It makes me recall the stress around wearing the "right" sneaker brands at my own schools in the late-80s and 90s. When I lived in Saudi Arabia, there was a peculiar vogue for pastel LA Gear shoes with criss-cross jordan 4 black cat laces; when I moved back to South London, the footwear pressure intensified.

I was heckled for wearing "foreign" (unrecognisable) shoes. Another girl at my secondary school was mocked for wearing plain non-branded trainers (we'd have never used the US term "sneakers"); keen to be accepted, she wrote "NIKE" in ballpoint capital letters on the sides – and she was bullied even more mercilessly after that.

When I think of my schoolmate's trainers now, her DIY branding actually seems brilliant, yet filled with pathos.



It also long predated the anti-cool artistry of Edmond Looi's customised Adidas IKEA Ultraboost shoes (also displayed at Sneakers Unboxed) or the 2021 Tik Tok trend for simply-customisable "$15 Walmart sneakers", as viewed on various viral dance clips.

I never belonged to a sports team or style tribe (Sneakers Unboxed highlights many fascinating examples, from British football "casuals" to Japanese collectors and Mexican "Cholombianos", who combine sneakers with sacred iconography); pop culture shaped my sneaker choices.

As a kid, I was drawn towards Converse All-Stars because of their association with multi-genre musicians, as well as their colourful range (the brand's early-20th-Century founder Chuck Taylor set the tone with both his basketball skills and marketing prowess). There's a seemingly infinite playlist of sneaker-inspired songs.

US rap dominates, as showcased in Complex magazine's 2013 feature, "The 50 Greatest Sneaker References in Hip Hop History" (including Nas, A$AP Rocky, Jay-Z, and obviously Run DMC), but French hip-hop crews jordan 4 black cat also name-drop footwear, on moody tracks such as AirMax (2011) by L’Uzine from the outskirts of Paris.