In 2016, I, like most other teenagers of the time, realized that the apparent key to fitting in — the so-called “missing piece” in the puzzle of adolescent chicness — was an unassuming white sneaker: Nike’s iconic Air Force 1. Once this registered, suddenly, they were everywhere I looked — at my school, at the local grocery store, stacked neatly in the cubbies where students had to store their shoes before my martial arts lessons. Sheepishly, I bought a pair for myself and vowed to never admit that there was a time prior to my ownership of them — and I certainly acted like it. 

These shoes came with me everywhere: through high school, a pandemic, vacations and even to college. In fact, they are waiting in my dorm room right now, neatly tucked away under my bed should I ever need to don them in the event of a haphazardly-muddy function. 

But, upon reflection, all this begs the question: “How did they end up unworn, under a bed?” This, for me, can be chalked up to a single, cutting instance. I was walking around SoHo back in 2023 with my friend, both of us sporting our matching white-on-white Air Force 1’s when I heard a well-dressed passerby say to her companion, 

“Oh my god. They’re still wearing Air Forces.”

 Oh my god. What did she mean, still? Unbeknownst to me, this shift had been underway for a few years already. Once a symbol of streetwear credibility, hip-hop influence and mass appeal, the Air Force 1 has slowly begun to fall out of favor amidst a growing cultural gravitation toward quiet luxury, minimalism and a rejection of logomania.

Cleaner, quieter, more “sophisticated” sneakers have taken over, carrying a different kind of cultural weight; one of minimalism and subtlety. The rise and fall of the Air Force 1 reflects more than just a natural fashion cycle: it signifies a broader cultural tilt away from the maximalism and streetwear dominance of the 2010s and toward a more restrained, “quiet luxury” aesthetic. This not only highlights fashion’s ever-changing landscape but also reveals underlying ideological changes in how we perceive status, individuality and cultural capital.

According to author Fred Davis, who has significantly studied fashion as a system of symbolic communication, clothing operates as a “code” — its meaning is shaped by associations to social and cultural contexts. And truly, compared to the Nike Air Force 1, few other sneakers have come close to achieving equivalent cultural longevity, adaptability and notoriety. 

Created in 1982, Air Force 1s were made as a basketball shoe to feature Nike’s groundbreaking “Air technology,” its meaning was rooted in athletic performance and innovation. However, by the 1990s, the AF1 had transcended its original purpose and became embedded in hip-hop culture and urban streetwear. In Harlem, where the shoes were particularly popular, their sleek, all-white design symbolized status, style and individuality. From a context-dependent standpoint, however, we can better understand how the same pair of sneakers could carry vastly different meanings — in inner-city neighborhoods, the AF1 became a symbol of cultural pride and creative expression. Yet, for suburban teens like myself, it represented accessibility to an effortlessly “cool” aesthetic associated with hip-hop and the music industry. This fluidity in meaning gave the AF1 its universal appeal, but it also set the stage for its eventual overexposure. 

Fashion codes are highly dependent on exclusivity and once something becomes too contrived, its symbolic power diminishes. Historically, subversive styles are eventually adopted into the mainstream and stripped of their original tones of opposition, and by the mid-2010s, the AF1 had truly reached peak saturation; appearing in everything from Instagram posts to mall displays. Its formerly-edgy associations with streetwear and urban culture were thus neutralized, transforming it into what sociologist Dick Hebdige calls a “naturalized” object — one so familiar that it feels like a default, rather than a statement. 

Alternatively, for many youths of color, wearing AF1s was a way to assert visibility and cultural pride in a society that often scrutinizes their bodies; the sneaker became a form of self expression that engaged with broader systems of power. However, this visibility was often a double-edged sword; the AF1’s ties to streetwear culture meant that its wearers were frequently subjected to radicalized, prejudiced stereotypes. Public debates surrounding “respectability” in fashion — similar to those surrounding the appropriateness of sagging pants — only echo the assertion that clothing is deeply tied to morality and social order. While the AF1 originally allowed wearers to claim a sense of cultural agency, it also reinforced the ways in which certain styles are judged when associated with marginalized communities. 

Probably the most defining period of the last decade is that of the COVID-19 pandemic — it affected everything from the way we travel, to the way we work, even the way we interact with other people. Furthermore, it reshaped the way people dress. 

In the early years of the pandemic, consumers embraced boldness, experimentation and excess: bright colors, oversized silhouettes and a renewed love for statement streetwear — I’m sure many of us remember the patchwork jeans from 2020. 

However, as life resumed its typical normalcy, a reactionary shift began: aesthetic minimalism took popular hold, favoring comfort, timelessness and neutrality — likely a result of the increasing popularity of loungewear as “outside” clothes. Consumers began to move away from chunky sneakers, neon colorways and un-subtlety as a theme, instead favoring understated, well-made pieces that signaled sophistication rather than overt trend-chasing. While AF1s once portrayed “effortless coolness,” their overexposure — and, let’s be real, racially-motivated cultural associations — eventually rendered them “loud” and outdated. 

