‘Sneakerheads’: How culture, exclusivity define the resale value of sneakers

In a 1984 exhibition game against the Knicks, Chicago basketball rookie Michael Jordan’s red and black sneakers caught heat from the NBA. In a letter sent to Nike, the association cited that their “rules and procedures” prohibited the shoes.

During the star’s 1985 season, Nike ran the iconic “Banned!” campaign for the Air Jordan 1.

“On Sept. 15, Nike created a revolutionary new basketball shoe. On Oct. 18, the NBA threw them out of the game,” said the voiceover for a TV commercial as the camera panned down to Jordan’s shoes, which were covered with black censor bars. “Fortunately, the NBA can’t keep you from wearing them.”

Showing me his own pair of retro-release AJ1 sneakers, Medill professor Rafael Matos said this is the anecdote he shares with his classes when teaching strategic storytelling.

“This is [the] hero’s journey. You have a clear bad guy, a clear good guy, and you’re fighting this fight to be you,” he said. “That’s the NBA, big corporate machinery, and then you got Jordan, young guy.”

Since then, sneakers have saturated American culture. How consumers engage with the market, however, is changing as they seek new ways to cash out in a red-hot industry. According to Market Decipher, the global sneakers resale market is estimated at $11.5 billion and is expected to reach $53.2 billion by 2033, growing at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 16.4%.

Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) professor Michael Mack is on the forefront of engagement with the sneaker resale market. He recently self-published The Footwear AIndustrial Designer, the textbook for the world-renowned university’s new sneaker design minor, announced in 2022.

“Online has way more presence because there are sites like StockX, which was one of the early big players in sneaker resale,” Mack said. “It really is like a stock market for sneakers… You can kind of buy and hold and sell and trade.”

Resale sites like StockX and GOAT are built around a consignment model, where sellers ship their product to the nearest fulfillment center for authentication before the company sends the product to the buyer, keeping a percentage of the sale.

Weinberg freshman Aliyah Durry, a self-proclaimed “sneakerhead,” said when she worked, she spent the majority of her earnings on shoes, both new and from resale sites.

“The resale market is kind of pointed toward a different audience,” Durry said. “I feel like newer shoes are more for new expression, but reselling shoes is more for bringing things back.”

She is not the only college student joining the sneaker gold rush.

“Our students are 100% participating in the resale market, actively buying and selling. Some of our students have whole businesses where they amass, buy and sell shoes [and] go to different trade shows like Got Sole,” Mack said.

While Matos acknowledged that higher prices in resale — especially for limited edition or otherwise coveted shoes — could present an economic barrier to college students, he also said their priorities kept them as buyers.

“When you talk about the resale value of the shoe, it’s not so much the shoe itself, but rather what is the message you communicate, that branding, that lifestyle that comes associated with a particular shoe,” he said.

Based on these principles, Mack designed his own reconstructed sneaker line, AMLGM. According to Hypebeast, a major streetwear publication, the line bridges the gap between athletic silhouettes and couture.

Mack said he bought around 200 pairs of shoes for the project, both from in-person sneaker resale stores and secondhand sites like Poshmark and Depop, often searching for rare shoes like a specific version of the Reebok Instapump Fury sneakers. He compared sneakers to cars in that once they are purchased, they instantly lose value.

“I wanted to buy a lot of shoes that are discarded, ones that are in mint condition and ones that are new,” he said. “Then take them, reassemble them into new creations and introduce them back into the market with more immense value than they had before in their maybe diminished state.”

By designing something so unique, Mack harnessed the factor that top brands like Nike constantly pursue: exclusivity.

Despite its beginnings as a side project by a group of passionate Nike employees, the SNKRS app accounted for 20% of Nike’s digital business by 2019, according to Business Insider. Characterized by limited edition drops and drawings for the ability to purchase shoes, the app represents the competitiveness of the industry.

“The SNKRS app is less about actually selling you the product and more about building community,” Matos said. “You’re getting access to an exclusive thing, but it’s also like the inclusivity piece by joining this community.”

Durry said sneaker culture stands out from the fashion industry by its focus on marketing yourself to others. She added Nike brings in so many sales because their product is always changing, defining new trends.

“It has a lot to do with personal expression but also with all the different types of shoes and people that wear them, it’s more like you’re looking up to somebody in a way and wearing their brand,” she said.

According to Mack, factories that produce fakes use extremely similar materials and molds as the recognized brands. He said what sets authentic sneakers apart is their decades-long marketing legacy as something defined by an ideological value.

Matos said the resale value of sneakers remains elusive because it centers around cultural implications and brand legacy — factors which are difficult to measure.

“Going back to the Air Jordan, I do believe that’s a shoe that has been ingrained into popular culture. A lot of it, of course, the African American community has really catapulted that shoot and we really owned it and made it a part of our culture,” he said. “Sneakers are an artifact of culture. Sneaker brands understand that and they really play into that.”