Context: A hypebeast is someone who will camp overnight for sneakers they're afraid to crease.
I worked at Nike during the apex of hypebeast culture. From 2009–2014, I was designing headwear, boardshorts, and tees for Nike SB, Nike Sportswear, and the now-defunct Nike 6.0.
It's hard to explain the fervor for limited-edition apparel, especially footwear, but streetwear was becoming very popular. Skateboarding was no longer a niche subgenre of culture. It was the culture.
During this period, Fairfax Ave in LA was a hub for it all. Supreme, BAPE, Diamond Supply, ALIFE, and others had retail stores there. Hypebeasts would line up around the block to nab the latest limited drops.
I live in Orange County and would make the pilgrimage a couple of times a year. In 2009, I walked out of The Hundreds shop to discover Jason Schwartzman talking to the rapper from Gym Class Heroes — what a time.
Quick detour: just before the movie Crazy, Stupid, Love, Ryan Gosling and I were the only two people shopping for denim in American Rag. He was so tan, jacked, and tall, I was praying no paparazzi would snap a pic of me near him. I'd look anemic.
So, what happened? Where are the hypebeasts now?
COVID nearly killed retail. LA was shut down for a long time. Then limited drops moved online, which gave the resell jerks an advantage for sniping product even faster.
But one thing almost no one talks about is just how easy it is to start a brand now. And everyone has cool merch! With a Shopify site and one social media influencer, brands can do serious revenue with far less investment.
Hype didn't disappear. It became DIY.