burn rubber

Admittedly, it's been a while, but I had to share this sneaker article.

Nike set to release 23rd Air Jordan

BEAVERTON, Ore. (AP) -- It's gotta be the shoes, right?

No other basketball shoe has changed the face of business, athletics and marketing like the Air Jordan. This month, Nike releases the 23rd edition, and it is expected to be just as venerated as its predecessors.

The sleek design and link to Michael Jordan's jersey number make it a touchstone in the line. It's also Nike's first basketball shoe designed under its "Considered" ethos, which aims to reduce waste and use environmentally friendly materials wherever possible.

The Air Jordan XX3 will be released in three hyped-up rounds from January to February, starting with a limited edition to be sent to only 23 retailers to be sold for $230 and concluding with the national launch at $185.

There had been talk at Nike about retiring the shoe at No. 23, because of his iconic jersey number. But company officials won't say whether this will be the last of the line. Neither will Jordan.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Jordan said in an e-mail to The Associated Press, responding to questions about the upcoming release.

Before launching the first shoe in 1985, Nike had just signed Jordan for $2.5 million over five years. Nike won't say what Jordan's current contract with the company is worth.

Jordan's deal with Nike opened the door for sneaker manufacturers to chase after athletes, signing them up --sometimes just out of high school-- for multimillion-dollar contracts in hopes of being able to cash in on the next superstar. It sent sneaker prices to new heights, which has since generated a backlash against selling pricey shoes to basketball-loving kids.

"The Air Jordan franchise created the most coveted basketball footwear in the world and changed the basketball landscape forever," said Nike Brand President Charlie Denson.

Unlike most basketball shoes to date, which were often white and utilitarian, the Air Jordan was a shock of black and red. It was initially banned by the NBA for not conforming with other players' shoes.

Jordan continued to wear them and was fined $5,000 a game, which Nike paid.

"Nobody expected the mass hysteria created by its release," Jordan, who has been a part-owner of the Charlotte Bobcats since 2006, said in his e-mail to The AP.

A new edition was launched each year, and release dates had to be moved to the weekends to keep kids from skipping school to get a pair.

The frenzy got dangerous. People were mugged and even killed for the shoes.

The Air Jordans helped spawn a subculture of collectors, who line up at stores to buy the shoe's latest edition.

Jordan said he never expected that the shoe would become an icon.

"Like every kid growing up, I dreamed of making winning shots at the buzzer and I was fortunate to live out that dream, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever entertain the idea of the success of the Air Jordan franchise," he said.

The Air Jordans moved basketball shoes from true high-tops or low-tops to a middle range and used unheard of styles, such as patent leather toes and elephant print.

As Jordan's success grew on the courts, so did Nike's in the shoe industry.

People from the streets to the suburbs were wearing $100-plus basketball shoes, which was unheard of at the time.

That price is the norm today, but it has launched a backlash, such as the partnership between New York Knicks player Stephon Marbury and the Steve & Barry's store chain to sell basketball shoes for $14.98 -- a direct stab at pricey sneakers like Air Jordans.

At that time, the Air Jordan captured a mix of design, marketing, athleticism and player charisma that hadn't been seen before in the industry -- everyone wanted to "Be Like Mike."

"Athletes had been endorsing products for years prior to this," said Tinker Hatfield, Nike's Vice President of Innovation Design and Special Projects.

"But they were just signing their name to the shoe. I think there was a very understandable difference...Michael's personality and even the changes in the game and inspiration from other walks of life were all sort of being designed into this product and that made it more interesting."

Jordan and Hatfield work together on the design and function on many of the Air Jordan shoes. Jordan has final say on design matters.

Air Jordan was the lightning in the bottle that every company hopes for.

Advertising images of Jordan soaring across the sky were ubiquitous. Spike Lee could be heard hollering "It's gotta be the shoes" on television. And Jordan's outstretched arms with the swoosh nearby adorned walls across the country.

Nike quickly moved from a running company and newcomer to the basketball category to the market leader. Some industry estimates put Nike's current share of the basketball shoe market at about 85 percent. Far behind are Adidas and Reebok.

The idea of adding such unusual style to a product or so closely aligning with a personality was novel at the time, but it paid off.

Other companies tried to follow suit but it was like trying to come up with the next Harry Potter or iPhone for basketball.

The relationship completely changed the idea of sports marketing. Companies now make athlete sponsorships the centerpiece of their business, spending millions signing them and designing product lines and marketing platforms around them.

Jordan's original deal seems like a pittance compared to multimillion-dollar contracts inked these days, such as Nike's $90 million agreement with LeBron James.

"The beginning of the Jordan era marked a new and more sophisticated approach to leveraging an athlete," said Paul Swangard, managing director of the Warsaw Sports Marketing Center at the University of Oregon.

Like any bet, athletic companies take their risks -- some pay off, like Tiger Woods or LeBron James. But some don't, a la Michael Vick. Nike terminated its contract with Vick last August after his plea agreement on dogfighting charges.

Jordan was spun off into its own division in 1997, a move that some high up in Nike questioned when Jordan retired.

But the business is a key component, with new players signing on under the brand. Nike has spun that Jordan swagger into performance and luxury apparel for men and woman.

The Air Jordan remains the pinnacle piece for shoe collectors. The original Air Jordan 1 can sell for thousands of dollars, depending on various factors.

Jordan said: "It blows my mind that even after five years removed from the game the shoe would be stronger than ever and I would still be greeted by fans as if I had just won a championship all over again."

36(6), day 2 - my "old guy" shoes

These are my New Balance MX621WN cross-trainers. I haven't updated the Shoe Collection in a while, but this is one of my current models. They're not the most fashionable shoes, but they do the job and they fit well.

'time' for McFly

(submitted to steve's blog by Al Cabino)

TIME Magazine's Lev Grossman blogged about The McFly Project here (scroll to the end)

Nerd World - Lev Grossman - Technology - TIME

A Winter White That Works for Spring

By DAVID COLMAN

WHATEVER the charms of the International Tennis Hall of Fame gala, held every year during the United States Open, looking for men’s fashion trends there would seem to be a fool’s errand.

But at last September’s event, the tennis legend Stan Smith spotted a spring look months ahead of time: a group of stylish young men had come in black tie and brand-new Stan Smiths, the white, stripe-free Adidas sneakers that have done more to enshrine Mr. Smith’s name in the annals of pop culture than his tennis record ever did.

“It was pretty neat,” said Mr. Smith, 60, who won the United States Open in 1969 and had the shoe named after him in 1971. “For me, they’re my work shoe.”

And now city men are wearing them to work, too, bringing sprightly new meaning to the WASPy old-man expression “white shoe.” A combination of factors — hip-hop stars who brag that they wear a new pair of clean white Nike Air Force 1’s every day; designers like Marc Jacobs (who has worn Stan Smiths since junior high) and John Varvatos (who made Converse Jack Purcells and Chuck Taylors must-haves again) — have converged to make the all-white, old-school sneaker into Le Shoe for the smart set.

They are, it turns out, perfect for young, for old, for rich, for poor. They go with jeans, a suit, even a tux; you can wear them to work, to play and even to appear on Oprah (as Mr. Jacobs did). They can be cheap (basic Stan Smith’s are $55 at adidas.com) or not (the 25th anniversary Air Force 1’s are $2,000 at Barneys New York) or in between. They even come with a brand of fashion approval: several designers now offer their own version of the white sneaker, among them Stefano Pilati at Yves Saint Laurent, Neil Barrett, Dries van Noten and Miuccia Prada.

Sneaker craziness may not sound like anything new, but this time there’s a rub, and like it or not, it involves a toothbrush.

“They need to be clean,” said Daniel Peres, the editor of Details. “It’s a good look, a right-out-of-the-box-clean pair of white sneakers, and it’s the only kind you can wear with dressier clothes, nice jeans or even a suit.” But he reiterated his proviso. “Some people do everything they can to make them look worn and dirty, which is wrong. I’ve seen fashion editors in the Tuileries Gardens in Paris, shuffling their feet in the dirt to make their Chucks look worn in. I just stood there in horror.”

According to a nurses’ advisory site, the best way to keep white shoes dazzling is with Murphy’s Oil Soap and a toothbrush, and those white rubber soles might call for a go with whitewall-tire cleaner. Or you can subcontract the work and take them to the shoeshine man.

Sean Donovan, a sneaker collector who just bought a fresh pair of Stan Smiths for a new job (as a salesman at the Marc Jacobs store, in fact), said he was careful to keep his new shoes in rotation with, say, his white Air Force 1’s. He sprays them immediately with water and stain repellent, which makes normal scuffs easy to wipe off. “If you want to get crazy, you can go at them with an old toothbrush and some Soft Scrub,” he said.

