In 1991, I was an 11-year-old sixth grader attending Woodbridge Elementary School at RAF Woodbridge, United Kingdom. Overweight and pizza-faced, I was far from popular, and even farther from cool. However, I knew what cool was. I knew what it took to be cool. I just lacked the God-given ability to achieve said coolness. There was a simple solution though. The holy grail of footwear, which had the ability to transform even the ugliest, nerdiest kid into one of elementary school’s cultural elite: the Nike Air Jordan.
My god, it was beautiful. The latest incarnation of the “Jordan” blew away all previous models. Transparent mesh lining for breathability, a window which allowed you to see the honeycomb insole, and a 3M Scotchlite tongue which glowed like the sun as it reflected the headlights of every car that passed you on the street. I wanted it. I needed it. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Despite my teary-eyed pleading and promises of straight “A’s” for the rest of the school year. My parent’s insisted that the price tag of the hallowed Air Jordan was simply too great. There was nothing I could do to procure the one thing that would make me one of the cool kids, and make the rapidly developing sixth grade girls go crazy for me. After one final “NO!” from my mother, I resigned myself to the fact that I would never don the 1991 Air Jordan. I would never possess the holy grail.
Nearly twenty years passed. I grew up. I graduated from high school and went on to college. I started a career and a family. I bought a car. I bought a house. Only a shadow of the 11-year-old who longed for the greatest athletic shoe ever conceived remained in the man I have now become. But the desire for ultimate coolness never completely waned. Because in the subconscious of every man, lies a preteen boy who now possesses the financial means to realize his long forgotten dreams.
May 23, 2009. I’m forced to work on a beautiful Saturday due to the demands of my big, important, grown-up job. It began like any other day. But as a buffer zone between home and work, I decide to stop by the mall and grab a soda. On the way to the food court, I pass by the giant glass window of the Foot Locker store on the top level of the Layton Hills Mall. Something catches my eye. At first, I couldn’t quite grasp it. My heart skipped a beat as I peered through the window and came face to face with the 1991 Air Jordan. It’s back. Nike brought it back! Pristine and more gorgeous than it was when I first laid eyes on it, the “Retro Jordan,” as it’s now called, was finally within my reach.
Who’s gonna tell me it’s too expensive now? Who’s gonna tell me that popularity isn’t important? There is NOTHING in this world more important than popularity, and you absolutely cannot put a price tag on it!
I finally have it. It’s mine. All those douche bags that had parents willing to spring for their Jordans, and subsequently harassed me for not having a pair of my own, are now overweight, in jail, or dead. Their Jordans now reside in a landfill, long worn-out and scuffed beyond repair. But my patience paid off, and I now possess the shoe that makes life worth living. God bless Nike. God bless Foot Locker. You made this 30-year old kid cool, just like he should have been in 1991.
Despite my teary-eyed pleading and promises of straight “A’s” for the rest of the school year. My parent’s insisted that the price tag of the hallowed Air Jordan was simply too great. There was nothing I could do to procure the one thing that would make me one of the cool kids, and make the rapidly developing sixth grade girls go crazy for me. After one final “NO!” from my mother, I resigned myself to the fact that I would never don the 1991 Air Jordan. I would never possess the holy grail.
Nearly twenty years passed. I grew up. I graduated from high school and went on to college. I started a career and a family. I bought a car. I bought a house. Only a shadow of the 11-year-old who longed for the greatest athletic shoe ever conceived remained in the man I have now become. But the desire for ultimate coolness never completely waned. Because in the subconscious of every man, lies a preteen boy who now possesses the financial means to realize his long forgotten dreams.
May 23, 2009. I’m forced to work on a beautiful Saturday due to the demands of my big, important, grown-up job. It began like any other day. But as a buffer zone between home and work, I decide to stop by the mall and grab a soda. On the way to the food court, I pass by the giant glass window of the Foot Locker store on the top level of the Layton Hills Mall. Something catches my eye. At first, I couldn’t quite grasp it. My heart skipped a beat as I peered through the window and came face to face with the 1991 Air Jordan. It’s back. Nike brought it back! Pristine and more gorgeous than it was when I first laid eyes on it, the “Retro Jordan,” as it’s now called, was finally within my reach.
Who’s gonna tell me it’s too expensive now? Who’s gonna tell me that popularity isn’t important? There is NOTHING in this world more important than popularity, and you absolutely cannot put a price tag on it!
I finally have it. It’s mine. All those douche bags that had parents willing to spring for their Jordans, and subsequently harassed me for not having a pair of my own, are now overweight, in jail, or dead. Their Jordans now reside in a landfill, long worn-out and scuffed beyond repair. But my patience paid off, and I now possess the shoe that makes life worth living. God bless Nike. God bless Foot Locker. You made this 30-year old kid cool, just like he should have been in 1991.
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