Mike Hernandez, one of the original members of the Supreme skate crew, founded in 1994, may be the most salient interviewee in the latest edition of ESPN’s 30 for 30 sports documentary series, Empire Skate. Throughout the doc, he recalls the emergence of New York skaters in the late ‘80s and their impact effortlessly and with sharp clarity. During his interview session, Hernandez, nearly 55 years old, dons a black, billowy Rage Against The Machine hoodie. Though not commented on, the image of him wearing this hoodie sticks with you. The rebellious and young skater of yesteryear still lives within the man, and one can’t help but think his choice of wear was a silent message to what Supreme has grown into. Even though the brand is popular, though slightly past the height of its hype, Supreme is now The Machine:
The hype is kind of like… I just don’t think most people know what they are buying into. I think it’s important for people to know the origin of that. To… know everything that was or is Supreme is a byproduct of kids from New York City adopting skateboarding as a culture. Which we were anomalies to begin with.
“Hype” is an interesting word. In the same breath, it embiggens and belittles. Hype is flashy, hip, and of the moment. Hype also lacks substance and depth. Hype is a lightning strike. Before the hype, before Supreme reigned, there were skate kids.
Empire Skate effectively showcases the origins of the New York City skate scene heading into the ‘90s and the kids who came with it. The term “kids” is not being used as a pejorative; these were teenagers coming of age. Along with the boom of personal video cameras around this time, videographers captured raw footage of skate kids on endless sessions. This was about a decade before the first skate parks began to open, and street skating was not for the faint of heart. Kids weave in and out of traffic, having near-miss collisions with an assortment of cars, taxi cabs, and commercial trucks. Skate NYC, one of the early New York skate shops, was a haven for dropouts and kids from broken homes. One guy opened a sketchy store for skate parts out of his apartment. There was a hint of newness and precariousness in the air that was enticing to this small group of young people. When the only four skate shops closed, New York’s skating scene went through a forced recalibration.
In 1993, with the creation of Zoo York and a resurgence of new skate talent, the energy around New York skating started to build. Around this time, Union store manager James Jebbia finds streetwear success with skate clothing brand Stüssy. In 1994, he opened Supreme.
When most people think of skate shops, they conjure images of stacks and stacks of boards lining the wall and racks of the newest t-shirts, shoes, and hoodies. However, when Supreme opened its original store, it was crafted with a boutique feel. It was clean, neat, and spacious, with a bank of TVs pointing out to the street. For standards, it was unassuming but impressive. Supreme original ads were closer to Calvin Klein than the stereotypical skater. There wasn’t flowing blonde hair glowing in the California sunshine and vert ramps; it was cool kids in baggy clothes shot in black and white drinking 40 ounce brews.
For skaters, Supreme was the spot where friends could meet up, get free gear, and chill with no disruption from other store owners on the block. It was described as being retail, but not. Unlike most stores, the customer is not always right. Store workers could refuse to sell to the uncool or to customers who dare to ask for help. At the same time, they eventually got to the point of upcharging up to 30% over sticker price for buyers looking to cop lots of merch. The hype was real, at least to a point.
Director Josh Swade is more concerned with the human aspect of Supreme’s beginnings rather than the hyped fashion brand it has become. On the one hand, people build brands, and the origin of a subculture will always be more important than any company. Sports, graffiti, music, fashion, art, and anti-authoritarianism all converge to birth the beauty of New York skateboarding. Swade knows this and establishes the scene acutely. The time spent with these now 50-something-year-old skaters was fun and informative. However, all of those pieces added up to a company that last year generated revenue over $500 million, well after the original Supreme Crew had come and gone. There is a dissonance between the people and the corporation that Empire Skate struggles to balance.
The iconic Supreme red box logo, which can be seen in pop culture as far back as 1995’s Hackers, has roots from artist Barbara Kruger. In her art, she created a red box with white text, which was provocative and uncommercial. Empire Skate shows “I shop therefore I am” but her most landmark work is the “Untitled (Your body is a battleground)” piece for the Women’s March on Washington in 1989. Kruger once described Supreme as being a part of a “ridiculous clusterfuck of totally uncool jokers”. If Empire Skate was going for a well-rounded look at the totality of Supreme, this would have been a fascinating place to either begin or end. Most of the original Supreme Crew has moved on, and now the brand is left for consumers buying hype, most of which have little to no interest in skating. Was this Supreme founder James Jabba’s plan all along? When hype fades, what is left?
The hollowness of Supreme, then and now, is not really challenged. There is no exploration of what has made the brand hype last over 20 years. The film’s most interesting subject, Jebbia, is nowhere to be found; only described as quiet and humbly working in the shadows. Empire Skate shows the first half of Supreme’s history, but how do we go from teenagers who sleep on each other’s couches and have no parental supervision to a company that sold for $2.1 billion five years ago? What do luxury brands like Louis Vuitton, Burberry, and Lacoste have to do with skate culture? Who is James Jebbia? If Swade dared question any of this, Empire Skate would have been a strong effort. What we are left with is half a story told.
Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
