I got out of the Uber in industrial Brooklyn, trying to get my bearings on this sweatbox morning.
There was no address on the brewery to my right or the scrapyard across the street.
I tried the front door of a brick-block building, but found it firmly locked.
Rare Nike sneakers, covered in protective plastic film, on display for sale during Sneakerness at East End Studios on Oct. 5, 2024, in Milan.Emanuele Cremaschi/Getty Images
Five minutes later, a middle-aged man pulled up, wearing gold-tint rims and a Kangol hat.
He, too, tried the handle of the door, then stepped back, puzzled as I was.
What had seemed like a brilliant idea in March now felt, in June, like a mistake.
Id signed up for an intensive week of sneaker-making with a Tik Tok star from Chicago.
The building was divided into artisans lofts; we entered the one on our left.
In a long, cluttered room, we saw bolts of fine leather hanging from clothespinned racks.
There were shelves piled high with turquoise shoe molds, enough to cover an NBA court.
In front of us were industrial sewing machines the size of student desks.
From a worktable in the middle of the room, four faces looked up at us.
Beside him was a petite, resourceful redhead who handles Matts socials for him.
At 16, I was the only minor in the room.
Again, I fought the impulse to bolt.
Keyes presented each of us a canvas bag of tools.
Keyes gave us a primer on what the tools were for, and then we got straight to it.
Id come in wanting to use an eye-popping color, then saw that bolt of green snakeskin.
But as I shaded the swoosh in emerald, I suddenly had a thought.
That green snakeskin felt like it belonged on a Soho sidewalk with all those other fakes.
But I had no idea how humbling it is to sew your own kicks from scratch.
Its as mad as driving the lane on Wembanyama.
The NBA banned them and fined Jordan $5,000 each time he rocked them on-court.
Nike jumped all over the leagues suppression, making ads that bannered Mikes revolt.
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Alas, those shoes have lost all linkage to the sport that birthed them.
Theyve gone from tribal footwear to symbols of exclusion kicks that actual street kids cant afford.
For me, the resale market was the end of the line.
Since the age of six, Ive had a love affair with basketball.
But my passion for hoops began in Ohio, where I was born to a family wild forLeBron James.
My uncle Jaron played varsity with Bron at St. Vincent-St. Mary High School.
I wont deny that I took advantage of that connect to score two pairs of Travis Scott Dunks.
Theres a vibe among my classmates that I call the hypebeast craze.
The poster boy for their culture is Lil Mabu, the son of a record label owner.
Mabu grew up on Manhattans Gold Coast, but raps NYC drill tunes about drive-bys.
Im partial to colors found in nature; theyre the opposite of the cues seen on hypebeast feet.
After we picked our leathers, we taped outlines over them, then traced the outlines with heat pens.
But a shoe is made of dozens of pieces mud guards, eyelets, vamps, etc.
Despite my best efforts, I botched a couple of pieces and got serious hand cramps doing so.
I felt lousy about throwing out hunks of leather.
It was the first of many skill tests that made me sweat.
But a skiving machine is a hungry beast.
If you dont have complete control of the skin, it gets gobbled up by the blade.
Whole strips of leather would be shredded to dust before I found the proper angle for the knife.
If you think sewing on one of those is easy, Im here to tell you that youre wrong.
Its like driving between two 18-wheelers without a steering wheel.
I was always at an angle that didnt hug the curve, then screwed up and overcorrected.
Furious at myself, I ripped out the blown seams.
The next pass was better, but the stitches were still janky.
I begged Matt to let me retry; he told me to move along.
If youre 10 feet away, those seams look halfway decent.
But come closer and youll think I bought my shoes from a blind seamstress in Malaysia.
We did glue the soles on, but that was just step one.
Step two was stitching the soles through the inside of the shoe.
I stabbed myself hard, smearing blood all over those kicks.
Making your own shoes is like jumping against LeBron.
One of you is going to need stitches and it wont be him.
Despite the million mistakes Id made, I was the one who finished first.
I lifted my brown-and-white Dunks to the light.
The tongue was off-center, the stitches were wonky, and the toe-box looked like a pugs face.
I was thrilled, nonetheless till I put them on.
They chafed my ankles and waffled when I walked, as if the seams were about to pop loose.
I felt like Id lost a game of pickup ball and wanted to yell, I GOT NEXT!
Still, I wore them to school last fall and got nods from the hypebeasts in the hall.
Whatever, I thought but didnt say, already dreaming of my second pair.
Last Christmas, I built a makeshift studio in my bedroom.
Ill never be the LeBron of lifestyle sneakers, but bit by bit, Im getting the hang.
One day, I hope to be good enough to make a pair I can actually play in.
