Still, all you need to do is punch in #redwings on Instagram to realize the whole thing has yet to reach post-peak. Sims and Astro weren’t even the first rappers in “the Red Wing boot gang”-Canadian hip-hop artist Drake coined that phrase back in 2010. Over the last several years, after all, “heritage” has been written about in every feature section in every major newspaper in the world. Hulme Co., and Red Wing’s own Red Wing Shoes. If the two didn’t quite look blue-collar, they could certainly sell blue-collar in a rap video.Īs young artists wearing “Made in the USA” denim and “Made in the USA” boots, Sims and Astro are poster boys for what’s become known as the “heritage movement,” the revival in popularity of 100-year-old rough-and-ready outdoor brands like Seattle’s flannel and waxed-canvas purveyor Filson (which will be opening its own boutique in the North Loop this spring), St. They were sporting nearly identical haircuts and exhibiting similar taste in flannel and denim. We sit around watching football and talk about our Red Wings.īoth Sims and Astronautalis are catalog-ready white dudes-young, slim, clean-cut, with blue eyes-and both had recently undergone an evolution in their look.
Or at least this is what some men do now, whether they’re in the North Loop in Minneapolis or Bushwick in Brooklyn or Wicker Park in Chicago. It never occurred to any of us that we had stopped paying attention to the football game to seriously discuss shoe shopping.
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“And you don’t know how to look because you don’t know the names.” “You didn’t see the thing because you don’t know how to look,” he says. In Don DeLillo’s masterpiece, Underworld, there’s an old priest who points out that being ignorant of your shoe parts is like being a little boy who doesn’t know how to use his eyes. It feels good in a way that probably speaks to a latent fear modern men have carried as far back as Thoreau: that we don’t know what we’re talking about, that we’re not as capable as our dads or uncles or the guy we pay to fix our wife’s car. Hearing boots referred to by their model number was new to me, but I instantly loved the gearhead talk, the whole language around boots, actually-gusset, vamp, welt, sole, quarter-which makes you feel like you’re discussing something mechanically essential, like you actually know stuff. Sims’s uncle had been a Red Wing salesman for something like 40 years, and he had been able to hook Astro up with a discount.
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As we admired the boots, Sims told us that these were 1907s-apparently a model number of some kind-and that Astro didn’t pay full price. Sims proceeded to produce a brand-new pair of Red Wings, which he handed over to a deeply stoked Astronautalis. “I got your boots,” Sims said as he sat down. The two were midway through a transaction of some kind, though it wasn’t for any of the usual contraband. The two guys share a Christian name-Andy-but local hip-hop aficionados know them as Sims and Astronautalis. Last fall, I was watching Monday Night Football at my friend’s condo in Minneapolis’s North Loop neighborhood when a couple of buddies came through the door.
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