I cannot sleep. I have not been able to sleep well in some time. I hear a cricket outside, to the left of me. Its noise isn’t bothersome, but I pick up something different this time—a certain eagerness or desperation.

The stretch from Thanksgiving Day to New Year’s Eve felt longer than a month this time around. I was simply ready to get 2026 going. No, not because I subscribe to any philosophy of renewal with a new year, but because the world is always at a lull during this period and I have things to do.

Intentionality has been at the center of the ATTEMPT #3 project since its inception; after founding and abandoning handfuls of blogs since my days in high school, this platform would be the one I finally stuck with. At one point, I made it a mission to post a new write-up everyday, but that eventually became overwhelming. During my year-long unemployment, this place became a refuge, allowing me episodes of productivity despite no money coming in. I cherish this memory.

A quick look through the ATTEMPT #3 archive reveals that I’ve written about “being intentional”on more than one occasion. However, the time in-between posts should give you an idea about how that journey’s been. But, the fact you’re reading this proves all hope isn’t lost.

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I’ve been feeling inspired. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to think freely, to explore a thought no matter how unfamiliar or ambitious it may be. This very activity has been a joy of mine over the last few weeks, but there isn’t enough time during the day to indulge in it in a satisfying way.

And thus, we’re here.

I cannot sleep because I just want to get started with the next day. I want to wake up early to enjoy breakfast at a fine pace. I want to produce things for Work of which I’m proud. I want to ideate on how to [redacted] and get started on the [redacted] feature for Work. I want to respond to pending texts from friends and call my parents. I want to try a new recipe for me and my wife, and watch dozens of new YouTube Shorts to save some more for another day.

I simply want to live and feel alive enough throughout the day so that when night comes, I’ll be okay if I don’t see another.

It’s officially Friday, Jan. 9, in Mexico City. The cricket—still to my left—continues to chirp. I don’t feel any sleepier than when I opened up Substack to write this, but I feel at ease. I don’t know what the next 23 hours and change will bring; what I do know is that I’ll be showing up—it’s what there is to do.

In November of last year, I accompanied my dad as he buried his father. Ten days earlier, I was walking the halls of the Antiguo Colegio de San Ildefonso in Mexico City’s Historic Center. I had long been aware of the centuries-old structure, but hadn’t gotten a chance to experience it in person until October’s Noche de Museos, a city-wide initiative that sees dozens of museums and cultural institutions stay open beyond regular hours on every final Wednesday of the month (excluding January). Each museo often hosts free events or activities—including choir performances and arts and crafts—followed by a guided tour. Eager to check out one of the city’s most impressive and artistically important buildings, I began to walk its storied halls before the Día de Muertos-inspired theatrical presentation had finished.

Some of the museum’s staircases were closed off due to renovations, but murals by some of Mexico’s most iconic artists—Diego Rivera, David Alfaro Siqueiros—were still visible along and above stairs despite scaffolding. Even at a distance, pieces like Cortés y La Malinche (1926) by José Clemente Orozco are impressive.

While walking on one of San Ildefonso’s upper levels, I came across Los aristócratas (1923-24), another fresco by Orozco. Attention-grabbing in its own right, the work of art reminded me of a particular scene in the 2002 film Amar te Duele. Your classic “rich-poor forbidden love story,” the indie movie does a great job of capturing Mexico’s capital near the turn-of-the-century, and the raw, creative boom of the moment. (Also check out Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Amores perros from two years earlier for another authentic slice of the city.)

It’s always a treat interacting with things I’ve seen online in real life; I recently did just this with a taquería and cantina featured in a Vice video I initially watched almost a decade ago.

There’s a certain section of the old college that features a series of murals inspired by the Mexican Revolution of the early 1900s. Many of the artwork painted directly onto the museum’s walls include dark colors by choice; some have had their bold reds and blues fade over time.

One fresco that made me pause longer than the others depicts two muted, solemn figures facing each other while between an archway and field equipment. Titled La bendición (1926) and painted by Orozco, the 99-year-old work of art captures a scene and concept that are relevant today: a parent’s blessing of their child.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has been giving me her blessing before I step outside the house; go for a job interview; walk through airport security; and hang up the phone. Her parents, godparents, and important aunts and uncles did the same for her, but most of these people are no longer around.

I can’t recall if my father’s father did the same for him, but if he did, he no longer can.

Death isn’t something I’ve had too much close experience with, but the fear of it is something I know all too well.

Why, then, have I led a life of negligence and carelessness? Why is it that I wallow in action-less analysis when I encounter images like La bendición instead of calling my parents more frequently? My siblings? My friends?

Time after time, I’m faced with the reality that I’m too comfortable in remissness. I never carry this out with bad intentions or pompous expectations that the world will always be there when I’m ready because it has to be, but realize it’s the impression I likely give off.

The truth of the matter is that I’m undeniably blessed. Even in the face of unemployment, health scares, homesickness, and other obstacles, I recognize the magic that had to happen to be able to exist to go through these things. Additionally, I recognize that I’m never alone—I’m accompanied by every time a loved one or stranger has thought of me, whether I’ve known of it or not.

I know I risk reading like an idealist, but I’m truly of the belief—and serve as testament—that things stick around. I’m blessed to have encountered certain people at specific moments, even if they’ve been carried away by time.