In contrast, brands like New Balance, Adidas and Asics have recently gained traction, positioning themselves as alternatives that felt fresh and understated, yet still culturally credible. This shift also aligns with my belief of how clothing reflects changing social hierarchies; the AF1’s maximalist roots in hip-hop and streetwear no longer align with the restrained elegance that defines contemporary fashion elitism. Instead, in a flurry of exclusivity, today’s aesthetic preferences favor the “invisible codes” of wealth and taste — qualities that the Air Force 1, with its mass-market appeal, can unfortunately no longer embody. The shoes’ once-positive connection to streetwear now clashes messily with the rise of “quiet luxury,” a movement that actively distances itself from the overt branding and maximalist aesthetics defining the last decade.

Within this context, the rise of understated sneakers marks a deliberate rejection of mainstream symbols — ironically, creating a new, similarly overdone mainstream in the process. What was once a subversive fashion statement has been normalized to the point of losing its edge, leaving customers desperately searching for new symbols of distinction. The AF1, caught between two worlds — too widespread to feel exclusive anymore, yet too tied to maximalism to feel modern — embodies this tension. At the core of the “quiet luxury” aesthetic is an intentional rejection of logomania and mass-marketing. Despite the precedent set by the loudness of the 2010s, the pendulum of trendiness has swung decidedly towards subtlety; the fashion elite of today appear to be gravitating towards muted colors, sleek silhouettes and heritage brands — brands with a reliable reputation and loyal customer base — that all emphasize craftsmanship over predictably-cyclical cultural hype. As a result, sneakers like the New Balance 550s, Adidas Sambas and Asics Onitsuka Tiger Mexico 66’s have replaced the AF1 as the “cooler” choice — not because they are inherently better, comfier or more versatile, but simply because they signal a fresh taste. 

While the AF1 was once a universal, adaptable shoe, it is now seen as too predictable, too recognizable for a new generation of fashion-conscious consumers seeking distinction. This trajectory exemplifies the notion that the meaning of fashion is deeply contextual and always subject to the pressures of changing tastes and cultural ideologies. 

 However, beneath the indelicate shift in sneaker culture lies a more inconspicuous ideological movement; one that intertwines with the — subjective, yet noticeable — rise of conservatism and modesty culture in current influential social spheres. While fashion is inherently cyclical, there is growing evidence that our recent pivot towards restraint, discretion and classicism is not simply a typical, fleeting trend, but part of a broader cultural recalibration. The understated aesthetics of “quiet luxury” operate as a kind of philosophical symbol for exclusivity and refined taste, accessible only to those who can read and understand its subtleties. In our modern era, where social media serves to magnify wealth disparities, dressing in an intentionally understated way has become a new form of signaling social capital through exclusivity — communicating privilege through invisible subcultural codes. This aesthetic, often dubbed “old money” on social media, reflects a nostalgia for structure, tradition and timeless style. Instead of flaunting designer logos or bold collaborations, fashion elites have embraced “low-key luxury,” where clothing and accessories are — inconveniently for the rest of us — only recognizable to those “in the know.” 

Within this recalibration, the AF1 — rooted in hip-hop and streetwear — feels increasingly out of place. While the sneaker certainly retains much of its former cultural weight, it has since been stigmatized as mass-marketed, rather than aspirational. This shift reflects the broader ideological values of restraint and subtlety, making the AF1 a casualty of fashion’s current fixation on refinement and discretion. Yet within this new ethos of quiet sophistication, the question remains: is this shift away from the AF1 a true cultural transformation, or just another phase in fashion’s cyclical nature? 

Fashion trends often evolve through processes of “associative linkages,” with past aesthetics remerging in new contexts; in my opinion, it’s entirely possible that today’s minimalist tastes will eventually give way to another wave of bold, statement-driven fashion, potentially reviving the AF1’s relevance. Just as streetwear dominated the cultural landscape of the last decade, maximalism may also reassert itself in the future. However, what’s striking is that, unlike previous moments in fashion history, the decline of the AF1 is not merely tied to aesthetic preferences, but it is deeply intertwined with shifts in broader cultural values. This tangible shift towards quiet luxury, modesty and intentionality suggests that this movement in fashion is more than just aesthetic preferences — it’s about signaling a different kind of social capital. 

This aesthetic shift isn’t just happening in a vacuum; the rise of nationalist politics, economic instability and a growing skepticism about progressive social movements have all contributed to a desire for “stability” and a return to “classic” (outdated) values. Parallels are evident in previous historical movements: after the iconic radicalism of the 1960s, the subsequent Reaganite era of the 1980s witnessed a resurgence of preppy, tailored fashion. Even as recently as the early 2000s, hyper-femininity and casual corporate dress were thrust into the mainstream following the cultural experimentation of the 1990s. 

Today, America grapples with economic anxiety, cultural clashes and a general sense of exhaustion behind rapid change. It makes perfect sense why we’re seeing a return to more conservative values, with trending aesthetics following suit. Truly, this was never just a matter of shoes; the AF1 may one day regain its status, but for now, it serves as a reminder that in fashion — as in society — what we wear is never just about simple aesthetics. It’s about power, identity and who gets to define what is “in” and what is left discarded under a bed.