Major brands are seeking cachet on the retail side, too. The Nike iD store, which features customizable sneakers, requires appointments that are given out by special invitation or through a lottery. (I entered the draw months ago, and I’m still waiting to get in.) Russ Miller, founder of Vacant, a chain that sells limited-edition shoes, clothing, CDs, and toys, complains that big companies have stolen his underground marketing ideas. Miller pioneered the concept of pop-up or “guerrilla” stores, which open and close within weeks, sometimes months, delivering exclusivity via a limited purchasing window. “There’s so many brands that have been jumping on it,” he says. “I came up with the concept before anybody else . . . . A lot of advertising agencies that I knew at the time copied it.” Since Vacant started its first pop-up store in 2001, the concept has been adopted by many others such as JCPenney, Umbro, Target, and even Meow Mix.
The countless collaborations between major brands and independent boutiques, designers, and media have naturally led to questions of whether the latter group is selling out. As Scott Milden, founder of the independent sneaker company Medium, points out, “It’s a marketing schtick.” Medium also collaborates with independent designers on shoe designs, but Milden sees these partnerships as more sincere. “I’m about the little guy,” he says. “For the little guy to do a co-branded shoe with Nike is a huge marketing opportunity to get their name out there. But is it all pop and show? Absolutely. It is. There’s no content.”
But hold on a second — do deals with big corporations necessarily mean selling out? As one magazine story asked, “What does independent mean these days? . . . Who is selling out and who is, um, keepin’ it real? Are others buying into the culture, or are these artists and small companies compromising their vision?” The source of these philosophical musings? A promotional magazine produced by Toyota for its Scion models, which are being marketed as limited-edition cars for young drivers.
Back on the street, it looks like Wu might be out of luck with his Mayflys. With the afternoon winding down, we stop at one last boutique, a small, brick-walled store on the Lower East Side (since relocated) called Nort. And suddenly, there it is, perched on a wafer-thin shelf extending from the wall — a lightweight brown, blue, and white runner with the Be@rbrick logo on the heel. I can’t help but feel a surge of excitement. Wu gets serious. He reports his size to the guy at the counter and completes the transaction with the faintest of murmurs.
Wu isn’t buying as many sneakers these days. “There’s so much going on now,” he tells me afterward, referring to his day job and the growth of the scene. “It’s crazy.” Among the original trendsetters, he’s not the only one who appears to be slowing down. “Nike has caught on, and Adidas has caught on, and other companies have caught on,” says Nom de Guerre’s Whitney. “They’re doing all this stuff to manipulate the lines and grow the lines. A lot of the customers I’ve known, they don’t collect anymore because of this problem.”
Such is the paradox of cool: once a trend achieves critical mass, it’s doomed. Limited-edition sneakers may already be on their way out, their demise spurred on by one irreconcilable question: can any product made by one of the biggest manufacturers in the world, no matter how few it creates, really be that exclusive?