Mr. Donovan, who has about 65 pairs of sneakers, agreed that clean is key. “A white shoe, it makes you feel fresh,” he said. “It’s like when you wash and iron your clothes, it makes you feel like everything’s together.”

Given the care the humble shoes require, the current trend is not without a kind of upended silliness. “It’s really turned an ordinary product into a luxury product,” said Bradley Carbone, an editor at Complex magazine, an urban young men’s magazine, which, naturally enough, follows sneaker obsessions closely. “A few years ago when you had rappers like Fat Joe and Jay-Z talking about wearing a new pair every day, people responded by trying to keep theirs as crisp and clean as possible. So it has an aspirational seal to it, even though it’s on an inexpensive shoe.”

While Mr. Peres likes the look, he won’t be sporting it any time soon. “They draw all attention to your feet,” he said. “I don’t want to have to compete with my shoes.”

Thanks to Baltimore, Air Force 1 still flying

Nike sneaker boasts 25 years of loyal fans

By Tanika White
Baltimore Sun reporter

BALTIMORE - In the 2002 hit "Air Force Ones," the rapper Nelly extolled his love for the sneaker in the song's title: "I need two pair," he drawled. "Give me two pair."

Clearly Nelly is not from Baltimore. If he were, he'd have far more than just two pairs.

Nike is launching a major promotion for the 25th anniversary of its Air Force 1 - a sneaker that Baltimore had a major role in saving and helping to become an urban fashion sensation of the past generation.

In contrast to the product hype often manufactured on Madison Avenue, the sneaker's following grew initially by word of mouth, before the Internet and with little TV advertising. The shoe originated in 1982, when Nike sales were one-15th what they are now and its future endorsement king, Michael Jordan, was still a freshman at the University of North Carolina.

Curiously, the buzz for the Air Force 1 centered in Baltimore, far from the major fashion centers and the only place where the model was sold for a time after it was all but discontinued.

"No city is as important to the Air Force 1 as Baltimore," Nike acknowledged in a booklet it sent to retailers recently for the 25th anniversary promotion. "The city rebirthed the shoe and set in motion a series of events that would change the way sneakers were perceived in the marketplace."

Nelly's two pairs wouldn't suffice for Melvin Bartee, for example. He has amassed at least 100 pairs of the $80 sneakers over the years, their orange boxes stacked to the ceiling in the basement of his East Baltimore home. "I don't even go down there to look for a pair anymore. I just buy new ones," said Bartee, 41, a youth basketball coach at the Cecil-Kirk Recreational Center.

Keith Holly of West Baltimore said he has at least 50 pairs of Air Force 1's. He buys them two at a time, wears them twice, maybe three times, then gives them away.

And even a trans-Atlantic distance couldn't stem Michael Boateng's passion for Air Force 1's. When he attended high school in West Africa, Boateng, now 29, said, "My parents mailed me the new ones when they came out."

While Nike helped shape the modern athletic wear industry with its line named for Jordan, the lesser-known Air Force 1 model has been the Oregon company's biggest seller, footwear expert John Shanley said. The shoe generated roughly $1 billion a year for the company at its peak, about $600 million in more recent years.

"I remember going to the malls at 7 a.m. and kids would be in line for those shoes," said Shanley, a New York-based analyst who covers the athletic wear industry for Susquehanna Financial Group. "There's no other shoe that ever created that kind of thing. Maybe some of the Jordans."

In 1982, Nike introduced the Air Force 1 as a high-performance basketball shoe. Moses Malone, who became the first basketball player to go directly to the pros from high school after declining an offer to play at the University of Maryland, was one of the first to wear the sneakers, starting a fad in urban areas.

"Back then, shoes had a limited run," Nike spokesman KeJuan Wilkins said. "They'd come out and then they'd go away forever."

By 1983, Nike was ready to discontinue the model for newer styles. But three Baltimore-area retailers at the time - Charley Rudo Sports, Cinderella Shoes and Downtown Locker Room - banded together to implore Nike executives to reconsider.

"The shoes were blowing out of my store," recalled Harold Rudo, then the footwear buyer for his father's store, Charley Rudo Sports. "I flew out to [Nike's headquarters in] Portland, Oregon, and met with the second-in-command."

Rudo and cohorts from the other two sporting goods stores persuaded Nike initially to continue selling two styles of Air Force 1's - white with royal blue, and white with chocolate brown - but only in their stores in Baltimore.

The first weekend the sneakers were re-introduced in Baltimore, Rudo said, he sold more than 100 pairs.

"Then, we started popping out new styles, color by color by color by color. We brought out one to two colors a month," said Rudo, who is known even today as "Mr. Shoe." "We were exclusive, the Three Amigos."

In pre-Internet days, word of mouth propelled sneaker-heads along the East Coast to Baltimore for Air Force 1's.

"We had people coming from New York, Washington, D.C.," Rudo said. "They were coming from all over Pennsylvania. They knew we had 'em, and they'd all come running to Baltimore to buy them from us."

Eventually, Nike concluded that Baltimore was on to something. About 10 years after the shoes' exclusive run in Baltimore, the company re-released the Air Force 1 nationally in the mid-1990s.

"This is something that is now on a global level," said Wilkins, the company spokesman. "People in Japan love the Air Force 1. People in Brazil love the Air Force 1. To think that it really started in Baltimore is kind of amazing. ... It has moved from being a performance shoe to a cultural icon."

Until Nike announced a 25th anniversary promotional campaign for the Air Force 1, only a select few were aware of Baltimore's role in popularizing the model early on.

"So often you think of L.A., New York, Chicago for this kind of thing," said Mike May, spokesman for the Sporting Goods Manufacturers Association.

While Nike poured millions into promoting its Jordan line, it barely advertised the Air Force 1, lending the sneaker an underground appeal. Like Converse's canvas Chuck Taylors and Adidas' Superstar model, Nike's Air Force 1 became a phenomenon with a clean, simple look. As more colors were added, buyers continued to clamor for the shoe because no matter the outfit, there was an Air Force 1 to go with it.

"You can basically get any color to match your clothes, whatever you feel like wearing," said Boateng of East Baltimore. "I've worn 'em to church. I'll be wearing a blazer and then I'll have on my Air Forces."

Today, there are more than 1,700 different styles of Air Force 1's, although the shoe is essentially the same as in 1982 - unusual for Nike sneakers, even Air Jordans. There are versions in patent leather, multi-colored styles and some designed by graffiti artists. Wealthy rap artists and celebrities often take a pair of Air Force 1's and upgrade the "swoosh" with designer monograms, such as Louis Vuitton's signature LVs.

After-purchase customization of the Air Force 1 has become a cottage industry for some city artists and retailers.

Dwayne Gillard, 27, of West Baltimore, had one of his five pairs of white-on-white Air Force 1's professionally decorated at Mondawmin Mall with "Hundred Grand Federation," the logo for his side business as a rapper.

"You gotta have a pair of Air Force 1's. You put 'em on at night, and I swear you look like your feet are glowing," Gillard said. "Then you gotta have a second pair. The second pair you gotta get somebody to customize 'em for you. The third pair is the backup for that first pair. And the fourth and fifth is for when nobody's selling them no more. I got five right now because I know come May, I'm not gonna be able to find 'em."

Baltimore retailers sometimes struggle to meet demand, said Jeffrey Bowden, a spokesman for DTLR, formerly the Downtown Locker Room, which now operates from Atlanta to Chicago.

"It's absolutely a phenomenon," Bowden said. "It's clearly the Baltimore shoe. There were times there where it was hard for us to keep them in stock, through all sizes, from kids' all the way up to men's.

"That real hard-core demographic, they're like, 'Hey, I need a new pair of Airs,' just because they got a scuff on them. And they've got to have every color when they come out," he said. "I'm even guilty of that. I've had hundreds over the years."

Nike officials can't explain why the shoe has had such a foothold in Baltimore, but they are grateful for the love.

To promote the 25th anniversary version of the Air Force 1 - and the just-released Air Force 25 sneaker - the company built a pricey in-store display at DTLR in Mondawmin Mall, one of the first stores to originally sell the Air Force 1, Nike said.

The display shows players of the past in flight jumpsuits, such as Malone, beside a "second coming" of current stars such as LeBron James and Kobe Bryant, who are promoting the new Air Force 25s.

Local sellers don't expect the relationship to wane anytime soon.