Orozco’s fresco strikes me from a number of angles. Firstly, it gives me the opportunity to imagine myself in the faceless man’s kneeling position. Secondly, it reminds me of the ever-present uncertainty surrounding everything from the mundane to the monumental. Lastly, La bendición preoccupies me with the notion of faith, and willingness of countless nameless people to fight and sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

Blessings might not mean something to everyone, but they mean everything to those who believe in them. When I was at my lowest, I asked several peers to pray for me in hopes that they could help me achieve what I couldn’t for myself. I can’t say with certainty that their hopes for me were received and acted upon by some higher deity, but I felt them at my core and used them to keep going, if even for only a moment.

I often, randomly, think about Kendrick Lamar’s lyrics on the songs “ELEMENT.” and “FEEL.” from his 2017 album DAMN, specifically ones in which he shares that nobody is praying for him.

My mother still prays for me and it saddens me to know that the day will come when she no longer does because she no longer can. While I still have her, I must cherish her in a manner that leaves no doubt that I know how blessed I’ve been. I strive to follow my father’s example with his dad and do what I can while I can to avoid living with regret.

Yesterday, my corner of the space formerly known as “Twitter” was overtaken by Harper’s BAZAAR November cover story on Kendrick Lamar. Part of the magazine’s “The Voices Issue,” the interview was conducted by SZA and included Lamar’s thoughts on masculinity, music as a springboard for other ventures, and a hunger for information.

The Timeline, however, understandably focused on Lamar’s response to being asked about his meaning of “Not Like Us”:

Not like us? Not like us is the energy of who I am, the type of man I represent. Now, if you identify with the man that I represent…This man has morals, he has values, he believes in something, he stands on something. He’s not pandering.

He’s a man who can recognize his mistakes and not be afraid to share the mistakes and can dig deep down into fear-based ideologies or experiences to be able to express them without feeling like he’s less of a man.

If I’m thinking of “Not Like Us,” I’m thinking of me and whoever identifies with that.

A sizable amount of replies and reposts displayed netizens criticizing Lamar for saying a whole bunch of nothing as to avoid admitting “Not Like Us” is simply a Drake diss. It’s undeniable that the song and its contents directly target the aforementioned Canadian megastar, but to reduce the track to a baseless attack against the streaming era’s biggest artist is a mistake that validates much of what Lamar has addressed in his most introspective raps.

Why, then, have people taken this route?

The Drake-Kendrick Lamar feud showcased how deeply personal spectators feel about their favorite artists, to the point that they take up arms on these artists’ behalves. Some fans have even emulated these figures, which makes any criticism about their character and habits also scrutiny about them.

To folks that’ve identified with Aubrey Graham, Lamar’s reply to SZA’s question is hypocritical and deceitful. Many have long expressed their dislike for the Los Angeles native’s “holier-than-thou” image and his lyrics towards Drake throughout the first 10 months of 2024 have served as the last straw. Many have viewed Lamar’s words as “trolling” and audacious because how could a man who represents morals and values call another man “certified pedophile” in the biggest song of his career? Furthermore, how can Lamar criticize the music industry and hip-hop culture while actively participating and benefitting economically from both?

While I don’t pretend to have a direct line to the pgLang co-founder, I have listened to enough of his music to have an idea of Lamar’s thoughts on criticism about his image. Towards the beginning of “The Heart Part 5,” he shares that he’s realized life is perspective and that his perspective might differ from others’. Therefore, Lamar would likely hear out any analysis about him, but would only ruminate on comments backed by intelligent thought or emotion. And understandably so: the 37-year-old has undergone a tedious process that has granted him the ability to examine both the internal and external with careful attention. If you listened to his music with less-biased ears or read his full conversation with SZA with a more open mind, you would’ve realized that Lamar’s “savior complex” boils down to his desire for all of us to find the peace and discernment he’s been able to enjoy.

One of the biggest knocks against Kendrick Lamar has been his consciousness. On “Family Matters,” Drake asserted that Lamar is “Always rapping like [he] ‘bout to get the slaves freed.” Although Mr. Duckworth masterfully repurposed the assessment on “Not Like Us,” many listeners agreed with the lyrics. The sentiment is largely rooted in the perceived complexity of To Pimp a Butterfly and Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers, two albums that received more critical acclaim than mainstream praise. The ongoing “The Heart” series has also amplified the sentiment as it’s delivered some of Lamar’s most personal contemplations and sincerest observations on society-at-large in packages with little replay value.

No one artist’s music needs to be for everybody, but when did it become okay to clown someone for his awareness and hope for others to also become aware?

As a product of Compton, USA, Lamar was born and raised in an environment with default settings that made life dangerous, that taught him what was and wasn’t for him. The songs “m.A.A.d city” and “Father Time” offer glimpses of the elements that formed Lamar’s upbringing–including gang politics and inherited toxic masculinity–in a vivid and insightful manner. And while he has been critical of certain customs and attitudes, the “good kid” has acknowledged the dichotomy of mankind in other parts of his discography, going as far as calling himself a “hypocrite” for demonizing racists when he once partook in violence against other Black men. But on “Worldwide Steppers,” just as in his Harper’s BAZAAR cover story, he recognizes that violence and war have a necessary space–one of protection and rectification. Lamar has analyzed and deconstructed many of the negative behaviors he learned in Compton, documenting his journey for other “good kids” in “m.A.A.d cities” to know what’s possible when will and discipline are in unison.

