I was asked to take a press trip to cover the release of the Stash x Reebok Question Mid in Cambridge, Mass last week. I said yes. Not just because I grew up nearby in New Hampshire and wanted to go home for the weekend, but I wanted to meet Stash. He's one of the people I looked up to when I first dived into sneaker culture in 2006. And he also designed one of my grails that I never got a chance to own: the Stash x Nike Air Max 95s.
I talked to Stash about his latest project with Reebok outside of Concepts. We reminisced on what's changed with limited-edition sneakers, but my mind was worlds away from the work that I was supposed to do.
I was there to talk to Stash about Reeboks, but it reminded me of the Nike Air Max 95s—a sneaker that I had first lost my mind over in 2007. It wasn't until the next year, 2008, that I purchased my first pair of "Neon" 95s from Concepts.
And from then on, I was hooked on 95s.
And from then on, I was hooked on 95s. I purchased two pairs of Chilis, Freshwaters, Mints, and Safety Oranges. The gradient suede on the upper, the chunky black midsole, and the hits of color on the eyelets and the Air unit—they were all perfect to me.
That is until, my persona style started to take on a cleaner look. I wanted to wear Vans Authentics and Sperry Top-Siders to pair with my raw denim and rolled-up chinos.
And as I moved away from my parent's New Hampshire to go to college in New Jersey, I left my 95s in their basement to collect dust. They stayed there for four years, until this past weekend.
After I fulfilled my obligations for the trip, I needed to have 95s on my feet again. I grabbed the commuter train out of Boston's North Station and headed to my parent's house.
After cracking a beer and cooling out, I walk down the steps to the basement where my leftover sneaker collection remained on an Ikea shelf. Sometimes I surprise myself by the sneakers I forgot I owned, but my attention was fixated on one thing: my Mint 95s.
For whatever reason, the they were the ones I wanted to put on my feet. I remembered they were in the best condition, and the Mint-striped laces, eyelets, and Air bags were so subtle. It was super hot the next day, and the only thing on my docket was to shoot guns with my dad while wearing my old sneakers.
When I laced them up, a special feeling came back. I remembered when I was working at Foot Locker in 2008 and Nike had re-released a stream of Gradient 95s, in which I purchased every pair on release day with my employee discount.
The 95 became my gateway to discover New Balances, ASICS, Sauconys, and all the other runner brands I now enjoy. They were also a huge reason on why I chose to leave New Hampshire and pursue a career in media. I wanted to write about sneaker culture, and all the other things that surrounded it, because of my relationship with the 95.
As my time back home came to an end, I wondered why I had ever divorced the Air Max 95 from my life? When Air Max Day came around this year, I was featured in an article where I named my favorite Air Max model of all time—and I wrote about the 93.
I wish I had wrote about the 95. Although the 93 was the silhouette that sparked my interest in Air Maxes, the 95 was the model drove me to care about the nuances of a sneaker's construction. I only wanted 95s with suede and mesh uppers, and, for the record, I won't wear or buy a 95 that doesn't have a black sole. (Any other color sole is not entirely rubber, but it's painted and will chip soon).
It's this same view that allows me to do my job and put a geeked-out eye to a sneaker's details. So you better know I'm going to wear 95s this summer. Just give me a pair of jogger pants and no-show socks, and I'm going to wear my favorite sneaker—whether other people co-sign them or not. It's just too bad it took a trip back home to remember how much they meant and still mean to me.
Matt Welty is an editorial assistant for Complex. You can follow him on Twitter here.