"Twenty years from now ... it's going to be the same thing," said Greg Vaughan, manager of Mondawmin Mall's DTLR and a former salesman at Charley Rudo Sports, one of the three stores that saved the shoe. "I'm watching generations of kids growing right into it."

Sneakerheads love to show off footwear

By Sarah Skidmore, Associated Press Writer

PORTLAND, Ore. --Matt Halfhill is crazy about sneakers. He worked in a shoe store as a teenager, buying shoes on clearance. He has charmed his wife with kicks, buying limited edition pink and red Nikes for her on Valentine's Day. He collects them obsessively, lining the walls of his home with about 500 pairs of shoes. Welcome to the world of the sneakerhead, where shoes reign supreme.

Collectors range from casual fans of sneaker fashion to those who buy and sell shoes like a cardboard-encased commodity. True fanatics will camp out overnight for the latest pair, buy multiple pairs (in case one gets scuffed) and sometimes even wear them.

It's an obsession that has been gaining traction in recent years, even as sneaker sales have grown only slowly. There are Web sites, magazines, books, movies and radio shows dedicated to sneaker culture. There have even been television shows, like ESPN2's "It's About the Shoes" that included tours of collectors' enormous closets.

"I think people are more aware (of sneaker culture), the general public, because of the media and Internet," said Alex Wang, creative director for Sole Collector magazine and admitted shoe aficionado.

Sneakers have been a part of urban culture for decades. Run DMC rapped about "My Adidas" in the 1980s, and it remains a part of hip hop culture with famous sneakerhead artists like Missy Elliot and Fat Joe.

But sneaker love has spread. British teen pop star Lilly Allen sings about her "trainers" and rocks them onstage while wearing a posh dress.

Everyone from Manhattan businessmen to Midwestern teens are coming in with a hankering for shoes, store owners say.

"You can tell so much about a person by what they have on their feet," said Andre Speed, 36, at a Portland specialty sneaker store called Lifted. "You might not have the freshest outfit but if you have the kicks, you are going to get the respect."

Shoes can cost hundreds and even thousands of dollars depending on their cachet.

"The scene is on fire," Speed said.

Shoe makers are feeding off the energy. They work with artists to develop specialized pairs, such as Puma's electric blue and red trainers designed by Brazilian artist Frederico Uribe. There are stores where people can order styles of their own.

Shoe companies regularly rerelease old favorites and also market updated styles and limited edition shoes.

Adidas released 30 NBA Superstar shoes -- one for each team in the NBA -- in December. Shoes flew off the shelves.

In February the company will offer several player-specific shoes, like a Tim Duncan pair that incorporates his tattoos into the design and will only be available at the NBA All-Star weekend in Las Vegas.

Nike celebrated the 25th anniversary of its Air Force 1 last month with a huge party in New York where there were 1,040 different versions of the shoe on display.

One attendee described it as "awesome, out of control awesome."

The rest of us can catch a replay on Jan. 13 on MTV, which is airing highlights of the party as part of a special on the culture surrounding Air Force 1.

Some sneaker designers have become celebrities themselves, such as Tinker Hatfield, Nike's legendary leader of the Innovation Kitchen, who is the star of sneakerhead events.

Adidas has heard from university equipment managers who get calls from sneakerheads looking for shoes that aren't available to the public.

"It's absolutely amazing. Even if it's the smallest niche, they'll buy all of them," said Terrell Clark, a spokesman for Adidas USA, based in Portland.

NPD Group, a market research firm, estimates total U.S. footwear sales were nearly $42 billion in 2005, up 9 percent from the year before. But of that, athletic shoes only grew 3 percent.

Industry analysts say sneakerheads make up a small but crucial part of the shoe industry.

"There is incredible value for how it exists for the company as a tool for them to take a pulse for what kids will see as hip and relevant," said Paul Swangard, managing director of the Warsaw Sports Marketing Center at the University of Oregon. "You are always trying to find the Pied Piper for the industry."

Shoe collectors dictate what will be hot and what will be bought.

"Nike gets really great fashion and trend ideas from these kids, who are really cutting-edge," said John Shanley, a clothing and accessories industry analyst for Susquehanna Financial Group. "They can capitalize on (that) down the road from a mass production mode."

So shoe companies are compelled to reach out to sneakerheads.

They offer "quick hit" shoes, which might have a hundred or so pairs, and pop-up stores, which open for a day or week to sell a limited edition shoe and then disappear.

"It's always changing," said Dave Ortiz, co-owner of popular New York store Dave's Quality Meat. "As long as people have feet, they are going to have shoes. Walking around barefoot is not going to come back into style."

Shoe experts point to a mix of popular culture, nostalgia, technology and disposable income as drivers for the increased fascination with sneakers.

"It's hard to explain to a regular person," Wang said. "There is always a memory or a story with a sneaker, even if you aren't into it -- you had sneakers at one point."

Originals like Adidas Shell Toes or Puma classics remain strong. Anything related to Air Jordan, which revolutionized the industry with its mix of style, technology and an iconic player, remains hot more than 20 years after its debut. And some East Coast stores say they are seeing a lot of Vans heading off their shelves lately.

"That is the good thing about sneakers in general," said Wang, who prefers running shoes from Asics and Nike. "Everyone has a preference."

Collectors say they have a hard time specifying why they love their kicks so much.

"My wife thinks I'm crazy," said Halfhill, who runs a Web site called nicekicks.com. "She does complain to me to stop talking about shoes all the time."

But it's been a financially lucrative obsession for some. They say they could make a down payment on a house or pay off a car loan if they sold their collection -- not that they would.

Collecting sneakers is no different from collecting baseball cards or Barbie dolls, said Wang, who grew up watching basketball and worshipping Michael Jordan.

"It's just another hobby."

And sneakers are his.

Changing The Game On Nike

How budget sneakers are tripping up its basketball business

By Stanley Holmes
BusinessWeek

Like the National Basketball Assn.'s top-tier Dallas Mavericks, Nike Inc. continues to display a potent offense. Its recent second-quarter profit surged 8%, to $326 million, and sales jumped 10%, to $3.8 billion. The stock, up about 15% over the past 12 months, continues to fly high. "The brand is strong," Nike CEO Mark Parker told analysts in December. "The company is growing."

But the sporting goods giant is facing a full-court press at the heart of its U.S. business: basketball footwear. Industrywide unit sales of basketball shoes dropped 16% last year, says market research firm SportScanINFO. And Nike, which counts on basketball gear for an estimated 30% to 40% of its U.S. revenues, acknowledged last month that footwear inventories were 15% higher than a year ago. Running shoes and the apparel business remain strong, but John Shanley, who tracks the industry for Susquehanna Financial Group, says Nike will have to sell a lot of shoes in the coming weeks or suffer a possible hit to earnings. Nike CFO Donald Blair told analysts he believed the inventory overhang would not "have a material negative impact."

Nike has been the king of the basketball sneaker since the 1980s, when Michael Jordan-branded shoes first became a fashion statement on and off the court. But the current Jordan line is losing some cachet among suburban and inner-city kids. While a new release of the Air Jordan Retro did well over Christmas, some of the latter-day Jordan models are being sold at unusually deep discounts.

Nike has been betting on NBA up-and-comer LeBron James to help it make the transition from the Jordan era. In 2003 the company announced it would pay the Cleveland Cavaliers forward $90 million over a decade to promote its shoes. But while the new Zoom LeBron IV shoe has sold well, James is not a Jordan-caliber endorser, in part because the NBA is not the draw it was when Jordan was a star.

It's no secret that for the past few years, kids have been trading in their high-tops for skateboarding shoes made by the likes of Vans, dc, and Skechers. But the big news in the sneaker world is the advent of the cheap basketball shoe. Case in point: the Starbury One, which sells for $14.98. Made and sold by the discount clothing chain Steve & Barry's, the sneaker is endorsed by New York Knicks guard Stephon Marbury, who says 3 million pairs have sold since its August debut.

The Starbury and its ilk have the potential to undermine Nike's basketball sneaker business. According to researcher npd Group Inc., the low-cost shoe market—sneakers under $50—has grown nearly 9% over the past two years and now makes up more than half of the $16.5 billion of branded athletic footwear sold each year in the U.S. Nike sells its own cheap sneakers, but doesn't have much traction against such low-cost entrants as the $35 Amp runner, a creation from Payless ShoeSource. "If I were a branded athletic company right now, I'd be reconsidering my whole approach," says Jeffrey Bliss, president of Javelin Group, a sports marketing firm.