In conversation with Zach Goldbaum for Noisey’s “Bompton” documentary, Lamar acknowledged that his hometown’s reputation preceded his. As such, he could’ve rested on the laurels of those before him. But he didn’t. Instead, Lamar has dedicated the last 13 years to showcasing his city and its inhabitants as more complex than their reputations; diagnosing some of their problems and offering solutions; and embodying growth. Mr. Morale might be his most cohesive intentional therapeutic effort, but his catalog has explored ideas of trauma, vulnerability, hypocrisy, forgiveness, and self-reflection before. Along the way, Kendrick Lamar has broadened what’s imaginable of a person from his background, that looks like him.

On Sept. 11, Lamar uploaded an untitled song to his Instagram account. The track–widely referred to as “Watch the Party Die”–was his first musical release since May’s “Not Like Us.” Over the course of just over 5 minutes, Lamar identified the music business’ wrongs and their biggest culprits, which include Drake. Many listeners mistakenly took the song as another diss track towards Mr. Graham, failing to understand it for what it is: a frustrated diagnosis and call to arms by a concerned Black, hip-hop-loving father from Compton, Calif. who understands both the importance of self-love, faith, and honor, and danger of unchecked indulgence.

“Watch the Party Die” sees Lamar at his most didactic, a tactic that certainly reinforces the “holier-than-thou” judgement for many. But, as conveyed by harsh imagery of burnt villages and hopeful vision of a “new Earth,” he’s fine resorting to tough love because he has the blinds’ best interests in mind. After all, he, oklama, is “All of us.”

Nike, the biggest sportswear company in the world, is set to drop one of its most iconic sneakers – the Air Jordan 5 – in a style inspired by Mexico’s fight for independence on Sept. 12 (Sept. 5 in Mexico).

The pair had long been rumored by reliable sneaker leakers on X, adding another tally to the Swoosh’s growing list of footwear inspired by Latin America. Speculative mockups of the Air Jordan depicted the sneaker covered in a “Diffused Taupe” tone, leading some netizens to express disapproval over the seemingly random color’s prominence. The retro’s color-blocking might’ve been off in initial mockups, but its nickname, ‘El Grito,’ was spot-on.

For the uninformed, ‘El Grito’ refers to the Cry of Dolores, the call to arms by Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, a Roman Catholic priest, on Sept. 16, 1810. His grito triggered Mexico’s War of Independence against Spain, which concluded on Sept. 28, 1821. Every year since, on Sept. 15, Mexico’s President re-enacts the Cry of Dolores from the Palacio Nacional’s balcony. The President rings the same bell Hidalgo used in 1810, remembers those who gave their lives for Mexico’s independence, and shouts “¡Viva México!” three times at the end of the speech.

If all that sounds grand, that’s because it is: there’s no time in Mexico – specifically Mexico City – quite like the lead up to El Grito de Independencia. Some of the country’s biggest critics have even taken to social media to jokingly admit how impossible it is to not feel patriotic as soon as September begins.

What, then, does El Grito have to do with the Air Jordan 5?

According to the Nike SNKRS Mexico product page, the sneaker is dedicated to those who were born to fly. Additionally, the special pair is for anyone who’s made a “court” out of their neighborhood, refusing to be limited by what might’ve deterred others. The brand has used this type of messaging before for other products, but the Air Jordan 5’s rollout has been carefully crafted for a Mexican audience.

The first official look at the patriotic retro was on the feet of El Malilla, one of the country’s newest stars. Hailing from Valle de Chalco, Estado de México, El Malilla has helped catapult Mexico's version of reggaeton into the spotlight. He, like other urban artists in the country, has long been drawn to Jordan Brand for its cultural capital. Rocking anything with a Jumpman logo in places like Tepito o Ciudad Nezahualcóyotl (Neza for short) draws attention – both good and bad. (The same cachet is given to Chicago Bulls gear.) So, it was a huge deal when El Malilla debuted the ‘El Grito’ pair. The occasion was more special because he did so at the inauguration of Latin America’s first Jordan World of Flight retail space, located on Mexico City’s famed Avenida Madero in the Historic Center.

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El Malilla’s linkup with Michael Jordan’s eponymous label is a win for every kid growing up in the barrios of Mexico or elsewhere – at least in theory. Nike, Inc. thrives from marketing aspiration. You can’t (fully) knock businesses for tried-and-proven ways of making money, but you can dissect their methods.

Who exactly is the Air Jordan 5 ‘El Grito,’ a $4,600 MXN (approx. $232 USD) shoe, for when the average monthly income in Mexico was $7,860 MXN ($396 USD) in the first quarter of 2024?

Sure, those interested in a pair of the celebratory retro can sign up for a payment plan if they’re lucky enough to purchase the limited release, but that would still spread their income thin. Perhaps the solution is to buy replicas of the shoe in some of the mercados and tianguis across the country – including a sneaker and clothes bazaar in Iztapalapa open 24/7. Clones run rampant in Mexico City and a special Air Jordan dedicated to one of Mexico’s most important events is bound to make a killing on the counterfeit market.

