“‘What is it about me that you guys don’t know?’”Jordan asked in a candid moment during his 2009 Hall of Fame induction speech. Telling such a familiar story in a new way requires attending to things that sometimes get overlooked or ignored. When asked to define the perfect jazz solo, Miles Davis once responded that it was the notes you don't play that matter most. What is inaudible in Michael Jordan's famous story, which has grown so familiar that we've lost touch with the human being and now see only the hero? Part of the answer lies in this book. In powerful archival images and ephemera, in a chorus of voices of those who were there along the way, this book offers a new perspective on 40 years of greatness.” – Adam Bradley, author of Air Jordan.
A few weeks ago, my son found a poster of Michael Jordan in a magazine he’d been given at our neighborhood library in Brooklyn. He tore the one-sheet out and pinned it to his wall, among other art, photographs from his film camera, and keepsakes that mark his eleven years. He plays basketball relatively little, having tried out but never having made a team. There's been fencing, too. Now cross country seems to align with his latest interests. I don't believe he's ever watched a game Michael Jordan has played, nor does he understand the vastness of the sneaker brand that he founded and shares his name. However, there's an air, an association, something that has certainly existed throughout my 36 years and now manifests in my son's world. It is hard to pinpoint this phenomenon; yes, it could be attributed to the effects of a legend and enduring design, but I think it's bigger than even that.
This mysticism transcends the six rings, the six championships, the man, and the brand. In the book’s foreword, Michael Jordan writes, “I’ve always been creative, and design is an extension of that creativity. It’s about vision and attention to detail. I know that little things add up to big things.” These little things permeate everywhere: in a dog-eared poster on the wall, or the many years spent begging our parents for the latest J’s as they dropped.