Nike has overcome big challenges before. It continues to dominate the basketball sneaker market and still sells 95% of $100-plus shoes. It has a hit with the Converse Inc. Dwayne Wade, a sneaker endorsed by the Miami Heat guard that retails for $100. Thanks to strong demand for the shoe, Nike says revenue at its Converse unit rose nearly 50% during the most recent quarter. The question for Nike is whether the current hunger for cheap sneakers is building long-term momentum or is little more than a fad.

Get Your Kicks from 1986

Photograph by Jeff Harris

Geoff Van Dike
Men's Journal, February 2007 issue

The renaissance of all things ‘80s is, of course, part knowing irony and part earnest appreciation. With the reintroduction of athletic shoes designed in that era, the appeal tends toward the latter.

These were top-of-the-line running and skating shoes, worn by elite athletes. So they’re comfortable. And compared to today’s models, with their “shocks,” built-in stride sensors, and iPod hookups, they’re wonderfully simple.

The offerings shown here feature some new colors, materials, and other design twists, but they are essentially pure, from a time when a sneaker was just a sneaker.

Foot Locker Denies Buyout Rumors, Details New Concepts

Chain Store Age

NEW YORK - Foot Locker denied on Friday that it was exploring a potential sale of the company, according to a Reuters report.

Speculation was heightened by the company's hiring of an advisory firm in August and by Foot Locker's refusal to comment on any buyout interest. On Friday, CEO Matthew Serra dispelled the rumors on a conference call with analysts.

On the same call, Serra discussed plans for a new concept, called "Footquarters," that will be focused on inexpensive footwear for the entire family. Approximately 60% of merchandise will be athletic shoes. Dress and casual shoes, which carry higher profit margins than athletic footwear, will comprise the rest.

“We feel that our buying power in the athletic segment will give us enhanced margins vs. our competition, so I personally believe it could be a very large division,” Serra said.

The company plans to open up to 70 Footquarters stores in 2007, with the first group to open in April or May and the second in the fall.

In addition, Foot Locker is opening a chain of athletic hat stores, called “Champs Sports Just Hats.” The stores will try to take market share from Genesco’s Hat World chain.

Sole searching: The global quest for limited edition sneaks, duds

By Kathryn Wexler
McClatchy Newspapers

MIAMI - Jason Odio is a 21-year-old party promoter for the Opium Group whose workday doesn't end until sunrise.

Isaiah Orlen is 27 and recently got law and business degrees from the University of Miami.

Their interests intersect - in their closets. Both love limited edition sneakers and clothing; things others don't have and might not be able to get.

"Just the rush of grabbing that box, of knowing I got that sneaker is exciting," said Orlen, a Coconut Grove, Fla., resident and collector for a decade. "There's an addiction."

Graffiti artists, graphic designers and even mainstream companies such as Nike and Adidas have figured out that releasing designs in shockingly small numbers can whip up an international buying frenzy, tons of talk - and plenty of collateral cool.

Sold exclusively through select boutiques that compete for accounts, the garb is promoted through Internet sites, blogs or word of mouth, endowing the phenomenon with an edgy, secret-society feel.

Nike's official Web site, for instance, makes no reference to its line of sneakers hardest to come by, called "Tier Zero." Danny Waserstein, whose family-run Shoe Gallery in Miami sells limited edition items, estimates there are about nine stores worldwide that get Tier Zero.

"These big companies don't advertise," said Waserstein, 31. "It's `publicized' through the street - underground."

Plenty of luxe brands like Herms and Louis Vuitton make a limited number of super-high-end handbags. Nabbing one is a matter of money or stardom.

Landing limited edition hoodies, T-shirts or sneakers requires knowledge, patience and hustle. The items are targeted mostly to young men, ages 15 to 35, and prices aren't much higher than mass-market merchandise - usually between $100 and $200 for sneakers. A hot secondary market now exists on eBay.com, where the garb can command three times its original price.

Some peg the movement to the late 1980s, when New York City scenesters started rejecting regular clothing as muffling self-expression. The indie strain persists. Graphics tend to be irreverent, ironic or cynical.

Odio owns a shirt by 10 Deep that has the character from the old Purple Punch ads but says, "Purple Punch with codeine." Another shirt 10 Deep released this summer has a skull with dollar signs in its eyes and the caption, "The Summer of No Love."

Collecting has become a phenomenon without borders. Web sites cite shops in Tokyo and Barcelona as often as those in New York City. It is not the purview of a single culture, geographic area or ethnicity.

"We get Latin kids, we get African-American kids, we get Japanese kids," Waserstein said.

Nor is there any one type of music associated with the phenomenon, like uber-baggy jeans and Tommy Hilfiger clothing were with rap music.

What the enthusiasts share, really, is their enthusiasm. That, and the conviction that they're renegades of a sort.

Said Dao-Yi Chow, co-owner and buyer for Addict, an upscale shop in Miami Beach, Fla., that is very picky about its limited edition stock, "People are really particular of their individuality and not wearing what everybody else has."

Even when you know where to go, you can't always nail what you want.

When Nike issued a release date of Jan. 28, 2006, for its Air Jordan Defining Moments Package (a set of two pairs of sneakers for $300), Shoe Gallery received exactly 24 sets. Each customer was allowed only one.

"We had guys sleep out (over) two days," Waserstein said.

Collectors say they know the limits on production are entirely artificial. It's not as though the items are handmade or fabricated with hard-to-get material. In some cases, clothing is more a question of limited distribution than limited manufacturing.

Still, it's that very restriction that brings status. Some have an awesome reverence for the goods: "I've been scared to wear a couple of things," said Odio. "For instance, I got Reebok Miami Vice (limited) edition shoes, and I'm afraid of them being scuffed."

These days, the most influential shops collaborate with clothing and even sneaker companies for exclusive designs and releases. Chow, for instance, who in the late 1990s helped open Footwork, a notable but now defunct boutique in Manhattan's East Village, has commissioned fashion caps by the Buffalo-based designer New Era. Only four dozen will be made, and they will sell only at Arrive, for $65.

Orlen sees a common sensibility among limited edition collectors: "They're a little fed up with corporate America."

But how anti-corporate is patronizing a billion-dollar corporation like Nike?

"It almost doesn't mean anything now when you say limited edition," Chow said, "because big companies are doing something for cachet of the brands."

Orlen notes the irony. Still, he just loves securing hot releases, like his Nike Air with ostrich stripes or those in crazy patent leather - and the attention they bring from others who recognize them.

"Did Nike choose to produce them in limited pairs? Yes. Is that good? Yes. Because I don't want people walking around with a style that I'm wearing."

Vulture vs. Rob Walker

(Submitted to steve's blog by Al Cabino)

Check out The Vulture's interview with Rob Walker, the New York Times Magazine's consumer ace. Your head will walk away awash with new frameworks and sparkling ideas.

ON SNEAKERS, T-SHIRTS, GETTING OVER AND SELLING OUT
SOLVING THE RIDDLE OF HIS $250 MYSTERY SHOES
THE GENIUS AND STUPIDITY OF DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN

A Ladies’ Man Everyone Fights Over

By LOLA OGUNNAIKE

LOS ANGELES -- This time six years ago, Flavor Flav, the flamboyant clock-wearing member of the groundbreaking rap group Public Enemy, was living in a low-rent apartment near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. He was scalping baseball tickets for extra cash, battling a long addiction to drugs and racking up arrests for driving without a license.

These days life is looking a lot brighter.

His reality series, “Flavor of Love,” a ghetto-fabulous spoof of the dating series “The Bachelor,” has been a colossal hit for VH1. The show’s first-season finale in March drew nearly six million viewers, making it the highest-rated show in the cable channel’s history. More than three million people tuned in to watch the second-season premiere early August.

No one seems to be enjoying the success more than Flav, as he is known to one and all.

“I’m the king of VH1,” he crowed over a surf-and-turf dinner at a soul food restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. “Your man Flavor Flav is doing his thiiiiing.”

That thing has made the show as polarizing as it is popular. On blogs and at the office, on message boards and in op-ed columns, viewers are both riveted and repelled by “Flavor of Love.”

Fans of the show call it a harmless guilty pleasure, and its star a lovable and unlikely Romeo. Critics have accused the show of trafficking in racial stereotypes and have called Flav everything from a sellout to a modern-day Stepin Fetchit.

“Anytime we mention ‘Flavor of Love’ on our show, the phone lines start blowing up,” said Donnell Rawlings, a New York morning radio personality on the popular hip-hop radio station Power 105.1. “Good or bad, our listeners love talking about Flav. They can’t get enough of it. You’ve got beauties and you’ve got the beast, and it’s become one of those shows you must watch every week.”

