Foot Notes: The Athletic Shoe
Theory of Consumption

The Sneaker Book:
An Anatomy of an Industry and an Icon
By Tom Vanderbilt (The New Press)

By the time the World Cup wound down on July 12, the grand soccer tournament had produced the expected clash between two of the most powerful franchises in all of sports. There was the Brazil-France matchup in the final, yes, but this battle was something far bigger: Nike (on the Brazilian jerseys) vs. Adidas (on the French). These two giants of the sneaker business have been rivals for years, of course, but Nike spent over $40 million promoting itself over the month-long Cup-more than it has ever spent on the 1996 Olympics or any other event, according to The Wall Street Journal.

It should come as no surprise that over-the-top marketing on the part of Nike and other shoe-makers plays a big role in The Sneaker Book, a chatty little volume by Tom Vanderbilt that aims to deliver, as the subtitle puts it, “an anatomy of an industry and icon. ” The upshot of this effort shouldn't be too surprising either: the sneaker business, Vanderbilt reports, is a really big deal. So how did this happen? Why did it happen? What does it all mean? “Somewhere along the line,” he writes, “a shoe became a lifestyle. ”And therein “lies a story of convulsive and cultural changes that have rippled through America in the past few decades, of the quicksilver reorganization of the global economy, of a fundamental shift in the relation between consumers and products.”

Before attempting to back this up, Vanderbilt claims a “decidedly ambivalent relationship” with the sneaker phenomenon, and confesses to “share the fetishistic enthusiasm for sneakers common to so many American consumers.” He then does a nice job sketching the history of the sneaker business and charting the unlikely popularity of the “athletic shoe,” even among those who are not particularly athletic. We are introduced to Chuck Taylor, a 1920s semipro ballplayer and salesman whose name lives on some Converse models to this day. We learn of the fraternal split that caused the Dassler shoe company to split into Adidas and Puma in 1948 (and of the latter company's attempt to marry two great consumer movements in the $200 “RS Computer Shoe” in 1985; it didn't work out). And we're reminded that, today's pumped-up sneakers notwithstanding, as recently as the late 1970s Larry Bird seemed to get by just fine in plain old Chucks.

When it comes to laying out the explosion of marketing costs and the proliferation of questionable improvements to shoe “technology,” Vanderbilt doesn't have to do much beyond listing silly shoe names and quoting the embarrassing hype of industry honchos. Are you familiar with Nike's “Air Movin' Uptempo” model? Do you recall the “dual-density Tri-Wedge system” in Pumas? If that sort of thing is a little baroque for you, maybe you should buy Vans; that shoe-maker's CEO is quoted here proclaiming simply that “Vans is all about lifestyle.” Clearly, anyone who finds himself making such a vapid declaration ought to pause to consider whether his business hasn't become a parody of itself.

This is only part of Vanderbilt's point. When he trots out familiar complaints about shoe-makers' faux-rebel marketing image and controversial use of Third World subcontractors, it becomes clear pretty quickly that his take is anything but ambivalent. But his attempt to articulate what sneaker popularity "might suggest about America" gets lost in the repetition, uneven writing style (sometimes appealingly breezy, occasionally pointed, often term paperish), and all-around mushiness. Moreover, while The Sneaker Book's critiques are valid, they're not exactly groundbreaking: The book is laced with references to the many articles that have been written about the business and culture of athletic shoes, and padded (or “supplemented”) with excerpts from other books and even cartoons.

Compounding this staleness is the fact that, as Vanderbilt notes, the sneaker business actually peaked in the early 1990s. (Nike's run at the world soccer market comes just as it has posted its first quarterly loss in 13 years.) This makes The Sneaker Book an odd choice to initiate the "Bazaar Book" series, a sort of brand extension for the New Press that promises to dissect other consumer products in future books. Interestingly, the format of The Sneaker Book is a lot less serious than its tone: Jazzed up with catch-phrase subheadings, sidebars and graphics, it's another example of the book as light entertainment, something not so much to be read as to be skimmed and then displayed.

Which brings me to my last point. While I'm not as offended by Nike's ads as Vanderbilt seems to be-a recent spot featuring the Brazilian World Cup team was pretty charming-my only sneakers are Converse, and I've never experienced anything approaching a “fetishistic enthusiasm” for any shoes at all. Why, despite everything, does Vanderbilt? If his analysis were less transparently didactic, perhaps he would have come back around to the question of reconciling a fully informed ideology with the desire to buy certain kinds of products now and again. But he doesn't, and that's his book's greatest misstep. Ultimately, manipulative marketing alone doesn't explain why even cynical consumers-like, apparently, Vanderbilt-might still decide to buy an item not for its intrinsic quality but because of the message it supposedly telegraphs to others about the kind of person you are. I guess that's harder to explain, whether the purchased object is a pair of Nikes for the gym, a pair of Chucks for backyard barbecues, or even a copy of The Sneaker Book for the coffee table.

This review appeared in Newsday on August 16, 1998.