On the gritty and grimy pavements of NEW YORK CITY, your kicks are more than just shoes and shelter for your feet. They are your transportation, your wheels, a symbol of status. Armor against all the shit thrown at you by the concrete. They can also be armor for your self-esteem and ego—“WHAT ARE THOOSEEEEEE?” “DAMN THEM SHITS IS FLY, I WANT THOSE!” For graffiti writers, our footwear is our silent partner on all types of missions above ground, underground, and all of the street level trooping. Our kicks hold us down, through chaotic chases, climbing dangerous heights, navigating through treacherous tunnels and back blocks. Your footwear is a badge of identity—BUILT FOR MOVE MAKING MANEUVERS. These kicks seen it all, been through it all. With paint splatters, scuffs and scrapes, bumps and bruises, broken glass and vials, PAINT SPLATTERS AND BLOOD MATTER. These shoes held us down and played a major role in all the surfaces and ground we covered for fame. Time to lace up, put my foot down and begin to stroll into whatever my sneakers lead me to in the after hours of the concrete jungle. This here is a tribute to an old article of YRB magazine (Yellow Rat Bastard Mag) done back in 2003. Which I also happened to be part of. You know the old saying… “HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF!”
-POST VSOP
POST VSOP, Nike Air Max Retro 2006.
Read the full feature in Living Proof Magazine Issue 12. Available on the Living Proof Patreon and Online Shop.
