The Air Jordan: Legacy of a Popular Relic

This article is by Arthur Aghajanian:

Sometimes, a film’s theological undertones will burst dramatically into view, leading one to reassess the meaning of its entire narrative. I experienced such a moment recently as I witnessed Matt Damon deliver his climactic monologue in the movie “Air” (2023).

It’s the early eighties, and Nike’s basketball shoe division, finding that its sales are languishing behind Converse and Adidas, is in dire need of a surge to turn its fortunes around. Damon plays Nike executive Sonny Vaccaro, who, in a final gamble to get the young Michael Jordan to sign an exclusive sneaker deal with the company, launches into a spontaneous and impassioned speech. He wants Jordan to overcome his doubts about Nike, so he draws parallels between Jordan’s life and his own experiences to win over the reluctant rookie, who was leaning towards a contract with Adidas. Vaccarro’s speech appeals to ideas of the transcendent by making connections between Jordan’s journey and divine providence, invoking a higher purpose and destiny in the rising prodigy’s quest for greatness.

From beginning to end, “Air” puts the grammar of cinema in the service of portraying the supernatural. Both in the figure of Michael Jordan, whose face we never see except in historical footage, and in the form of the awe-inspiring shoe bearing his name.

The Air Jordan has been on the periphery of my American pop cultural experience since its birth, and I never understood its appeal. I do now, and feel as though its story was begging to be told. “Air” explores the layers of significance in Nike’s sneaker: innovative design, status symbol, and tool of protest (its color scheme violated NBA rules). But amidst all of this, what I found most intriguing was how the notion that a sneaker line could tap into a player’s identity mirrors the way we imbue religious images and objects with special power.

The brilliance of Nike’s marketing strategy was in the way the company forged a unique connection between the athlete and those who wear the brand. To create a shoe around Jordan’s foot was to symbolically transfer the celebrity’s charisma to adoring consumers. In this way, the commodity is sacralized through association with the athlete who is already an idol of worship. The sneaker becomes a holy relic, endlessly reproducible.

Whether it’s the body or the fragment of a body of a saint or martyr, something they possessed, or an object associated with their touch, the veneration of relics serves to draw the faithful nearer to God. The holy relics of Christianity and other religious traditions function as conduits of spiritual energy. They are thought to bear the deceased person’s essence, effectively extending their presence beyond death. Their touch is thought to convey blessings, healing, and a direct connection to the divine.

In a comparable way, wearing sneakers associated with a celebrity athlete allows the owner to tap into the larger-than-life identity of the person who has worn and endorsed the brand. The consumer’s aspiration to be seen and known by others is partially fulfilled by sharing in the athlete’s hallowed status. When we don our Air Jordans, our feet become the catalyst for an almost mystical bond with Michael Jordan. Such tangibility resonates more intimately than a celebrity-endorsed luxury watch or car. To don a pair of Air Jordans, one is able to quite literally ‘walk a mile in his shoes,’ or in this case shoot jump shots. This palpable link intensifies the commodity’s hold on our imagination, and we believe we share Jordan’s identity. Unlike relics, commodities bridge the gap between the subject and object of worship while maintaining the worldview of the purchaser. The one who buys a product is not transformed in the way that a worshipper of a holy relic might be.

Who among us can claim we haven’t fallen under a similar spell with one commodity or another? I was never a sneakerhead, but I have had cherished objects of my own that have inspired rituals. At a young age, I collected beer cans. My friends and I would seek out the most exotic specimens available. The aluminum treasures produced by small, obscure breweries around the world with names like Olde Frothingslosh and Duquesne. We’d trade, stack them in pyramids, and analyze the most sought-after cans in collector’s books. And just as part of the Air Jordan’s appeal is the result of genuine admiration for its design and Michael Jordan’s legacy, those cans with their compelling designs and varieties of metal — many still carrying the stale scent of beer — were unique objects of both aesthetic and historical interest.

Is there a different way to approach material culture in a society of the spectacle? How might one navigate the treacherous waters of consumerism’s endless cycle of desire? Wherever we turn, it seems that every aspect of daily life has become commodified, whether it be our personal preferences and lifestyles through advertising and branding, communication through consumer technology, or our personal interactions and relationships through social media. The Air Jordan is a quintessential example of many secular sacred objects, marketed in a way that encourages us to identify with it as a status symbol and to mold our sense of self. When we conform to the values of the market, we bind ourselves to a perpetual cycle of desire. This prevents us from discovering who we really are beneath the identities we construct through our material attachments.

