Image via Retail Store
On Monday, the British streetwear label Corteiz posted a pair of Black Nike Air Max 95 sneakers with pink accents lying on top of a bodega counter with a simple call to action on Instagram:
“BE @ WEST 34TH ST. & 7TH AVE. TOMORROW AT 12:05PM EST. LOCATION REVEALED HERE. FIRST COME FIRST SERVE. 1 PAIR PERSON. WE OUTSIDE. RTW.”
By noon, all four corners of 34th Street and Seventh Avenue were filled with hundreds of people staring in anticipation at a digital Nike billboard perched on top of a building by the southwest corner of 34th Street. Once 12:05 p.m. hit, they stood focused in nearly dead silence with their eyes glued to the screen for 15 more minutes until a flash of text appeared.
“40°43’20.2”N 73°58’48.6”W.”
That’s all it took to send hundreds of people sprinting east toward the nearest subway station, hailing cabs, or jetting off on Citi Bikes to GPS coordinates that led to a corner bodega in Manhattan’s Lower East Side with a sign that read “Corteiz Mart & Deli.” Citi Bikes were haphazardly tossed aside on the sidewalk nearby as a hefty line began to wrap around the corner of East 4th Street that snaked down Avenue C and spilled into East 5th Street.
One security guard, who was mobbed while handing out wristbands that granted access to the bodega, pulled a knife on someone attempting to take them directly out of his pockets. They were snatched in seconds anyway: Resellers were quick to flip the free bands on the spot to desperate Corteiz heads willing to pay as much as $150—mere steps away from the brand’s founder Clint419, who’s been extremely vocal about how much he despises resellers. Police eventually showed up to close off all four intersections near the bodega and quell the crowd.
“At the end of the day, when you do stuff that’s out of the box, it’s what pushes the culture forward,” Clint said the day after the release during an interview with Nike’s SNKRS Live. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? Maybe the police might arrest you or something.”
“I wouldn’t say this is the craziest drop I’ve ever experienced, but it’s the craziest I’ve seen post-COVID,” shared Jesus Ortiz, the owner of the Lower East Side sneaker resale shop Vault 134 who managed to get several pairs of the shoes. “There hasn’t been a pop-up like this in so long and this is exactly why.”
Ever since Corteiz was launched in 2018 by a British-Nigerian entrepreneur from Northwest London who goes by the name Clint419, it’s grown a steady following because of its alternative approach to streetwear. While brands like Supreme and Palace have become famous for highly anticipated drops, the hype came after they built their brand identity around subcultures like skateboarding. Corteiz, on the other hand, has been building its distinctly British story in real time. Appealing directly to a crowd that is more influenced by the way Central Cee dresses instead of releasing a seasonal lookbook with styles that feel co-opted from the streets rather than made by them.
“While Supreme and Palace are urban, they’re not Black owned and not from a Black vision,” said Christopher Chance, a 24-year-old from Brooklyn who was the 10th person in line to buy the sneakers on Tuesday. “There hasn’t been a streetwear brand that comes from the Black UK experience talked about, and it’s about time. Of course, we got Martine Rose and Grace Wales Bonner. But it’s not from the same streetwear level though. The trackies, hoodies, and T-shirts. Corteiz is giving the youth something to wear that they can be a little more proud of, because it was created solely by them and for them.”
That “for us, by us” approach has informed the way it’s approached sales from the beginning. Out the gate, Corteiz marketed itself as a hyper-exclusive brand by only being discoverable through a private Instagram page. And along with its password-protected online releases and in-person shock drops, it has dismissed the conventional path of releasing seasonal lookbooks, dropping on a weekly schedule, and selling through stockists like Dover Street Market. Corteiz chose to grow independently through its own distinct terms, and its supporters admire that.
“I definitely like streetwear. I was always big on Golf Wang, Stussy, and Palace. But I don’t think I’ve ever been this passionate about a brand,” said Ramy Shafi, a NYU student from California who was spotted waiting for the coordinates on the billboard to appear in a yellow Corteiz windbreaker. “It’s really because of the people who are building it. It’s very much about doing it yourself, working with the friends you have, and empowering the people around you. I think the fact that they started through word of mouth and not really relying on anyone else is something that I like a lot.”