On “Flavor of Love,” 20 contestants vie for the rap star’s affection while living with him in a mansion in Encino. Instead of roses, they are given oversize clocks when they’re invited to stay at the end of each show, and the winner is awarded a personalized gold dental grille, a jeweled ornament for the teeth.

The women, who tend to look like castoffs from a bad rap video, dress provocatively (the shorter the skirt, the lower the neckline, the better their chances), engage in raunchy make-out sessions with Flav and, when given the opportunity, profess their undying devotion.

“You could be across the room and I can feel you,” Krazy, the rare white face on the show, said in a recent episode. (Flav, whose real name is William Drayton, has trouble remembering the contestants’ real names, so he gives them nicknames like Deelishis, Toastee and Bootz.) “My heart is so big and I’m such a compassionate person and I see the same thing in you.” Krazy then broke into song. “I will be with you forever,” she crooned — off key.

Occasionally, the women even trade blows. This season’s premiere began with two women brawling over a bed and ended with one contestant defecating on the floor as she raced to the bathroom after a meal that didn’t agree with her. To Michael Hirschorn, the executive vice president for original programming at VH1, the reasons millions of viewers tune in every Sunday night are clear. “The accidental appeal of the show was the play between ‘Are these women for real or not? Are these women there for him or are they there because any fame is completely intoxicating?’ ” he said. “Instead of covering that part of the show up, we decided to make it integral.”

Asked whether the show was exploiting racial stereotypes, Mr. Hirschorn, who is white, said he didn’t think so. “I would also say I’m not in the position to make that judgment.” But, he pointed out, “the show is disproportionately popular among black viewers, and the comedy is very inclusive.”

Not all are amused, however. Nicole Young, a fashion designer in Manhattan who is black, said the defecation scene in this season’s premiere turned her off the show for good. Late last week, during a heated dinner argument with friends about the series, she pronounced it “absolutely hideous,” and proceeded to denounce Flav and his paramours. “In a day and age when it’s still really hard for people of color to find reasonable representations on television,” she said, “that show is a huge smack in the face and a step backwards.”

In an interview on a sports blog, thebiglead.com, Jason Whitlock, a sports columnist for The Kansas City Star, said, “It’s about time we as black people quit letting Flavor Flav and the rest of these clowns bojangle for dollars.”

In an editorial last month, DeWayne Wickham of USA Today wrote: “On one level, his buffoonery is laughable. But more often than not, it makes my skin crawl to know that as Lincoln Perry (who played Stepin Fetchit) and Johnny Lee (who was TV’s Algonquin J. Calhoun) did, Drayton has to assume such a shallow black role to find stardom in Hollywood.”

Nelson George, the cultural critic and author of “Hip Hop America,” said one reason the show has struck such a nerve has less to do with stereotypes and more to do with the fact that Flavor Flav is not exactly a sex symbol. “If he didn’t have gold fronts and didn’t wear a clock and if looked like Jamie Foxx, there wouldn’t be as much controversy,” he contended. He added that black viewers can be overly sensitive about how blacks are portrayed on television: “Black people tend to think that every image that is projected in the media is somehow a judgment on their reality. And that’s just not the case.”

“It is what it is,” he said. “Just another reality freak show.”

Flav, 47, did not seem ruffled by criticism. “Right now anybody that has negative things to say to Flavor Flav, it’s O.K.,” he said, “because that’s not going to stop me from being Flav. I get power from the negative.”

Although not conventionally attractive (he bears more than a passing resemblance to a California Raisin character), off camera, Flav appears to be a warmhearted man, one who is possessed with a manic energy that makes him mesmerizing to watch. Dressed for dinner in baggy jeans, a red rayon shirt, matching patent leather sneakers and a baseball cap, he was all jittery movements and smiles, doling out hugs, handshakes and autographs to anyone who approached.

“A lot of people favor Flavor because I have good karma,” he said. A giant cream-colored clock hung around his neck (he has close to 100 of his signature accessories), and his nom de rap was engraved on a gold dental grill, which he removed as if it were a retainer when it was time to eat. He also carried an assortment of more than 50 keys. “These are the keys to my future,” he said, cackling loudly.

His over-the-top shtick is not new. As the resident court jester in Public Enemy, Flavor Flav, with his trademark phrase, “Yeeeaahhh Boooooyyy,” provided levity to counterbalance the group’s strident, often political messages. “He was the bit of comic relief in a group that at its best could be inspirational and at its worst be didactic,” said Danyel Smith, the editor in chief of Vibe magazine.

Flavor Flav joined Public Enemy while in college and became its mascot. The group quickly became known for hits like “Fight the Power,” used on the soundtrack of Spike Lee’s “Do The Right Thing,” and for politically conscious albums like “It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back” and “Fear of a Black Planet.”

At the group’s height of fame, Flav began using drugs. He spent the 1990’s in and out of rehab, and in 2002 he spent a few months on Rikers Island for failing to pay traffic fines.

Upon release, eager for a new beginning, he moved to Los Angeles. Mark Cronin and Cris Abrego, creators of the VH1 series “The Surreal Life,” which brought together has-beens from various fields, were casting their third season. Flav met with the producers and made an instant impression. “He was ricocheting off the walls, saying his name 700 times,” Mr. Cronin said. “We knew he’d be perfect for television.”

The first day of filming, Flav showed up in Viking horns. His tempestuous relationship with a castmate, Brigitte Nielsen, an ex of Sylvester Stallone, made him and the series stand out.

Their bizarre affair led to a spinoff reality series, “Strange Love.” But alas, it was not meant to be: The couple parted ways, leading to Chapter 3 in Flav’s reality-series career, “Flavor of Love.” Although the star found love again last season with Nicole Alexander, a former basketball player he nicknamed Hoopz, the brief union ended after the cameras stopped recording. “All of a sudden, Hoopz got too busy,” he said, “and I couldn’t get in touch with her.”

Flav now claims there is no need for a third installment of his reality series because he has found love on the show with one of the contestants, but obviously cannot reveal who it is.

Mr. Cronin said he and his partner are working on a spinoff of “Flavor of Love,” which will feature 20 men vying for the affections of one woman. This doesn’t mean VH1 viewers have seen the last of Flav. Ideas for a nighttime talk show, an animated series and another reality show, where he acts as a Cyrano de Bergerac dispensing dating advice, are being batted around. He also plans to release a self-titled independent album on Halloween.

As for those who insist that he has traded a piece of his soul for fame, “Sometimes a lot of people misunderstand me,” Flav said, his wide grin disappearing. “But that’s okay, because I know one day they will understand me. Either they will like me or they will K.I.M., keep it moving.”

Athletic Shoes Transcend Athletes; Sneakers Now a Wardrobe Staple

Athletic shoes have become as commonplace as blue jeans in America. Among Leisure Trends Group findings: 96 percent of Americans ages 16 and older own at least one pair of athletic shoes, even though just 58 percent of the population participates in sports and recreation in any three-month period.

Boulder, CO -- (PR.COM) -- Athletic shoes have become as commonplace as blue jeans in America. Leisure Trends Group announces recent results from its ongoing national syndicated study on American leisure time. Among the findings: 96 percent of Americans ages 16 and older own at least one pair of athletic shoes, even though just 58 percent of the population participates in sports and recreation in any three-month period.

Leisure Trends senior analysts found that 75 percent of all Americans assert that fashion trumps comfort, performance and durability when determining which athletic shoe to buy. Also intriguing: for all its market penetration, athletic footwear continues to find new markets. “Athleisure” footwear is giving street shoes a run for the money, sneaking into coffee shops, casual Fridays and ever more formal settings.

“One quarter of all Americans own four or more different types of athletic shoes to suit the whims of fashion and the various activities and sports they pursue,” explained Leisure Trends Group Research Director Laurel Hyslop, PhD.

Predictably, income levels determine dollars spent on athletic shoes. Those making less than $40,000 per year spend $122 annually on athletic shoes. Those making more than $80,000 spend nearly twice as much, or $211 annually. This wealthiest segment of America is among the best customers of the hottest new trend in athletic footwear, sport sandals, the most purely fashion forward and least practical footwear in the athletic shoe world.

Athletic footwear purchases cut across all age groups, with males age 16 to 24 spending the most, a whopping $220 per year. Meanwhile their grandparents age 64 and older spend the least - less than $100 per year - although these seniors place the highest importance on athletic footwear.

Operación McFly en español

Al Cabino's sneaker campaign got coverage in Cinco Días, Spain's version of The Wall Street Journal.

