The thrill of the hunt

There was a time when sneaker collecting felt like a secret club. You had to know where to look, who to talk to, and when to strike. It wasn't just about buying shoes; it was about the chase, the community, and the stories behind each pair. I remember lining up outside stores at ridiculous hours, refreshing web pages like a maniac, and even making deals with people halfway across the world just to get my hands on a rare pair.

Back then, every sneaker had a story. Whether it was a collaboration with an artist, a tribute to a historic moment, or just a colourway that hit differently, each pair felt special. I wasn't just buying shoes; I was curating a collection that meant something to me.

Then everything changed

Somewhere along the way, sneaker culture shifted. What was once a tight-knit community of collectors and enthusiasts became a battlefield of bots, resellers, and hype-driven chaos. Suddenly, it wasn't about the love of sneakers anymore-it was about flipping them for profit.

Brands caught on to the hype and started pumping out more and more limited releases, making it nearly impossible to buy a pair at retail price. If you weren't running a bot or willing to pay insane resale prices, you were out of luck. The hunt became less about passion and more about frustration.

And the community? It changed too. What used to be a space for genuine sneakerheads became overrun with people who didn't care about the history or the culture-they just wanted to make a quick buck. The conversations weren't about design, comfort, or nostalgia anymore; they were about resale value and stock market-style predictions.

The sneaker game used to be about passion, now it's just about profit.

Why I stepped back

At some point, I realised I wasn't enjoying it anymore. The stress of trying to cop a pair, the disappointment of missing out, and the ridiculous prices on the resale market-it all became too much. Sneaker collecting had lost its magic for me.

So, I made a decision. I stopped chasing hype. I stopped trying to keep up with every new drop. Instead, I focused on what I actually loved about sneakers: the design, the comfort, and the nostalgia. Now, I only buy pairs that truly mean something to me, not because they're limited or hyped, but because I genuinely want to wear them.

And honestly? It's been freeing. No more stress, no more frustration-just me and my kicks, the way it was always meant to be.

I stopped chasing hype and started buying sneakers for me.

What's next?

Even though I've stepped back from the madness, my love for sneakers hasn't gone anywhere. I still have pairs in my collection that date back to 2002, some of which I keep in storage for safekeeping. There's only so many pairs you can wear at once, after all.

Maybe one day the sneaker game will find its way back to what it used to be. Maybe the community will shift again, and the passion will outweigh the profit. Until then, I'll be here, rocking the pairs that mean something to me, and leaving the hype behind.