to be called the ‘Flu Games.’ We’re the guys that have watched the Jordan highlights, mystified by the way MJ seemed to float through the air. We’re the fans that have memorized the nicknames for color schemes faster than vocabulary words. A worldwide group of enthusiasts with our eyes glued to the pavement, always on the lookout for a nice pair of sneakers.