Zapatillas de culto que traspasan la gran pantalla

In New York, 'Black Style' Spins the Color Wheel

By Robin Givhan
Washington Post Staff Writer

NEW YORK -- Designer Tracy Reese opened her spring 2007 fashion show on Sunday by sending two dancers down her runway. Bodies pressed together, they twirled to the rhythms of the tango.

Reese selected warm and saturated hues, mixing shades of raspberry with coral and mustard. The prints celebrated the whitewashed houses of a barrio set on a steep hill or the dizzying geometry of a field of palms. Uneven pleats on a butter-yellow jacket called to mind crepe paper streamers or the naive ruffles decorating a pinata.

It was a glorious collection that vibrated with color, music and colliding images -- some based in fact, such as Cuba, Spain and Mexico, and others created fully in the imagination.

A few hours later, designer Diane von Furstenberg presented a collection of streamlined urban silhouettes, including her signature wrap dresses, in bold colors. When showing a simple cap-sleeve swing dress in a fiery shade of fuchsia or a marigold-colored shirtdress that practically glowed, she used black models -- those with deep ebony skin who could wear intense shades without being overwhelmed by them. Her palette seemed custom-made to be especially flattering to people of color.

Reese is black. Von Furstenberg is white.

The fact of their race is not something that would ordinarily be considered. They do not focus on racial themes in their work. They are not known for an ethnocentric aesthetic. They do not send racially charged political messages down the catwalk. But the race card has been played.

Coinciding with the start of the spring runway shows here, the Museum of the City of New York debuted "Black Style Now." The exhibition opened Saturday with a cocktail party that attracted more than 1,000 guests, most of them black. That made for a striking fashion moment, as there were more black people at that one event than one typically encounters during the whole of this city's fashion week.

The exhibit, which runs through Feb. 19, examines modern black fashion and the way race influences aesthetics. This is a subject that is rife with political, social and cultural pitfalls. The most significant hurdle is the virtual impossibility of taming such an enormous topic into something at once manageable, thoughtful and entertaining.

The exhibition was curated by Michael McCollom, a fashion design veteran, and Michael Henry Adams, a historian. Part of their mission is to draw attention to black designers. But the fundamental goal is loftier: "We're very interested in the genesis of what's going on in fashion, where it's trying to go. Will it make it?" McCollom says. "We look at black style not just as fashion but also as a sense of being. It's not just design, it's attitude."

That point of view leaves one pondering what to make of a designer such as Reese and a show like the one mounted by von Furstenberg. Is Reese's race enough to justify including her eclectic sensibility in an exhibition that seeks to define a cohesive black style? Is there something about one's race that leads to the creation of a certain kind of silhouette? Is Reese's spring collection, which draws its inspiration from Latin culture, an example of black style simply because she is black?

Could von Furstenberg's collection, with its strong colors shown to such advantage on black models, be defined as an example of black style even if the designer is white?

The exhibition raises these questions but never answers them. And to some degree, it leaves one with the uncomfortable feeling that the whole debate is an indulgence in stereotypes masquerading as social and cultural theory.

The exhibit expends most of its energy on a simpler topic: hip-hop. But even that is not fully considered.

It moves briskly from the sepia-tinged era of the 1920s to the days of disco, where it lands briefly on the groundbreaking work of designer Stephen Burrows. It acknowledges landmarks, such as the launch of Essence -- one of the exhibition's sponsors -- and the first black models to appear on the covers of Glamour, Vogue and GQ. It moves on to the 1980s and a visitor can see examples of work from designers including Willi Smith and Jeffrey Banks. But it does not tackle the more controversial work of Patrick Kelly, who incorporated pickaninnies and golliwogs into his designs.

All of that history, however, is presented as a mere prelude to the arrival of hip-hop and its celebrity frontmen.

In this exhibit, black style is defined as hip-hop style. It argues that the designers who preceded its arrival prepared the way for its birth. Those who came after it -- or who do not work in that aesthetic -- are rebelling against it. Without hip-hop, there would presumably be no way to define black style. The "authentic" black experience is inextricably linked to hip-hop.

This argument is akin to suggesting that the "youthquake" of the 1960s is emblematic of "white style." Could love beads, miniskirts and go-go boots accurately explain the range of "white" fashion -- from the New Look to grunge?

The exhibition suggests that black style and hip-hop style are essentially the same. It perpetuates the prevailing sense that an insult to hip-hop and its adherents -- as in Jay-Z's dispute with the producers of Cristal champagne -- is an insult to blacks in general.

The exhibition does not give time to non-black designers Tommy Hilfiger or Marc Ecko, both of whom have been influential in creating and popularizing the hip-hop aesthetic. It was Hilfiger, after all, who in 1996 put Coolio, Naughty by Nature's Treach, Method Man and Sean "Diddy" Combs on his runways. That was way back when Combs was still Puffy and before he had become a fashion mogul in his own right.

The curators argue that black style is not simply a garment but the way it is worn. And this is certainly accurate in the case of brands like Kangol and Adidas. The clothes remain essentially unchanged from the original design. Instead, it's the attitude, the swagger, the creative combinations that link it to black men.

Gone missing from the exhibition is emphasis on the critical concerns raised by the wearing of ostentatious diamonds, expensive sneakers and styles inspired by prison inmates. Those areas are only briefly discussed, and while Adams hopes that they will be dealt with more fully in public programs associated with the exhibition, one leaves the museum galleries with the sense that there is no controversy, that there is no debate over whether style and swagger have surpassed education and personal responsibility in importance.

At the entrance to the exhibition, there is a gallery lined with black-and-white portraits of icons including Adam Clayton Powell Jr., Sidney Poitier, Satchel Paige, Marian Anderson and Jackie Robinson. It's impossible not to notice the way they wear their clothes. Back in their day, attire -- the tailored suits, the crisp pocket squares, the church hats -- was equated with dignity. In the hip-hop era, the overriding message of clothing is bravado. The exhibition doesn't look below the surface of all the ghetto-fabulous bling on display to examine the question of how that transition occurred and why.

"Black Style Now" tells a story about the evolution of a black aesthetic. Hip-hop is the central element in that tale. The main characters are celebrities -- Diddy, Beyonce, Kanye West, Jay-Z and a host of other entertainers. They are the ones imbued with the power and the creative influence. Tracy Reese is included in the exhibition because she is a black woman. But she is not a practitioner of hip-hop design. And so in this tale, she is merely -- and unfortunately -- a footnote.

American Eagle opens store aimed at older set

By Teresa F. Lindeman, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

PITTSBURGH -- Picture a T-shirt with trim around the collar -- what the industry calls a ringer T -- but the trim isn't just done in a contrasting color. It's cashmere.

The luxury twist on a casual classic will be found in the new Martin + Osa store opening tomorrow in a mall just off the beltway around the nation's capital to the curious eyes of an industry waiting to check out teen retailer American Eagle Outfitters's next act.

Because this is the fashion world, Martin + Osa's top marketing officer, Arnie Cohen, uses phrases such as the "ethos of the brand" as he tries to explain what the new brand's designers have been up to these past months.

Essentially, he said in an interview last week, they've created "a fusion of classic, sport and denim," a collection of non-fussy clothes for 25- to 40-year-olds that can be worn with sneakers but also into some offices without looking out of place.

American Eagle, based in Marshall, is projecting its new baby can produce $1 billion in revenue within a decade. The company's confidence may be reflected in the real estate commitments being made.

The Northern Virginia launch tomorrow will be followed in a week with a second store in Dallas, another a week later in Newport Beach, Calif., with a fourth in San Francisco the next week after that. A fifth store is scheduled for Chicago in November.

The company, which last year reached $2.3 billion in sales, has said it could have 25 of the new stores open by the end of next year. It hasn't yet identified any locations in the Pittsburgh market.

Other retailers also are launching new brands meant to reach new customers and open up new venues for sales growth. Martin + Osa's chances of success rest partly on such global issues as the strength of the economy, consumer confidence and competition.

For now, the most important thing is how well the designers have interpreted what the targeted audience wants.

To avoid distracting employees focused on the teen customers of its main brand, American Eagle assembled a separate design team with its own space in New York to develop a new vision.

The overall goal is to reach 25- to 40-year-olds. Mr. Cohen said the bull's-eye is on a 30-year-old. At that age, customers have more money than when they were teenagers but they expect different things of their clothes, too. They want style and pieces that last but they don't want to look like all of their friends.

As the Martin + Osa executive put it, "We know that 30 is no longer 20. Thirty uses a knife and fork even when no one is looking."

