Style Features

For the past couple of months, everyone around me has been talking about running shoes. My girlfriends have traded in their stilettos for black-and-white Pumas and vintage yellow suede Nikes; my guy friends are rocking pristine-white Etnies and vibrant, multicoloured high-top Nikes. One acquaintance returned from New York to report that he had attended a sneaker party; the whole purpose of the gathering was to show off rare runners. Another friend said a girl he knows just bought professional display cases and track lighting to house her collection.

Pop culture seems to share this shoe fetish; rappers in particular are calling a lot of attention to their footwear. Reebok has recruited all the top urban icons as pitchmen: Jay-Z has the S. Carter line; 50 Cent has the G-Unit; Pharrell Williams has just released the Ice Cream collection. Nelly has a song solely dedicated to hyping Nike's Air Force Ones. There's even been a rash of books published on the subject, including DJ Bobbito's Where'd You Get Those? New York City's Sneaker Culture: 1960-1987 (Powerhouse Books, 2003). How did gym shoes get to be so huge? Where is this widespread obsession with sneakers coming from?

At the Vancouver International Hip-Hop Film Festival this September, one documentary, Sneakers , offered some insight. Netherlands director Femke Wolting tracked the progression of the sneaker from functional sportswear to a marker of cultural identity. He interviewed shoe historian Scoop Jackson, who believes that American ghettos inspired the global sneaker explosion. Young black men in the inner city experienced low employment rates and had little spending money, Jackson argues. With no jobs to dress up for and limited funds, they made cheap basketball shoes like Converse the footwear of choice.

As time went on, running shoes became a status symbol. Sporting brand-new designer kicks demonstrated that one was moving up; conspicuous consumerism was a way of asserting identity in the face of harsh economic and social realities. When hip-hop artists exploded onto the international stage, they transformed sneakers into high fashion. The track "My Adidas", for instance, saw Run-DMC popularize 'hood style and skyrocket sales for the shell-toed shoe. When Michael Jordan teamed up with Nike for the Air Jordan, sneaker culture hit the mainstream in a big way. The shoe was so highly anticipated that it had a release date, just like an album.

Nowadays, sneaker enthusiasts all over the world have massive collections that keep eBay in business. A select group of Vancouver hip-hop heads has always been up on kicks, but the sneaker-freak culture here is growing exponentially, and a new store has recently opened in Gastown to serve this demographic.

Livestock (239 Abbott Street) is the brainchild of Garret Louie (aka G-Man), urban music promoter, DJ, and long-time sneaker collector. Louie's day job is co-owner of Timebomb Trading, a skateboard, snowboard, and streetwear distribution company. Over the past 15 years, he has travelled extensively for work, hitting major sneaker spots in Japan, New York, Los Angeles, and London, and picking up hundreds of pairs along the way. Louie decided this year that Van City was ready for a serious sneaker boutique. He teamed up with Kenta Kimura, Garry Bone, and Robert Rizk to open Livestock, which is one of a handful of stores in North America that carries such desirable, collectible sneakers.

Deadstock is a term for shoes that have never been worn and that are still in the box with their original laces. These shoes are the most valuable to collectors. Louie and company decided that they wanted to emphasize enjoyment. "We said, 'Screw keeping them in the box, even though they could be worth $500 down the road,' " he explains, interviewed recently at the shop. "We said, 'Let's call it Livestock. Let's wear the shoes: skateboard in them, b-boy in them, wear them to the club.' "

The store is beautifully designed, with a minimalist modern vibe. Dozens of carefully selected shoes line the walls. (Prices range from $60 to $300.) Louie walks me around, pointing out favourites and imparting design and history tips. Many of the shoes are packaged in bundles: a baseball pack has soft glove leather; a World Cup soccer pack features the colours of national flags; a Navigation pack has maps of the big sneaker collecting cities laser cut onto leather panels. One of the hot lines right now is Japanese designer Nigo's Bathing Ape brand.

The store balances its stock between rare finds and more traditional fare. It focuses on expanding the culture through sponsoring hip-hop shows and art events, and encouraging budding sneaker heads. "We don't want to be that shop that cops an attitude that's too cool for school," Louie says. "Everyone was starting in this culture at one time. We're totally cool with educating people."