Corteiz’s first major brand collaboration, which was originally teased in January, was finally unveiled earlier this month through a cinematic commercial directed by Walid Labri that went viral on Twitter. Three Nike Air Max 95 colorways were unveiled. The two pairs that have been released so far have been through Corteiz’s unconventional approach to drops. The first colorway that arrived, a military green Air Max 95 dubbed the “Gutta Greens,” was originally given out as a prize to anyone who won a crossbar challenge sporadically held in a random soccer field in London.
Patrick Morias, a 22-year-old from Manchester, England, happened to be in Connecticut when he saw the post about Corteiz’s Air Max 95 release in New York City. Since Manchester is hours away from Corteiz’s hometown in London, he’s never attempted to attend Corteiz’s flash pop-ups in the United Kingdom; those are events that have drawn massive crowds just for the opportunity to purchase all-black pairs of the brand’s cargo pants from 99p stores and even convinced fans to exchange their Moncler Maya jackets for Corteiz’s own “Bolo’’ puffer. But by Monday evening, Morias decided it was worth taking a train into New York City to attend Corteiz’s first-ever United States release. So he arrived in Midtown Manhattan at 7 a.m. for the potential chance to purchase a pair of Corteiz x Nike sneakers.
“The marketing’s got everyone in a headlock,” says Morias, who dressed head to toe in the brand. “Usually I just laugh at the videos [of people running after Corteiz.] But I guess today, I’m gonna be part of the videos and be making a fool out of myself or whatever.”
Whereas pairs of the Air Maxes released online were released through Corteiz’s own notorious web store—a website where customers can only purchase releases after finding a password that’s discoverable by closely following the brand’s social media posts like an A-list celebrity.
“This is a perfect example of marketing transcending transaction to become a cultural act,” says Dr. Marcus Collins, a marketing professor at University of Michigan who’s the author of an upcoming book on the intersection between culture and marketing titled For The Culture. “The messaging is cryptic, the drops are haphazard, the cues are opaque, and the only way to ‘know’ is to be in the know. People who engage in these drops do so to signify their cultural subscription, their participation in the subcultural practice of being a part of this community.”
Like other in-person shock drops the brand has released in London, Lagos, Paris, and Sydney, Corteiz’s release in New York City was the kind of well-orchestrated moment of streetwear hysteria that made sneaker releases like Jeff Staple’s Pigeon SB a part of the culture’s lore. The reaction in New York showed Corteiz’s unique guerilla marketing tactics have established another die-hard cult fan base outside of its home in the United Kingdom.
“It’s not that I didn’t have faith in them, but I didn’t foresee it becoming this global, internationally renowned brand and that’s really cool to see,” says Tito Adesanya, a 23-year-old Columbia University student from South London who hoped to attain his first Corteiz piece in New York on Tuesday. “We’re in a city other than London, and people are showing out in crazy numbers. I think that really speaks to the international reach of this brand and how good their marketing is.”
Clint’s appearance on Nike’s SNKRS Live show, alongside sneaker designer Tinker Hatfield, was his most extensive interview to date. During that conversation, he revealed that Nike let him choose what Air Max he would work on; that alone was a surprising reveal since Nike usually selects silhouettes for brand partners to work on in collaboration projects. While Clint revealed that his favorite model is actually the Air Max 98, he believed it was important to rework the 95.
“Storytelling wise, I know what the 95 means to London. I know what it means to England and I don’t just speak for myself but for a community of people,” emphasized Clint while elaborating on the larger cultural significance of an Air Max dubbed by Brits as the 110s. “If there was a working-class shoe, it’s a 95, you know what I’m saying?”
While most Corteiz fans whom Complex interviewed cited marketing as being the most compelling element of the brand, many were also compelled by the narrative that Corteiz has built as a label within the past five years and the founder’s own come-up story.
“Well, Alcatraz is a prison and Corteiz’s logo is a circle around that. What the brand represents is breaking out of the mental prison that most people in society are under. Doing what you want and living free,” says Moye, a 22-year-old NYU student from Nigeria who was one of many students who skipped classes on Tuesday to attend the release. “‘Rules the World’ is a very strong tagline because anyone can rule the world. Clint was homeless before he started Corteiz and living with his sister. Now he’s got a huge Nike billboard in New York City.”
Original photographs by Mikey Phelps.