Could the retro be a $210 USD “piece of home” for Mexicans abroad? Or a history lesson in sneaker form for their foreign-born children? Regardless for whom the Air Jordan 5 ‘El Grito’ was made, one thing’s for certain: the brand outdid itself with the pair.

Everything about the sneaker screams “attention to detail.” The connection to Mexico begins with the special shoebox, which displays “Air Jordan” text in an azulejo style. Premium leather – at least relative to most Jordan Brand products – appears across the upper in a clean “Sail” color. Nods to Mexico’s flag arrive in the form of green and red accents throughout the pair, while pre-Columbian grecas decorate the toe and heel. The namesake cry isn’t printed on included tissue paper or a thematic retro card, but “Viva” appears in all caps on special lace dubraes.

The last few years have seen Nike, Inc. release capsules commemorating either Hispanic Heritage Month or Día de Muertos. Items from these collections have generally been received well, but Team Jumpman seems to have pulled out all the stops for its ‘El Grito’ pair. It’s likely all this effort isn’t a one-time thing, but rather another phase of the brand’s overdue commitment to one of its most promising markets.

The Air Jordan 5 demonstrates that compelling storytelling and high-quality craftwork will always be championed.

Mark your calendar for Oct. 4: Leon Bridges is dropping his fourth studio album, Leon.

Born in Atlanta and raised in Fort Worth, Texas, Bridges got his first big look in the mid-2010s after uploading “Coming Home” to SoundCloud. The 3 minutes, 36 seconds-long song immediately conjured up comparisons to both Otis Redding and Sam Cooke for its soulful, throwback spirit. Over the years, the 35-year-old singer-songwriter has explored a number of musical styles without abandoning neither his soul and rhythm & blues formation, nor Southern sensibilities.

Leon, as Bridges has shared via social media, promises to continue this trend. Figuring out everything he wanted to share on his fourth project, however, took time and a change of scenery.

Enter: Mexico City.

According to Bridges, his upcoming album took three years to write. Somewhere along the way, he began to feel the urge to refine his vision for Leon, landing on the idea to visit Mexico to, as he put it, “figure out the statement.” Bridges shared glimpses of his recording process through Instagram from March 11 to June 4. In these clips, the Texan was pictured in unnamed locations in and outside of Mexico City. Those familiar with Bridges’ whereabouts excitedly commented on these clips, not only applauding the artist for showing love to his neighbors across the border, but also asking about tour dates in Mexico.

On Aug. 2, Bridges confirmed that the first single off Leon was titled “Peaceful Place.” Almost a week later, he dropped the song’s official music video on YouTube. Across 3 minutes, 56 seconds, director Joshua Moore and crew capture some of the places that helped Bridges “find that spirit in [his] soul” that allowed him to tell his story in the music.

The GRAMMY-award winner could’ve surely recorded an excellent album anywhere in the world – he’s done it before – but he chose Mexico City. As someone who’s spent a good amount of time in Mexico’s capital over the last few years, I was ecstatic to see one of my favorite artists draw inspiration from the city I’ve fallen in love with. Watching the music video for “Peaceful Place” tripped me out because it featured locations off the beaten path that I know well.

And now you can too.

The “Peaceful Place” music video opens with an aerial shot of Mexico City. At quick glance, the shot is nondescript, but close inspection of the bottom-left corner reveals two large structures: Plaza México and Estadio Ciudad de los Deportes.

Both buildings were inaugurated in 1946 as parts of a larger “city of sports” that’s currently located in Mexico City’s Benito Juarez borough. While far from state-of-the-art facilities, both Plaza México and its neighbor to the right are iconic landmarks. The former is the world’s largest bullring, with a capacity of over 40,000 seats; it’s also hosted a number of crowd-drawing boxing matches throughout the years. Estadio Ciudad de los Deportes only seats 33,000 spectators, but is home to three of Mexico’s most important soccer teams: Atlante F.C., Cruz Azul, and Club América.

The surrounding area is mostly residential, but a good number of office buildings and commercial businesses line Av. Insurgentes Sur. The nearby Parque Hundido (Sunken Park) is a nice place to people-watch.

From south-east of the Historic Center, the music video takes us north to Tlatelolco.

By the looks of the first sign of this area of the city, it’s probable this shot was captured on a Sunday between the hours of 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. Over 13 miles of city streets – including the ever-important Av. Paseo de la Reforma – are closed off for 90,000 cyclists and runners to enjoy.

On the left side of the take, you can see a dark-colored statue atop a graffiti-tagged base. This is the Monumento a Cuitláhuac, a bronze sculpture inaugurated in 1964 that depicts the penultimate Aztec emperor in a defiant stance.

In the distance, you can see several buildings from the Conjunto Urbano Nonoalco-Tlatelolco, the largest apartment complex in Mexico (and second-largest in North America, behind only the Bronx’s Co-op City). Developed throughout the early 1960s, Nonoalco-Tlatelolco was a “city-within-a-city,” promising an insulated, modern life for people of all socioeconomic backgrounds.

In Cuitláhuac’s time, the area was known for its large open-air market.

