I missed Nike’s “Silver Bullet” drop in 2017 and being a broke student, resell prices weren’t an option. Almost a year later in the Spring of 2018, I picked up a pair from Depop for £100 all in. Result. They arrived in good nick, a receipt from JD Rochester crumpled inside the red Nike box. I slipped them on and headed to the library, 3M gleaming from all different angles. I was at the deep end of third year at the time, so dissertations and essays had me tied to the library. ‘At least I’ve got a pair of 97s to get me through it’, I thought, a minor saving grace.

A few years later and they were beat, gone, finished, caput, done out, pooped, wrecked, dunzo… you get the idea. I’d had them tucked away at home in a clear zip lock bag having chucked out the original Nike box out a while back. Rumours of a “Silver Bullet” retro hit the web around October 2022 so I thought, best fly the old pair for the fresh 2022 retro. I put it up for £75 quid, a decent chunk of change towards the new pair.

Few days later a friend messaged me telling me about some exchange deal that END was doing up in Manchester. I’d only moved out a few months ago so it was a good excuse to head back. After some minor digging, I found out he wasn’t lying. ‘Head to this Silver Bullet themed event and swap out your old pair’ was along the lines of END’s Instagram post. Sounds good to me. The train up would cost £70 quid (£18 of which I got refunded thanks to delayed train) but that sounded a whole lot better than forking out £165 for the new retro. Plus, it was for charity so it morally made sense as well.

Four and a half hours later I was back breathing in the crisp air of Manchester’s damp streets. The event only a few hours away, so I headed to my mates to kill some time. We drove to the destination with my friend inevitably queuing a host of 67 songs like he was sponsored. Luckily it was a short drive. Arriving in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, we saw a queue with some old friends outside this warehouse. The insides were covered in tin foil, remnants of what could have been a Salford’s annual conspiracy theory convention or even Chuck McGill’s house from Better Call Saul.

A projector beamed an animated loop that depicted a liquid metal substance transforming into the Silvy B, very cool. Inside, a reflective bubble bouncy castle minus the bouncy floor was where the swaps were going down. Everyone lined up with some crusty Air Max 97s in hand, ready to complete what most sneakerheads would deem an unfair trade, even if it was all above board. Getting closer to the desk, I witnessed a girl getting turned away cause of some technicality, people including myself were starting to worry, maybe there was a catch?

I was up next. I gave my name as the girl scrolled down a spreadsheet list full of names. A few clicks later and I was in. I placed my old pair on the desk taking one last look at them before they departed, many memories of roaming the Bristol streets were formed in those. They’d served me well. She slipped an OG 90s Nike box an END bag, handing them over to me. They were mine, the swap was secured. I stuck around for a bit afterwards watching an assortment of people bob about in their various Air Maxs, clearly everyone had got the memo. I caught up with a few old mates from the store and then trudged back home the next day. Dipping in and out of Manchester had been a daze, the docile streets of my quiet hometown slowly becoming more of a normality. I slotted the 97s away, “keeping them on ice” as some would say. What for? Who knows. I just know that I’ve got a fresh pair of “Silver Bullets” and I’m sound with that.