The stretch may not be as long as it seems for American Eagle. The original line targets an active group of kids and builds its collections on a denim base. Martin + Osa, named after a married couple from Kansas who became explorers, is still looking for active consumers and still using denim.

If the overall mix of fabrics is a step up from those used in the teen garments -- Mr. Cohen talks about Old World fabrics and mentions the use of mills in Italy -- the prices will be a step up, too.

So will service. The dressing rooms will include call buttons to summon an employee who can find that size 6 if the size 4 was too small or pull a different color off the rack.

The design team is hoping to stop traffic in the mall with an unusual storefront that has a large entrance but no windows. A picture that ran in trade publication Women's Wear Daily this summer showed walls of wood paneling instead of the more typical glass.

"You're going to walk by and you're going to stop in your tracks and say this is different," promised Mr. Cohen.

American Eagle hopes to build awareness of Martin + Osa with direct mailings to consumers near the stores and promotional pieces given to shoppers who wander through.

But the company is not planning a grand party for tomorrow's much-anticipated opening. The staff will be too busy observing how consumers interact with the space and how they react to the clothing.

This is still a work in progress, said Mr. Cohen, adding: "We're not launching a brand believing we have all the answers."

For men, the fall look is dressed up

By Dwayne Campbell
Philadelphia Inquirer Staff Writer

PHILADELPHIA -- For the second straight fall season, dress-up clothes rule.

The look is based on the traditionals - tweeds, cashmere, stripes and fine plaids - but with ultramodern or homage-to-vintage twists in silhouettes (lean), accents (lime-green stripes in a dark suit) and accessories (cap-toe shoes). There's also a strong dash of the city-slick monochromatic, especially for nights - head-to-toe black or layered grays.

Think investment banker, but one who has Gnarls Barkley on his iPod, lunches at Morimoto, and sips Patrón on the weekend while wearing Hugo Boss' sleek, sharkskin jacket, a slim-cut shirt from Thomas Pink, and Prada jeans.

Less costly denim will do, too. Achieving the fall look isn't about cashing in your IRA at the House of Boateng; you'll find the key items at multiple price points.

Nearly every designer and fashion brand - from Ralph Lauren, Thom Browne and Hugo Boss to Zara, Express and Target - has produced something in tweed, plaid or velvet.

"There is a general sort of classicism going on in fashion," says Nick Sullivan, fashion director at Esquire magazine. "The main thrust is very dressed up, and it seems to be getting more and more dressed up."

That dress-up fall clothing appears to come in two categories, Sullivan adds: the weekend look and the office look, both upscale in appeal and comfortable in fit, with options for every man.

When you're ready to cop a few new pieces that reflect the fall aesthetic, here's what you'll find in stores:

An abundance of suits, including three-piece versions; most have the skinnier silhouette, but there are options for bigger guys.

Blazers (some of the best come in cashmere).

Cotton shirts in banker blue and light colors such as lavender or jewel-tone stripes.

Turtlenecks in cashmere or light wool.

Dark, narrow-cut premium denim.

Cut-to-the-body three-quarter-length coats.

At Boyds on Chestnut Street, a big seller is Etro, one of the brands that best exemplify the season's twist of traditional for the modern man.

Take, for example, the black-and-white windowpane plaid suit, which has unobtrusive, bright green stripes running through it vertically and horizontally.

At Macy's, including the new downtown Philadelphia store that opened this month in the former Lord & Taylor spot, the trend is also toward traditional tailoring and fabrics but with the contemporary aesthetic. Check out the sporty Jack Victor blazers in various tweeds.

Neiman Marcus has tagged the fall season "jacket required" even when ties are not, and has been selling two- and three-button jackets and blazers from Paul Smith, Gucci, Roberto Cavalli and Dolce & Gabbana. Wear them with premium jeans for a city-slick look.

"Many people are still wearing jeans, and we feel fall is the perfect time for them to put on a jacket with their jeans," says Colby McWilliams, vice president and men's fashion director at Neiman Marcus' corporate office. "The important thing is that the jacket is in plaid, checks or tweed."

As they were last year, corduroy and velvet are strong materials for jackets paired with jeans.

"The right jeans and jacket can give you an overall polished look," says Wendell Haskins, a New York stylist who has worked with the NBA and entertainers such as Mos Def, Musiq Soulchild and Bobby Valentino.

This fall he's planning to put some celebs in Ralph Lauren tweed or corduroy jackets and dark, slim-cut Prps jeans.

According to McWilliams, the other funky, key fall items are graphic T-shirts (to be worn under blazers in early fall); big belt buckles (most silver, but a few in gold from Prada and Dolce & Gabbana); and designer sneakers (Prada, Paul Smith). Military-inspired clothing (lots of pockets, epaulets and shiny buttons) and fur details on coats are also part of the mix.

A good look for a fashionable fall night on the town might include a cashmere turtleneck and signature belt and shoes, all in black and all from Gucci; tweed Polo Ralph Lauren jacket; and dark jeans from Antik, AG Adriano Goldschmied, or Diesel.

The more cost-conscious should check out department stores that carry various brands over a wide price range. But go for the Gucci belt and shoes; consider them a fall treat.

For dress shirts, the key is in the touch

By James Whitters, Boston Globe Correspondent

BOSTON - When Paul Wade shops for a dress shirt, he doesn't look at labels or price tags. He no longer needs to.

After nearly three decades as a wardrobe consultant at luxury clothing store Louis Boston , where he's surrounded daily by some of the finest men's garments on Newbury Street, Wade has developed a superior gauge of quality: His fingertips.

``Feel that?" he says, gently rubbing the collar of a $300 blue shirt from Italian designer Truzzi .

``It feels silky. You can tell immediately that this cloth is something that you would want next to your skin."

The men's dress shirt is being revitalized. Still a staple with suits and ties in the workplace, colorful, slimmer-cut shirts are now making statements all by themselves on the weekends.

Worn fashionably untucked with jeans, sneakers, and maybe a sport coat, tailored shirts have become the centerpiece of the urban hipster's modern look.

US consumers spent $2.4 billion on men's dress shirts between June 2005 and July 2006, an increase of 8.5 percent from the same period the year before, according to NPD Group , a Port Washington, N.Y., market research firm.

With shirts from premium domestic labels now retailing for as much as $225 and garments from European designers selling for between $275 and $1,000 for a one-off, custom-made silk shirt from Italy, Wade says its important to know exactly what you're buying.

He suggests consumers examine three basic details: Material, stitching, and the shirt's shape or cut.

``Every extra step that goes into making a shirt raises the price," Wade says. ``A well-made shirt, sewn by a tailor, usually takes an hour or more to make. A factory-produced shirt takes 10 minutes. You're paying for that extra time and quality."

Dress shirts are made from a variety of materials, from stretchy synthetic fabrics to ultra-fine cottons.

Wade says a quick touch can tell you all you need to know about a shirt's construction.

``Your fingers and hand can tell you a lot about the quality," he says. ``It should feel fairly silky and fine. Certainly not rough. You should be able to feel the quality of the material."

Stitching is equally important, says Wade. A dress shirt's stitches should be uniform in size and spaced close together. Sixteen stitches or more per inch is considered excellent.

High-end and custom shirts may include elements of hand stitching, or a technique called single-needle tailoring, which increases a shirt's durability and adds to its fit.

``Look to see that all the stitches are regular and fine," Wade says. ``The finer stitching means it won't buckle when you wash it or pucker at the seems."

A shirt's shape is also critical, says Wade. Modern dress shirts, designed to be worn with slim-cut suits, dress pants, and also casually untucked with jeans, should feature clean lines and fit on the snug side.

``Shirts, in general, should now fit trimmer through the body and be shorter in length," Wade says.

``Guys want to wear really nice shirts casually, but they have to remember that if you want to wear a dress shirt with today's trim-cut pants and jeans, it can't be boxy and long. The shirt has to follow the shape of the rest of the clothing."

Blue Streak

America's love affair with indigo-dyed denim started with hard-working men soon after the first pair of Levi's hit the streets of San Francisco in 1873. In his new book, Jeans, Amesbury, Mass. author James Sullivan traces the history of everybody's favorite garment, from those early rugged jeans to the designer styles we wear today, and goes inside one of Boston's hottest jeans boutiques.

By James Sullivan
for The Boston Globe Magazine

'Did they flatten your butt out?" The moment the customer pulls back the dressing room curtain, the quick-talking shopkeeper peppers her with questions: "How do the jeans fit? Are they tight in the thighs? How do they feel on the hips?"