Even within a consumer culture of endless commodities, it might be possible to escape the emptiness. Instead of the promises offered by our purchases, there is another narrative that sees the world in far grander terms, one that offers more meaning than the fading glory of shoes. It goes like this. We are made in the image of a Creator God, and thus we carry the spirit of creativity at the core of our being. In Genesis 1:27 we read, “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” Just as God shaped the world with boundless creativity, we too possess the innate ability to shape, innovate, and craft, reflecting the divine artistry in our creations. Our capacity to bring forth beauty, design, and innovation is a testament to our connection with God the Creator.

In fact, part of what I enjoyed most about “Air” was the way it took us behind the scenes to witness the thrill of innovation. The movie shed light on the creative process (in both design and marketing) behind a seemingly mundane commodity, highlighting the creative spirit that goes into crafting even an everyday item like a sneaker.

So, in the midst of our consumer culture, we can glimpse the creativity of the Divine in the human-made creations that surround us. Whether it’s the intricate design of a smartphone, the artistry of a fashion piece, or the engineering marvel of a vehicle, these objects bear the imprint of human ingenuity. Through our creative endeavors, we reflect the role God has carved out for humans on earth, channeling our imagination into the material world.

Regardless of how antiquated they might feel to us ‘moderns,’ holy relics nevertheless provide a model for how to maintain a healthy balance between matter and spirit. Although Christianity can frame the creativity inherent in material culture as reflective of God, we must still avoid fetishizing our images and objects, lest we become mired in self-absorption as we seek to enlarge ourselves through attachments. Instead, we can use the material we’ve imbued with emotional resonance (like sneakers or beer cans) as the devout use relics. As material that channels our attention toward the sacred, certain objects gain significance in our lives, becoming intertwined with cherished memories and meaningful experiences. They transcend the mundane and inspire contemplation.

Instead of fixating on constructing an identity solely through commodities, and consequently developing an excessive dependance on them, we can recognize their origins in human creativity. By shifting our attention from the seductive quality of the commodity image itself to the God who made all things properly, we stand to gain a better understanding of its true nature and significance. This cultivates discernment, like when we ask, “what is the purpose of good design?” Such an orientation would transcend superficiality, encourage the appreciation of craftsmanship, and help us resist the temptation to conform to external, consumer-driven ideals.

Seeing beyond the shine of the latest and greatest commodity to the benevolence of God reminds us that our lives are more than what we can see or buy, infusing ordinary things with an almost sacramental quality, prompting us to recognize deeper meanings in the world around us.

Our journey through the world’s realm of images and objects should serve as a path leading us back to the source of it all. The things we own should not be idols, but rather vessels pointing toward God. We can enjoy a product’s aesthetic qualities while remaining detached from it as a source of identity, or in Augustine of Hippo’s terminology, we can use what we own without their enjoyment becoming an end in itself. Indeed, the recognition of such a distinction enables an embrace of God’s presence within the mundane. Acknowledging the creative spirit that brought these objects into being through human hands, the world itself becomes an opportunity to be surprised by God’s beneficence. Shorn from the projections of our fantasies, we can simply see things for what they are. The Air Jordan is undeniably remarkable in its design and marketing, but deriving our sense of worth from it is far greater than any one purchase can bear.

Recognizing that the ultimate source of meaning lies beyond what we see, we liberate ourselves from dependency on them. Instead of clinging to them for identity or purpose, we use them as steppingstones on our spiritual journey. When their purpose is fulfilled, we can release them gracefully, knowing that the wellspring of inspiration and creativity, rooted in God’s goodness, is ever-present.

The material world is not the devil’s playground, but the canvas of divine creation, continually reflecting the glory of God. Rather than acquiescing to materialism, its beauty turns our attention to the radiant manifestation of God’s ongoing creative act. We can appreciate the goodness of the world without becoming entangled and use what we acquire to far nobler ends: to become present to the eternal dance of a gracious God in the midst of his creation.