The great ones, for me, come along every decade or so. This particular pair came out of the box turning heads, then aged gracefully, adding character as the marks of life accumulated. They kept their form and function, highlighting my feet and flavor. Somehow, in a world of instant gratification and disposable trends, my Nike Air Force 1 GTX “Phantom” boots stayed fly through four Northern winters of near-daily wear.
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Now, on the first day of spring, they are going home to glory. There comes a time in every sneaker’s life when it no longer satisfies my standards, which are:
1) must be uncommon
2) must look fresh
3) must have meaning
By meaning, I mean that my shoes tell my story – a kid from the projects who still keeps a basketball in one hand and a Biz Markie 12-inch record in the other. Sneaker culture was created by a crossfader blend of hip-hop and sports. In both, competition is king. That’s why I still play to win – counterintuitively, if necessary. For the past four years, I won winters with a pair of old Phantoms.
How did I rock thee? Let me count the ways:
1) Made you look
Even though the Air Force 1 is one of the most classic, recognizable silhouettes of all time, the GTX boot steps differently. My grails ain’t Jordan 11s – they’re “what are those-es,” which I heard plenty of while wearing these boots. Starting with the thick sole and rugged tread, they look substantial and muscular, even compared with the regular AF1 Highs. The reflective border outlining the swoosh gleams at night. The Gore-Tex is super waterproof. The upper climbs way up. I threw out the straps, same as with any AF1 highs I’ve ever owned, but the cloth loop on the back remained useful for pulling the shoes on without a full unlacing.
When I first bought these in November 2021 – for a reasonable $172 on StockX – pants styles were still relatively slim at the ankle. Sweats sometimes tucked into socks. The tapered look accentuated the shoe’s iceberg blockiness. Recently, as cuffs widened, the height of the shoe gave pants something to ride and bunch up on – a full-bodied throwback for us ‘90s ninjas.
Nike Air Force 1 GTX “Phantom” is constructed from Gore-Tex fabrics, which make it nearly impervious to the elements.
2) Still fresh and still clean
Lots of my sneakers get dirty fast. They get donated because I’m genetically incapable of wearing busted kicks in public. The Phantoms, though, stayed almost miraculously clean. During the winter of 2022, wondering why they still looked good, I figured it out: Except for the sole and swoosh, the shoe color is bone, not white. Dirt doesn’t stick to bone – like, you can unearth a skeleton, wipe him down, and bruh will look ready for action.
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After one muddy February day walking the dog through some woods, I used a stiff brush and some Tide on these joints. They came out of the water gleaming, without the gray tinge that all-white shoes can get after a cleaning. I threw the shoelaces in the washing machine and kept it stomping.
Wearing the Phantoms to begin this winter of 2024-25, I had that giddy, I-can’t-believe-this-is-still-rolling feeling, like when your whip doesn’t break down after the car note is paid off. About a month ago, a young dude saw my old faithfuls and remarked, “I like your shoes.” I asked him why. “Because they’re unique.”
“Toward the end of this snowy winter, the trusty Phantoms finally ran out of steam.”
It feels great to actually wear sneakers. To use shoes as I believe God intended them – as one of the most functional things in human history, right up there with fire, the wheel, and the Technics 1200 turntable. But, as sneaker culture changed in recent years, focusing on artificial scarcity and the sheer quantity of a collection, much of the soul went missing. To me, the meaning of a pair of $2,500 sneakers is commodification and exploitation. They feel like cryptocurrency – what is the real value based on? – as opposed to straight cash, homie.
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So when I wore the Phantoms day after winter day, through mud and snow, while still sending signals to sneakerhead society that I’m about that life? It means that I’m standing against whatever has gone sideways – like the “don’t crease my sneakers” shuffle and excessive consumption. It means that I’m escaping the algorithm. And that I still got that heat, if you can even understand what you’re looking at. Sure, the feeling of some crispy new kicks will always be unmatched. But I can go against the grain and still stay fly.
Then, toward the end of this snowy winter, the trusty Phantoms finally ran out of steam.
The laces got too knobby, and some of the scuffs and scars were too stubborn. Traces of moisture crept near my toes, and my beloveds started to look … dogged. Since the standard is the standard, on the first day of spring, I will lay them to rest in the donation bin.
They probably have a second life in them, with someone who thinks fresh is for vegetables and not feet. I will hold their memory close while waiting for the next pair of great ones.
Let’s see, how far I can go in my new pair of winter wonders and stay fly? Four winters? Five?
Over here, we wear the shoes.
Jesse Washington is a journalist and documentary filmmaker. He still gets buckets.
