“Someone should have caught this.”

I keep seeing versions of that response to the Converse campaign. But a global marketing campaign does not usually move from one person’s imagination directly onto our screens.

It begins with a marketing brief.

That brief identifies the product, audience, objective, message, deliverables, platforms, budget, and desired customer response. From there, a concept is developed. Creative directors, art directors, photographers, stylists, producers, designers, marketers, brand leaders, legal teams, regional partners, and executives may all touch some part of the work.

Then there is the photo shoot. Each shot is planned, and both fashion stylists and soft-goods stylists may be involved. Understanding the role of a soft-goods stylist is another indication of just how intentional this process is.

The images are reviewed. Someone selects the final photographs. Someone edits and retouches them. Someone places the logo and copy. Someone approves the finished creative. Someone determines where it will run. Someone uploads it. Someone presses publish. The exact process varies by company, but every step requires a decision.

So, in my informed opinion, Nike and Converse are playing the role of provocateurs. They intended to provoke outrage. That outrage also gave the campaign something every marketing team understands: attention. People searched for it, shared it, discussed it, wrote about it, and kept the brand at the center of the conversation.

That does not mean we should remain silent.

Our rage can document what happened. It can educate people who did not immediately recognize the imagery. It can demand transparency about the approval process. It can help workers question what they are being asked to create. And it can help consumers decide which companies will receive their money, loyalty, attention, and data.

But there is something else that needs to come out of this conversation. We, as Black people, get to make a very informed decision.

For starters, we cannot keep asking corporations that exploit our culture to respect us, include us, or finally give us a seat at their table.

We are the culture they study. We are the culture they mine for ideas. We are the culture they use to make their products relevant. We are the consumers whose attention, influence, creativity, and dollars help turn sneakers into cultural symbols. Yet these same industries have repeatedly gatekept Black people from the opportunities, leadership, ownership, investment, and profits our culture helped create.

I know this from more than 20 years of working in retail. I have watched companies profit from Black culture while keeping Black people away from the power to shape, lead, and own it.

Calling these companies out still matters. Silence allows them to issue an apology, wait for the outrage to pass, and return to business as usual. We have to document what happened, challenge the narrative, and keep the pressure on them. We need to consistently stand on mutha effin business.

But accountability is only one part of our collective response.

It is way overdue for us to build. Some of us have already been doing this. Those who know me know that I aim to circulate my money within my community and with Black-owned brands. This needs to become our daily call to action.

We have to support Black designers, Black-owned brands, Black retailers, Black media, Black strategists, and Black creative professionals. We have to tell people where the alternatives are and intentionally redirect our dollars toward our communities.

Black consumers hold enormous economic and cultural power. Imagine what becomes possible when we stop pouring so much of that power into companies that continually exploit us and begin investing more of it in one another.

They will continue taking from our culture for as long as it remains profitable.

So, let’s go back to the source. Back to Black creativity. Back to Black ownership. Back to Black businesses.

To help with that, I would like to introduce you, in case you do not already know them, to three Black-owned sneaker brands you can support instead of Nike and Converse.

Three Black-owned sneaker alternatives

Saysh, founded by Allyson Felix and her brother Wes Felix, designs athletic and lifestyle sneakers specifically around women’s feet. The company grew from Felix’s experience challenging Nike over its treatment of sponsored athletes during pregnancy and motherhood.

NinetyNine Products, founded by footwear designer Jeff Henderson, offers performance and lifestyle sneakers with a strong emphasis on community and thoughtful design.

SIA Collective, founded by Devlin Carter, offers bold, independently designed sneakers and streetwear. The brand is especially appropriate for people looking for a more fashion-forward alternative to major sneaker companies.

Honorable mention

Actively Black, founded by former University of Houston basketball player Lanny Smith, offers premium activewear and lifestyle apparel that celebrates Black culture and invests in the Black community. Although the brand does not currently sell sneakers, its mission to build a Black-owned alternative to major athletic brands directly aligns with redirecting our spending toward businesses rooted in our communities.

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If we are serious about redirecting our economic power, let’s make the alternatives visible. Drop the name of a Black-owned sneaker brand people should know in the comments. Let’s build the list together.

And remember: Keep calling them out. Keep the pressure on. Let’s build our own tables, support each other, and become much more conscious of what our money is helping sustain.

Our dollars should strengthen our communities, not finance our continued exploitation.

Retail is political, and so is where we choose to spend.

Love,
Beauty Boone
Harmony of Purpose & Form