Mario Pani’s design is perhaps best known for an event that transpired on Oct. 2, 1968: La Masacre de Tlatelolco. Like in other parts of the world, student activism was strong in Mexico throughout the ‘60s. Around 10,000 college-goers and high schoolers from across the country gathered in the Plaza de las Tres Culturas as an act of defiance against the government. The concerned activists were peaceful on the plaza – which features a mix of Meso-American, Spanish colonial, and modern architecture – but the Mexican Armed Forces opened fire on the unnamed civilians due to orders from the President. Dozens of students were killed and hundreds were left injured. It wasn’t until the year 2000 that those responsible were officially held responsible.

Today, the apartment complex is no longer considered “modern living.” It was widely neglected following the events of ‘68 and has been heavily impacted by earthquakes throughout the years.

On Sundays, you’ll find an antique market minutes away from Tlatelolco.

Located in the city’s Lagunilla neighborhood, the open-air bazaar has been a mainstay since 1957. Vendors from across the Mexico City-metropolitan area set up shop on the streets and lots found just north of the National Palace. You can find rare art, as well as vintage clothing, wares, and other items at an array of prices. Feeling parched or hungry? Micheladas, tacos, and tortas in the tianguis’ food section got you covered.

The market is relatively safe, but beware that Lagunilla exists in one of the city’s more notorious sections. If you’ll be drinking, do so responsibly and with attention to your belongings. Cash is king here.

After shopping for vintage wares, you can venture an hour north to Teotihuacan, the ancient Meso-American city.

While technically outside of Mexico’s capital, Teotihuacan is close enough to Mexico City’s center to commonly be included in any visit’s itinerary. Its draw is without a doubt the pre-Columbian and pre-Aztec pyramids and ruins, which can be enjoyed from above while in a hot-air balloon.

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Since COVID, it seems you aren’t able to walk up either the Pyramid of the Sun or the Pyramid of the Moon, but you can walk through the Palacio de Quetzalpapálotl to get a more intimate feel of what life was like in the year 475.

The Museum of Anthropology is a great place to see some of the remains found at Teotihuacan, and learn about some of Mexico’s other Meso-American settlements and people.

Check out La Gruta if you ever find yourself in Teotihuacan and want to grab a bite in a pretty surreal setting.

Much of the “Peaceful Place” music video is shot at and around the Desierto de los Leones, a national park at the southwest outskirts of Mexico City.

If you ever find yourself in the Mexican capital and Chapultepec Park doesn’t satiate your desire for a tranquil green space, consider the 13-mile trip to the Desierto de los Leones. The air is crisper, the wind cooler, and the overall layout will have you asking if you’re really still in Mexico City.

Contrary to what the location’s name might suggest, the Desert of the Lions isn’t arid and dry nor the site of big cats. Instead, “Desierto de los Leones” nods to the area’s past as a sparsely-populated woodland managed by the Leon family in the 17th century on behalf of the Order of the Discalced Brothers of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel.

From 1606 to 1814, the national park was the site of the Barefoot Carmelites’ convent as the location offered serenity in direct contrast to New Spain’s restlessness. Once the Mexican War of Independence began, however, the convent was turned into a military headquarters by the city’s government. President Lazaro Cardenas named the monastery a national monument in 1937, including it in the preservation of the surrounding park.

The Desierto de los Leones is a perfect getaway from Mexico City, with hiking trails, waterfalls, and picnic areas.

Bridges recorded Leon near the Desierto de los Leones at El Desierto Casa-Estudio, a residential recording studio nestled away from the business of Mexico City.

El Desierto Casa-Estudio has hosted the likes of Bunbury, Natalia Lafourcade, and Siddhartha.

Back in the rustle-and-bustle of the city, you’ll find a replica of Michelangelo’s David sculpture in Plaza Río de Janeiro.

Located in the Roma neighborhood, the replica is made from bronze and was placed at its current location in 1976. The park itself is a great place to people-watch or walk your pets, and the surrounding area also delivers on art-deco architecture that’ll transport you to the past.

Food options are abundant in Colonia Roma, with Panaderia Rosetta and Jenni’s Quesadillas being two standout spots. If you’re looking for live jazz and good drinks on a weekend night, check out Casa Franca (reservations recommended). Licorería Limantour, the 7th Best Bar in the world according to @50bestbars (2023) is nearby, too.

If you can imagine it, you can likely find it in Mexico City’s Historic Center.

Stretches of Simón Bolívar perfectly embody this sentiment as they serve as the music and instrument-related sections of the city. Other parts of some of the Centro Historico’s streets are dedicated to everything from wedding dresses to art supplies, offering visitors wholesale prices on all kinds of goods. These streets tend to be busiest on Saturdays and Sundays.

Simón Bolívar 89 is right in front of Plaza de Regina, an open space that connects to the aptly-named Calle Regina. The Parroquia de la Natividad de María Santísima is situated in the plaza, welcoming the faithful and curious alike at all times of the day. This area is truly off the beaten path and delivers an authentic slice of life in Mexico City.

