The designasty
In the mid to late 90s, in the mountains of Northern California, ‘style’ was little more than a word. Most of my peers were trying to fit in while being unique enough to stand out, while having very limited options with which to do so. The nearest “fashionable” clothing store was something like Champs Sports, about thirty miles away in Reno, Nevada. Most kids had exposure to TV. I had exposure to SLAM Magazine and The Source, so I took most of my fashion cues from there.
If someone showed up to school one day wearing something wild, we all tried to get our hands on something similar but definitely not the same. That meant - if someone had a dope Zephyr Hoyas hat, you had to get a Zephyr hat - it just couldn’t be for the Hoyas. That was the key. Similar, not identical. But it was tough. You had to know someone going thirty miles away, and you had to have the money to actually buy something. And the product actually had to exist.
What ended up happening a lot was the borrowing and trading of clothes. I used to borrow or trade with dudes I wouldn’t be caught dead actually hanging out with. Style and music were the overlap. Everything else was negotiable.
When those Nike College Basketball shooting shirts dropped, I think they were around sixty bucks, which was an enormous amount of money in the late 90s. The first one I remember seeing was the Georgetown one, possibly worn by my best friend Tom Cruz. My god, it was striking. When I asked him about it, he told me there were only a few teams available…I remember Georgetown, UNC, Cincinnati, and maybe Michigan.
I immediately started scheming. Baby blue never looked good on me, but it was a fresh color that had connotations - I wanted the UNC shirt for myself. My grandparents lived in North Carolina, and of course there was MJ. I had to have that one.
Unfortunately, before I saved up enough money, the star running back at our school owned it. He was kind of an asshole but I knew him from the time we were kids kids…we didn’t really associate much, but we were cool. We shared a similar sense of style and taste in music. So we traded a lot. But when I approached him about the UNC shirt and asked what it would take, he was open to it. We worked out a deal. I gave him a handful of CDs. X-Raided (semi local legend), JT tha Bigga Figga, Puff, Mase, The Lox. Something like that. And the shirt was mine. Even though it was a size XL and I was a solid schmedium, I rocked it as often as I could. A few months later, people started asking me if I’d trade it.
My buddy across the street, Mike, was always eyeing my clothes. His shoes were often heat, but we couldn’t trade shoes because I was a size 9 and he was a size 15. He was a bit bigger, so the oversized clothing thing worked in my favor. He also loved that UNC shirt and I was already on to the next…One day I decided to lend it to him with no leverage, no trade, no conditions.
Within a week, he left a hot iron on it and burned the hell out of it Dead center in the chest. I was livid. I decided to charge him sixty dollars, knowing full well he didn’t have the money. It caused a weird tension between us because every time I saw him I was mad and every time he saw me he probably felt like a schmuck. I thought it was intentional - I was sixteen and an idiot.
One day, my dad noticed the tension and and asked what was going on. I told him and he shut it down immediately. He told me I couldn’t charge Mike and I needed to live with my decision because the potential for damage was the cost of letting people borrow things. He said I’d know better next time.
I don’t remember how cleanly I let it go, but I did and I eventually just let Mike keep the shirt. I wasn’t gonna wear it. I got new shirts. Life moved on. Mike and I are still distant friends, nearly thirty years later.
At the time, that felt like the end of the story. And it probably would have been another lost to the sands of time…if…it wasn’t.
Almost thirty years later, I found myself in Portland, standing at the rooftop bar of Hotel Eastlund, talking to another guy named Mike Cartell, who I just met. At some point, I noticed he had changed his outfit…or…at least I thought he had. He was suddenly wearing the full Georgetown kit. Shorts and all. Fire. Why, though? Kind of a strange thing to do in the middle of rooftop bar drinking.
I asked him if he had changed his clothes and he leaned in close: “Do you see that guy over there? That’s Ken Black. He designed all the Nike Team Sports stuff in the 90s. I own ALL of it.”
I had never heard of Ken Black. Furthermore, I had never once considered the idea that there were actual (designers) people behind the clothes we obsessed over. But the words “Team Sports” hit immediately. My brain went straight to that unmistakeable tag, then that burned UNC shirt.
I took note and kept it moving. I didn’t think much of it beyond that as I was also in the same room as the guys that worked with the basketball gods from my youth - one more designer in that list was another example of how ignorant I’ve been throughout the whole adulation of the final product.
The following night, at the Academy of Arts event, I ran into Ken Black in one of the offices. I introduced myself and handed him one of those MJ Blazers cards I created. He smirked and said it crushed his heart because he was a lifelong Blazers fan. We laughed. We didn’t really talk about Nike Team Sports at all, we talked a bit about art and design and…mostly about fatherhood. The conversation was short, but it went deeper than most. Again, this conversation took place because of sneakers.
We stayed in touch.
A few weeks later, a package showed up at my door including a T-shirt and a note with news that he was starting a podcast called ‘The Designasty’ and he’d like my opinion if I had a few minutes. I hit play on my commute home and within minutes learned that another person I had been in the same room with on that same night - Drake Ramberg - had designed another article of clothing that I sought out.
In 1994 - I started out my freshman year of high school in the UK. While there, I learned that, although the details were slightly different, the framing for the youth was pretty much the same: something sports-related almost always helped you fit in. And in the UK, the sport was Soccer. And who had the licensing for the jerseys? Nike.
Even though Manchester United was THE team and Ryan Giggs was THE guy, there happened to be another star player on another team in the league that had the same last name as me. David Platt from Arsenal. And what better way to fit while still remain original than with an Arsenal Jersey that had MY name printed across the back?
I didn’t actually secure that David Platt jersey until much, much later in life - I’m talking 15 years later - but when I did eventually get it, the memories came rushing back. And my desire to just have it never waned. I STILL look for different versions of that jersey to this day.
And, shit, Drake Ramberg - the guy talking with the guy that designed my UNC shirt - DESIGNED the Arsenal jersey!
Looking back, what messes with me is how none of this was intentional. This was just the universe circling back. And really, you’d be surprised at how often that actually happens when you spend so much of your life focusing on the things you like to focus on.
I didn’t set out to understand design. I didn’t plan on meeting the people behind the things I loved. I didn’t know where lending a shirt, trading CDs, or saying yes to conversations would lead. I always wanted to feel like I looked fresh. And because of that, I just stayed open. Open to new experiences. Open to the unknown. Open to the possibility that things are…just…connected. And somehow, those small, unremarkable decisions ended up tying together loose threads across decades, places, memories, and most importantly - people.
At sixteen, all I knew was that I wanted to wear something that made me feel like I belonged. At forty-five, I’m realizing that the things I cared about most were always quietly pointing me toward people, not objects.
Closing the circle after thirty years on the path is truly finding the long way around.
Drake Ramberg is a legend! I spent my childhood drawing the Flight logo, and only found out a few years ago that he designed it!
This was beautiful to read