She's not just trying to make another sale, although at an average of $180 a pair for the high-end denims Leah Eckelberger retails at Jean Therapy, her Kenmore Square boutique, every sale is a considerable victory. Eckelberger, 31 and compact as a gymnast, is no master of the hard sell. She'll cheerfully send first-timers who blanch at her prices down to Newbury Street, to the Lucky Brand store, to buy less-expensive fashion jeans. She just wants her customers to go home feeling flattered, feeling cared for, as if they'd been to a spa. To Eckelberger, jeans are, in fact, a kind of therapy. They are comforting and familiar, yet they can make you feel sexy and adventurous. Her enthusiasm for her merchandise - enthusiasm, hell; it borders on pathology - is contagious.

Eckelberger likes to say that shopping for jeans brings out the best and worst in us. Customers don't hesitate to announce what they perceive to be their physical deficiencies. "They'll say 'I'm short,' or 'I have big legs,' " she says. "They're overaware of their bodies, actually. It's crazy." For many women, she says, the act of buying a new pair of jeans has become as intimate, and as anxiety-riddled, as picking out a bathing suit or an evening gown.

That's one reason the store owner believes the boom in couture denim is no passing fad. People will continue to pay higher prices, says Eckelberger, as long as the industry does not neglect the needs of ordinary buyers.

For years, the basement space that Jean Therapy now shares with a bookstore was home to the Rathskeller, the dank punk-rock hovel affectionately known as the Rat. Now stark-white and brightly lit, the space has a concrete floor patterned with Jean Therapy's graffiti-style logo, spray painted with a cardboard stencil. The transformation is telling, a microcosm of urban renewal in America. The yowling nihilism of the dive bar has given way to the hip Zen of boutique shopping. At Jean Therapy, Leah Eckelberger sells blue jeans with names that imply devotion, names such as Earnest Sewn and Sacred Blue.

In the crook of the store's L-shaped layout sits an old Singer sewing machine on a child-size table. It's a little shrine to Eckelberger's youthful infatuation with clothing. The mall jeans and Salvation Army castoff s she has altered over the years - Diesel, Gap, Liz Claiborne, "things that I've ripped apart, hemmed, studied" - are folded into stacks on the small shelves above.

Eckelberger used her parents' retirement fund as collateral for a loan to open the store. She went through three banks before finding a match, she says, fielding the same question at every one: "Who's going to spend that much on jeans?"

But this young entrepreneur knows what the loan officers may not have understood. Jeans, whatever their momentary position on the fashion ladder, are not like other clothes. We are as loyal to a good pair as we are to an old friend.

INDIGO-DYED DENIM, ORIGINALLY worn by men who dug mines, cut timber, herded cattle, drove railroad ties - working men, in other words, who built a civilization from a wilderness and had no use whatsoever for the cycles of fashion - has been part of the foundation of the fickle clothing industry for more than half a century now. Side-zip jeans for women were popular in the 1950s, when $5 was considered a preposterous price to pay for denim pants. Twenty years later, skeptics were dumbfounded when people flocked to department stores to pay $30 or $45 for dressy jeans with designer labels stitched to the rear pockets. In the early 1990s, "lifestyle" brands such as Diesel and Lucky tugged the industry to the brink of the $100 barrier. Today, for many compulsive shoppers, there is no apparent ceiling. "I don't balk at $500 for a pair of shoes," one woman told The New York Times at the height of the latest denim craze. "Why should I balk at that price for jeans that are special?"

For decades, genteel designers have been effusive in their praise of the lowly blue jean, which has its origins in European sailors' trousers and peasant overalls. "I wish I had invented blue jeans," said Yves Saint Laurent, sometimes credited as the first designer to bring denim to the runway. "They have expression, modesty, sex appeal, simplicity - all I hope for in my clothes." Bill Blass declared Levi's "the best single item of apparel ever designed." Even Charles James, the brilliant couturier whose intricate silk and satin creations epitomized the wholly impractical fine art of fashion, recognized his country's hardy contribution to cross-cultural modes of dress. "Blue denim is America's gift to the world," he said.

Levi Strauss & Co. patented the modern mass-produced prototype in 1873, reinforcing the pockets - two in front, one in back - with copper rivets. In 1890, the year the patent expired, the company added a fourth pocket, the little watch pocket, to the original design. By 1905, there were two back pockets on the 501XX, the archetypal Levi's button-fl y trouser, and this basic, riveted five-pocket jean has been the industry standard ever since. Thousands of manufacturers around the world have copied it.

It's a perfect pattern. Blue jeans are for men and women alike, for all body types. They stand up to hard work and rough play. They can imply either democratic parity or the aristocratic hierarchies of status. Around the world, blue jeans have obliterated every demographic distinction - age, ethnicity, income, education - in becoming the common casual uniform. And in our own headlong, irreverent culture, jeans have a deep and venerable past that is loaded with meaning. For vintage collectors and fashion-forward designers alike, jeans are steeped not just in the multiple dips of indigo dye but in a rich sense of history. Whether we called them overall pants or "blue drillin's" or dungarees, blue jeans have been an indispensable part of our culture for almost as long as we've had an American culture. First they built the country's infrastructure, then they populated it with a collective identity.

BOBBY GARNETT HAS HAD A STOREFRONT in Boston's South End since a homeless shelter was the most conspicuous landmark on the block. Now there are new condominiums, artists' galleries, and loft-style office spaces.

In this mixed-use enclave a stone's throw from the Southeast Expressway, the shabby chic of Bobby's shop gives it the feel of an old gentlemen's club. Piled high with vintage American and English clothing - from classic denim work wear to reindeer sweaters and straw hats - it's the kind of place where Ralph Lauren might find some inspiration.

In fact, Lauren is one of many fashion designers, collectors, and dealers who consider Bobby Garnett - better known as Bobby from Boston - to be a founding father of the contemporary resale business and an invaluable resource in the perennial recycling of classic styles. Garnett has been in the business for more than three decades, first selling his "experienced" clothing, as he likes to call it, to hippie students with a fl air for creative dress. In the 1980s, when denim collectibles became big business in Japan, certain savvy dealers beat a well-worn path from Tokyo to Bobby's lair. These days, Bobby from Boston does a lot of his business with Hollywood costume designers. He recently sold thousands of dollars of period clothing to the costumer for the Sean Penn remake of All the King's Men.

Set on a refurbished but largely untrafficked courtyard, the Bobby from Boston shop is usually as calm and contemplative as its heavy wood furnishings and comfortable chairs suggest. A magnificent old pool table in the center of the room is piled high with incoming merchandise. The only concession to the present day is the sound system, tuned to a high-energy R & B station. In the back, several big brown boxes are being packed for shipping. They are stuff ed with Levi's cutoff s, which Lauren's company buys in bulk to stock in its summer-resort stores on Long Island and Martha's Vineyard.

At 55, Garnett still dresses like a college student, wearing faded Levi's, white sneakers, and a gray hooded sweat shirt with a Ralph Lauren Rugby cap pulled down over his brow. He was one of the first of his generation, coming of age in the 1960s, to realize the revenue potential in recycled denim. From the beginning, he had a collector's nose for it. Acting on a tip from a friend in the south of France, he once bought a hundred pairs of red-line Levi's - the highly collectible "selvage" denim, made on old, narrow looms - for a dollar a pair. On another occasion, he dug through 70 100-pound bales of jeans jackets in a rag yard in Worcester, uncovering many prewar gems. When a regional discount chain accepted a huge shipment of "dead-stock" work clothes, unsold goods from old stores going out of business, he drove 900 miles in two days, snatching up almost all of it. "I was freakin'!" he says in his heavy local accent, laughing.

Though the vintage market has waned considerably since its heyday in the late 1980s and early '90s, Garnett still buys "big E" Levi's, those dating before 1971, when the company changed the lettering on its red tab from upper to lower case. He still travels extensively in search of old overalls, barn- and cowboy jackets and other pieces made by the Big Three of blue jeans - Levi's, Lee, and Wrangler - as well as onetime staple brands such as Big Smith and Sears' Hercules label. His pride and joy, however, is his collection of DubbleWare, denim work clothes made in Boston between World War I and World War II. The DubbleWare brand was produced by M. Hoffman, the longtime Massachusetts apparel maker.

"The best part is buying the stuff," says Garnett, carefully laying out a pair of hickory-stripe railroad overalls and patting it down. "You can't keep it all, so you have to sell some of it."

Excerpted from Jeans: A Cultural History of an American Icon, by James Sullivan. Published by arrangement with Gotham Books, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright © 2006 by James Sullivan.