The Space Jam 11’s That I Never Wear

They’re my favorite pair of sneakers, but I can’t bring myself to wear them.

The best gift I ever received was the Sega Genesis my parents gave my brother and I for Christmas in 1993. But the Space Jam 11’s my brother gave me in 2009 are a close second to that Sega Genesis.

Both gifts were equally awesome in their own right. To an 8-year old in the early 90’s, a Sega Genesis was about as good as it gets. To a sneaker obsessed 24-year old in the late 2000’s, you can’t do much better than the Space Jam 11’s. But the way I enjoyed both gifts couldn’t have been more different.

While my brother and I damn near played that Sega Genesis until the buttons on the controllers were worn down to nothing, I’ve laced up those Space Jams maybe 12 times in the last six years. That Sega Genesis, with its crude graphics and limited gameplay, was the source of countless hours of entertainment. But those Space Jams have hardly ever been on my feet.

It isn’t because I don’t like them, it’s because I value those Space Jams too much. I value them more than any person should reasonably value a pair of sneakers.

They are, without a doubt, one of the most coveted and celebrated sneakers in the Jordan sneaker catalog. A fact that is no small feat considering how far we’ve come since the Air Jordan 1 was released 30 years ago.

But I don’t just value those Space Jams. I worry about them. I worry about them getting scuffed. I worry about the icy sole fading and yellowing. I worry about creases forming on the patent leather by the toes. I worry about nearly every possible thing that could happen to those sneakers while they’re on my feet. I worry about them so much that I can’t even enjoy them.

The less I’ve worn those sneakers through the years, the more it seems like there’s never an occasion that’s special enough to warrant me putting them on my feet.

It’s become stressful to wear my Space Jams.

It’s almost like I’m wearing a work of art on my feet. And in some ways, the Space Jams are a work of art. From the iconic sole to the patent leather upper to the unmistakable laces, the Jordan 11 would look pretty good sitting in a museum. But I don’t put them on display in my apartment, either. Instead, I keep them in the original box in my closet. Hidden away from the light and anything else that could potentially harm them.

It’s completely ridiculous. I understand that. It shouldn’t be this way. I believe that sneakers, even the most sought after retro pairs, should be worn and enjoyed. But I can’t bring myself to do that with my Space Jam 11’s.

As Tyler Durden said in Fight Club: “The things you own end up owning you.”

I don’t own those Space Jam 11’s. They own me.

Since the day I got them I feel like I’ve been eternally saving them for something special. Some event or time where I’ll need them to be in pristine condition. But that day never comes.

Invariably, I ask myself what I’m saving them for. Why am I keeping these sneakers stored away as if the future of the world depended on them being preserved? I’ll never resell them. It seems that no event is important enough for me to ever wear them. I don’t even have them situated somewhere visible in my apartment. They just sit in a box in my closet.

It’s gotten to a point where those Space Jams are more of an idea than they are an actual, physical pair of sneakers that I could put on my feet.

Whatever enjoyment I might get out of wearing them, my actions suggest that the idea of those Space Jams and what they represent is more important to me than anything else.

Even though I know how ridiculous this sounds, I still can’t bring myself to wear them on a regular basis. I still can’t bring myself to take them out of the box and display them somewhere.

I’m paralyzed.

And in this paralysis I keep them sitting in that shoebox. Out of sight. Making sure they’re safe. With the shoetrees positioned snugly inside both the left and right shoe. All the while, those sneakers own me instead of the other way around. Even though I have them in my possession, I feel like I’ll never truly own those Space Jam 11’s.

At this point, I don’t know if I should just resign myself to this fate or if I should try to snap out of it and start treating them like they’re just a pair of sneakers. I guess I have to figure out whether I like the idea of those Space Jams more than I like the actual Space Jams themselves.

I know what the 8-year old version of me would do. Just like he did with that Sega Genesis over 20 years ago, he would enjoy the hell out of those Space Jams. He would wear them rain or shine. He would scuff them up. He would welcome the inevitable creases that formed around the patent leather on the toes. He would live in those shoes until they fell apart. Above all, he would own those Space Jams. Maybe I should listen to the 8-year old version of myself a little more.