The 6 Eras of NBA Fashion — from Restrained to Radical | Mitchell S. Jackson | TED

Serious two-part question for you. What are you wearing? And why? Well I hope none of you are decked in an outfit against your will. I happen to think our fashion choices should be deeper than just because we like something. Who am I? I’m a long-ago hooper. that jumper was wet, too. Lifelong basketball fan, and long-aspiring fashionisto. But most importantly, I wrote the book on NBA fashion. Literally. A project that taught me that the story of NBA fashion is the story of Black people dating back to the 1940s, which is also to say it's the history of America. And I plan to show you how players' fashion choices have been both a reflection of the times and a catalyst for changing them. And furthermore, how, for those who think these times are indeed troubling, they serve as a model for styling ourselves into resistance. The NBA was founded in 1946. There aren't many off-the-court photos of its first fashion era, but the ones that exist show men who adhere to the status quo. Dress influenced by the conservation mandates of World War II. It's important to note that early NBA fashion extends from pre-civil rights into the heart of the movement. The first Black player was drafted in 1950, and those pioneers were also de facto ambassadors of the best of their race. Hence, many of them dressed like men who were set on proving their dignity. Know this: Bob Cousy's civil rights were never in question. Real talk, Bill Russell's smile was a requisite for a respectable Black man. Yeah, Wilt got spicy later, but in the '50s, he conformed like everybody else. The second era is shaped by the Civil Rights Act, the Black Power movement and the war in Vietnam, plus the huge popularity of soul music and the birth of blaxploitation films. By the 1970s, 75 percent of the league's players were Black, and those Black players and some of the white ones began dressing like young men who were claiming their hard-fought freedom to loosen or dash their ties and assert themselves as individuals. You can see it in their planetary afros, in their kente cloth and dashikis, in their hippie digs or flashy jewelry. If you ask me, Clyde Frazier's cape is a flamboyant symbol of freedom. Here's Bill Walton, dressed in his then-radical politics. And look, Doctor J could have been a blaxploitation action star with his earthly afro and edgy fashion. The NBA paid its first million-dollar per-season salaries in 1979/80. The following year, Reaganomics became law. A few years later, Michael Jeffrey Jordan entered the league and in time became the most famous person on Earth. Jordan once said that Republicans buy sneakers, too, and though he since claimed his comment was in jest, its apparent apoliticalness was a defining feature of his eponymous third era. As were the excesses born of America's booming economy and the lingering illusion that Nixon’s Black capitalism initiative was a net-positive for Black folks. Jordan was raised on southern Black respectability and wore suits, but he also customized them joints with an icon’s flair. Look, little says nouveau riche like Magic wearing a fur in the 1980s. (Laughter) Yeah, maybe his billionaire status now was what Nixon meant by Black "economic equality. " Jordan's suit proportions, my God, aren't they '90s extravagance? Yeah. Dennis Rodman was the iconoclast of the Jordan era, with style that bridged him to a liberated white world. Hip hop becoming the most dominant force in youth culture set the fourth era in motion. In a short span, several rappers reached diamond sales, and Outkast and Lauryn Hill won Grammys for album of the year. Around that same time, Allen Ezail Iverson became the poster child for hip hop's influence on the NBA. Not just his style, but his irreverence and aplomb.

However, the racist idea of thugs pervading hip hop colored the perception of players following AI's lead. And that infamous brawl known as the “Malice at the Palace,” well, it didn’t help matters. In fact, it spurred the NBA dress code, i. e. a new way to restrict Black men’s freedom of expression. Hip hop is over the top, no doubt. Which in AI’s case meant bling you could see from the nosebleeds and the lollipop stress insouciance. D Wade's getup reminds us that posturing tough is part of hip hop's DNA. Tell me this. Does Jermaine O'Neal's gaudy jewelry challenge the stereotype of the Black male thug? While it was shaped by President Obama's first term, David Stern instituting the NBA dress code defined the fifth era. Commissioner Stern's rules forced players to eschew their beloved hip hop gear in favor of more conservative attire. Restrictions that pushed them to become more experimental with their style. Before long, the world that excluded Black men for ages began offering them prime seats at fashion shows and coveted tickets to the Met Gala. Like the Black dandies of yore, players of the dress-code era turned structural limitations into a showcase of their boldness and creativity. Kobe's cosmopolitan sensibilities challenged biases about the breadth of Black men’s cultural influences. Amar'e Stoudemire's fit insists that we take his style acumen seriously. Ah, here’s Melo forging a place for Black men at fashion’s biggest night, the Met Gala. LeBron, wearing the last words of Eric Garner, empowered a new generation of athletes to broadcast their politics. Instagram crossing one billion users in 2018 marked the sixth era, much thanks due to LeBron and D Wade and Chris Bosh. Remember them Heatles? The app helped transform the few minutes between a player's arena arrival and the locker room into an unscripted space of expression. It also helped turn several players, including some bench dudes like P. J. Tucker up there, into cultural figures who were just as big, if not bigger, in the fashion world than in the world of sports. Not to mention, some players used their expanded platforms to push for social change. Westbrook has made a great case as his era's foremost iconoclast. LeBron, he dressed his calves in Thom Browne for a playoff tunnel walk. A viral moment that accrued the whole damn league fashion cachet. Hip hop is born as rebellion, and Ja Morant's diamond-encrusted grill is a throwback to that defiance. But where are we now? I don't know about you, but what I see is a government decimating civil rights, assaulting freedom of speech, erasing the history of marginalized groups, targeting immigrants. How will this broad oppression shape a league in which Black players are still the largest share, and foreign-born players are some of its biggest stars? In every era, NBA players, the Black ones in particular, have used fashion to challenge sports casting them as less deserving of their human rights and their dignity. And there's a model in that for all of us, right? Which is also to ask, what's our relationship to power? And not just because we like it, because we want to resist, what are we wearing tomorrow? I mean, we as in you and me, as in all of us. Thank you. (Applause)