Café Jekemir is a great pitstop on the way east. If you’re looking for more than coffee, Coox Hanal has all the cochinita pibil and other Yucatan food you can ask for. Tortas y Hamburguesas at Regina 42 has some – you guessed it – decent torta sandwiches and hamburgers. You can have drinks at some of the bars next door after. Pulquería La Risa up the Callejon Mesones will take you back 100 years to a time that pulque, the fermented Meso-American drink, ruled Mexico City. Its upkeep has not been great in recent times, but it’s always recommended to take a peek through the swinging doors.

Mexico City’s metro station moves countless people on the daily. Most passengers move with purpose and in a rush, but if you’re ever near a metro station, you might find it worthwhile to treat it like a gallery space for moving art.

There’s no telling where Bridges and team filmed these shots with stained glass in the background, but Metro Candelaria in Mexico City provides a similar aesthetic.

It finally happened: NIGO publicly acknowledged his partnership with Nike. The Japanese designer – born Tomoaki Nagao – was first reported to have signed a deal with the Oregon-based sportswear company in April 2023. The news sent shockwaves across streetwear and sneaker-focused corners of social media because, if true, it meant NIGO’s 20-year history with adidas had come to a close. Neither party shared details of a split, but spectators began to speculate once several seasons passed without new collections. The Human Made and A BATHING APE founder all-but-confirmed the report when he was pictured wearing the Nike Go FlyEase.

No big deal, right?: Loyalty and business rarely mix, let alone last for two decades. Wrong!: NIGO rocking anything with a swoosh was huge not only because he had been collaborating with the Three Stripes since 2003, but also (perhaps most importantly) because one of his most iconic designs of all-time – the BAPE STA – was heavily inspired by Nike’s beloved Air Force 1 Low.

Whispers from behind-the-scenes have long claimed that NIGO once pitched the Swoosh the idea of offering Air Forces in as many color combinations as possible and in materials other than leather. A deal couldn’t be agreed upon, so the BAPE frontman allegedly decided to take matters into his own hands.

NIGO announced the opening of Foot Soldier in the Nov. 2001 issue of Popeye Magazine. A footwear-focused branch of A BATHING APE, Foot Soldier NIGO-fied sneaker retail with its conveyor belt displays, gallery-like lighting, and refined architecture. The shop’s biggest draw, however, was the dozens of footwear options. Only a handful of different silhouettes were offered at launch – including a style based on the adidas Superstar – but they were available in an array of colors seldom offered by the heritage brands. NIGO thought it was important to have variety, exploring a mix of bold and subtle color arrangements.

The BAPE STA was offered in 40 different makeups upon debut. “It is also good to be troubled with the choice of colors,” NIGO told Popeye. At the time, most of Nike’s readily-available selection skewed straightforward and familiar. Most experimental pairs of the Air Force 1 were reserved for limited collaborations and region-exclusive drops. In its earliest days, NIGO’s BAPE STA was difficult to obtain outside of Tokyo and Hong Kong, but it was offered in a plethora of “flavors” all year round. One such set of flavors was glossy, neck-cracking, attention-grabbing patent leather.

Nike, Inc. was no stranger to this material. Back in 1995, Tinker Hatfield featured a patent leather rand on the Air Jordan 11, a move informed by Michael Jordan’s desire for a “shiny basketball shoe.” Bruce Kilgore, however, designed the Air Force 1 High and Low over a decade earlier, sticking to the design principles and budgetary restrictions of his time. Leather was king amongst basketball shoes of the 1980s. And while Kilgore’s creation was rooted in performance, it was quickly replaced by more advanced footwear. The Air Force 1 became a fashion staple across Baltimore and New York City from the late ‘80s onwards, but it regained some spotlight on the hardwood around the turn of the century thanks to Rasheed Wallace.

In conversation with Matt Barnes and Stephen Jackson on the All the Smoke podcast, Wallace shared that he’d been a fan of Nike Air Forces since his days growing up in Philadelphia. The decision to play basketball in them, however, arose after dealing with numerous twisted ankle injuries throughout high school and college. Wallace’s Nike representative throughout the early 2000s, Nico Harrison, helped him get special editions of his “weapon” of choice. A two-tone high-top done in Portland Trailblazers-friendly “Black/White” made its way onto retail shelves, allowing brave souls to try and dominate the paint in the big man’s Air Force 1. Interestingly enough, the pair was constructed with patent leather, a material that had never been associated with Kilgore’s design from ‘82. Insight into patent leather’s use has never been publicized by any party involved, but it’s possible the glossy material was chosen to match Wallace’s bold personality on the court. The Philly-native was also in tune with style, often rocking his Air Force 1 Highs with the ankle straps dangling at the back – the same way they were being styled in major cities across the country. Regardless of the reasoning behind the patent leather, Nike’s shiny sneakers coincided with NIGO’s launch of the BAPE STA.

Those “in the know” were aware of BAPE STAs and their similarity to Kilgore’s design, but valued their design tweaks and color variety enough to celebrate them as NIGO’s creation and not simply a knock-off Nike. Internet spaces like NikeTalk helped the star-featuring shoe gain a following in the West before the first BAPE Store opened up in New York City in 2004. It’s likely Nike was aware of the BAPE STA before then, but not concerned enough about it given the sneaker’s (and BAPE’s) small-scale relevance outside of Japan, and relative limited production. Additionally, as reported by Complex, Nike hadn’t registered a trademark to protect the Air Force 1’s trade dress until 2008, meaning it couldn’t enforce ownership of any of the model’s visual aspects before.

