And the Nike's on my feet...

There was a time when I was convinced that Nike was exploiting school-age third world* children to manufacture their kicks and then I came upon Air Rifts and no longer cared. It was June of 2000 and I picked up a rare grey pair with white, red, and black accents at Transit. There were like three people rocking toe separators before me; I was a real trailblazer. I remember later pilgrimaging to Alife Rivington Club and all those L.E.S. sneaker spots I'd discovered sitting on my Morehouse brother's couch in Atlanta reading his GQ (or was it Esquire?). I was wholly dissapointed when I saw their shoddy Rift stock. Paris, on the other hand, did not dissapoint (various shops on the latin quarter's Rue Mouffetard had phenomenal color combos and I even happened upon some Royal Elastics toe-separating tennies) but Europeans always seem to fare better than us when it comes to fashion. All that said, I'm not that into sneakers just Rifts (11 pairs and counting) and the occasional Bally bowling shoes. Still I'm surprised that Nike is just getting around to giving a female artist, the graf writer Claw Money, her own shoes (pictured above). No, I'm aghast. But if exploited Indonesian Tsunami orphans** can't get me to boycott them, neither will past evidence of sexism.

*I would have said "in the developing world" but wanted to avoid prepositions.
**Ahistorical, I know.