A lawsuit filed on Jan. 25, 2023 in New York district court revealed that Nike representatives met with leadership at BAPE in 2009 to address similarities between the Air Force 1 and BAPE STA. On the legal front, nothing came from the meeting, but BAPE “significantly and materially diminished its US activities,” according to Nike’s lawyers in the suit. Shortly after, NIGO announced he had sold most of his shares in BAPE to I.T., a Hong Kong-based fashion conglomerate. “The General” agreed to stay on as Creative Director until 2013, but had already been working on another lifestyle project named Human Made.

On Feb. 25, 2014, adidas took to Twitter to announce a long-term partnership with NIGO. The deal made sense given previous work between both parties; the streetwear pioneer also shared that a friend of his had joined the Three Stripes around the same time and invited him to work with the sportswear giant. NIGO’s adidas fandom had been well-documented prior to his first linkup with the brand in ‘03, but his BAPE STA naturally begged the question of why he didn’t take his talents to Nike. Longtime mentor, Hiroshi Fujiwara, former schoolmate and business partner, Jun Takahashi, and a host of other folks in his extended circle were also at the Swoosh in the early 2010s so NIGO would fit right in. Perhaps the meeting from ‘09 left tension between both parties; maybe NIGO saw Nike as “crowded”; or perhaps he wanted creative freedom and was privy to Nike’s strictness (Yeezy might’ve taught him). Whatever the backstory, the duo seemed right, and the decision to make things official 10 years later arguably confirms both parties agree. But we aren’t in 2014 anymore.

NIGO’s importance to streetwear and sneakers cannot be undermined. His designs dominated the early aughts, and his display of taste and curation inspired the likes of Virgil Abloh. Folks from a younger generation are familiar with The General, but widely by way of a conduit (e.g. Lil Uzi Vert, Pharrell Williams, Tyler, the Creator). Their relationship, then, is largely limited to one of unquestioned respect rather than informed admiration. BAPE’s resurgence throughout the last handful of years has also made all-over camo print hoodies and STA-donning footwear bigger than their original designer. No Human Made project launched in the same time span (in-line or collaborative) made any noise comparable to NIGO’s work at A BATHING APE, lowering his stock amongst teenagers and young adults.

Why, then, would Nike want to work with him? It’s unlikely either party will ever publicly share the complete truth, but what can’t be denied is that NIGO should’ve gotten his shot years ago.

(While it’s possible NIGO was the one to delay working with Nike, it’s arguably improbable due to some of the aforementioned points. Furthermore, NIGO’s use of the Air Force 3 Low in the “Escape” color scheme from ‘88 earlier this year suggests he was thinking about the Swoosh while working with the Three Stripes as the pair bears a resemblance to an adidas Originals Rivalry High he designed in 2014.)

NIGO’s partnership has come at a low point for Nike. In June, the brand’s stock price dipped by 14-percent following a late-month earnings call. Beyond any stock market ticker, the Swoosh had been experiencing wide-scale criticism from savvy consumers over saturation of products like the Air Jordan 1, Dunk, and Air Force 1. Casual customers have also turned their attention to footwear styles either not offered by the brand (e.g. Crocs Classic Clog) or “more innovative” and “cooler” than Nike’s (e.g. On Cloud 5). The North American company has been rather reactive to trends, too, scrambling to respond to trendy styles like the adidas Samba, ASICS GT-2160, and New Balance 860v2. Special, limited pairs from the past have also either been retrod or reported to return in 2025 by reputable sources, leading many spectators to judge the brand for rehashing the past instead of looking forward.

And that’s the biggest indictment against NIGO x Nike: it’s a trip down memory lane that’s a decade too late.

If you take a few minutes to read comments under teaser images of the partnership’s debut capsule, you’ll notice there’s an overwhelming negative sentiment towards NIGO x Nike. Yes, first-looks are commonly received worse than official photos and campaign material, but poor lighting and bad angles haven’t been problems. Most criticism thus far has revolved around three ideas:

• The Air Force 3 Low is a tough sell.

• “Air Forces in BAPE STA colors” was right there!

• Who cares about NIGO in 2024?

All valid points, no?

The last time Nike reissued NIGO’s canvas-of-choice was in 2015. “Shoe dogs” and nostalgia merchants rejoiced at the return of the widely-unheralded model, but the retro did little to energize decades-old design. NIGO’s name and likeness has already done more for the silhouette than Nike has since the late ‘80s, but consumers haven’t responded very favorably to the brand’s old school, low-top models: the Swoosh’s response to the New Balance 550’s explosion in popularity largely failed, making the Air Force 3 Low a questionable choice.

We’ll never know how hard NIGO pushed for the 36-year-old silhouette, but his decision aligns with some of his new partner’s recent collaborations – including Union Los Angeles’ Nike Field General. Additionally, the first official ad about NIGO x Nike revealed how personal the project was to the Japanese designer, whom, according to the ad, injected his favorite “movies, music, and traditions of craft” into the collection.

A series of Nike Air Forces in BAPE STA-reminiscent colors done by NIGO could’ve meant something, similar to Virgil Abloh’s official Louis Vuitton x Nike collaboration. Some spectators would’ve undoubtedly scoffed at the “easy” play, but the move would’ve been a cheeky acknowledgement by the Swoosh – a company that’s gone on a suing spree over trademark infringement in the last few years – of NIGO’s genius. The product’s rollout could be legendary, too.

How surreal would it be to see dozens of “NIKE STA” pairs displayed on conveyor belts at a pop-up recreation of Foot Soldier? The youth could learn about NIGO’s influential career in the process. But maybe this would be putting NIGO in a box…

The General has always been a man of few words, at least when engaged with Western media. And when he does speak, he’s a lot more soft-spoken than some of Nike’s biggest collaborators. Currently Artistic Director at KENZO, NIGO is plugged in with the creative world at a high level. His name might not draw the same crowds as “Travis Scott,” but his following is full of tastemakers and shakers that have been at it for years. Taking a step back from early product shots, the NIGO x Nike partnership has been celebrated by many of the BAPE founder’s peers as “a full circle moment.” The Swoosh might’ve tapped NIGO to soak up some of his cachet, as well as benefit from his expansive streetwear knowledge.

As proven by smaller brands than Nike, collaborations by newcomers and lesser-known faces have the possibility to pop, as long as the product and rollout are undeniable, and the launch fair.

NIGO and Nike shouldn’t have a problem with their execution; on the contrary, they have the experience and resources to show the industry how collaborations should be done. NIGO’s network of “Friends & Family” is also expansive, meaning hype for his debut capsule with the Swoosh could reach levels that haven’t been seen since Abloh’s “The Ten” collection from 2017.

With summer winding down, the inaugural collection from NIGO and Nike inches closer. There’s no telling how the drop will go – nor how the partnership will pan out – but the world will be watching.

Two weeks ago, a friend asked me something that helped me become aware of what it is I want to do, perhaps professionally but most certainly recreationally: “Would you prefer to write fiction or non-fiction?”

Throughout most of 2020 and part of 2021, I ruminated about legacy. A lot. The pandemic made me realize that I had been operating on cruise control for quite some time. Where was I going?, I thought. Global isolation measures also allowed me to, for the first time in my adult life, spend meaningful time with my parents. At first I unintentionally learned them, but I consciously studied them as the days went by out of a mix of fear and a sense of duty.

As their oldest child, I have the clearest recollection of my parents’ lives as 20-something-year-old immigrants from Mexico figuring things out in New York City. My siblings have been exposed to tidbits from this period of our parents’ lives over the years, but so much has been lost due to gaps in language and the passage of time. Admittedly, my interest in my parents’ tales waned from adolescence onwards, but the pandemic reminded me that knowing the past is important, even if only as a means to make others feel heard. I feel immense satisfaction remembering the hours-long chats I’d have with my parents at the dinner table in our [redacted] Street apartment. We’d often share a couple of cups of Nescafé from evening to night. My brothers would sometimes poke their heads out from their room (literally and figuratively), either out of their own curiosity or because I’d intentionally evoke them in an effort to convey you should be paying attention to this.

So, even if I never get around to writing and publishing a collection of short, creative non-fiction stories, I move forward knowing my parents’ legacy lives in me, and that my children will know it even in the case that they can’t experience it firsthand. (I hadn’t thought about this collection of stories in a while, but knew I had jotted down some ideas for it in my Notes app. Here is a list of titles I had considered, from March 19, 2021:

• About Time

• It Took Long Enough

• Together, for a Prolonged Moment

• Juntos

• Manos de americano

• Proof that I was Here

• In the Rearview

• Cosas de ayer

• Everything In-Between

My goal was to write English and Spanish versions, the latter so that my parents could read the stories they helped inspire.)

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As I gathered my thoughts to answer my friend’s question, I thought about El derrumbe de los ídolos: Crónicas de la ciudad, a retelling of various important moments, technological advancements, and people in Mexico City’s history by Héctor de Mauleón. I also thought about everything I’d learned about Mexico’s capital over the last several months by way of YouTube videos, digital news articles, and a powerful-enough curiosity to look into a business, neighborhood, or landmark through which I’d passed on a walk or run. I thought about how much I loved learning history, and more so if I was still able to engage and interact with said history. My time with Mexico City began to tick way too late for me to ever be able to consider myself un historiador chilango, but I’m certainly a student. And as much as learning history is a self-gratifying activity, it’s also a civic responsibility: we must seek out the past and record the present to actively value both things while laying the foundation for those in the future to have an easier time conversing with their past.

After leaving my friend in Morningside Heights, I got on the 1 train with a destination of 207th Street. I unknowingly boarded one of the train’s first few carts which gave me an unobstructed view of W 207th St. once I walked onto the station’s platform. I was met with the sight of those new, uninteresting developments on both sides of the street. Before making my way to the stairs, I thought about the Pathmark that used to be on the right-hand side; I couldn’t remember if construction had replaced something on the left, but I knew that neither edifice made up my memory of that section of Inwood. But what is my experience with this street if not a series of fragments of a slice of northern Manhattan? A version existed before me, another will exist after me, and I care about both.

I want to be a historian. I already am, and will continue to be.

A couple of years ago, I examined Nike Running’s lineup for a shopping guide. Although the piece was an S.E.O. play ahead of the Nike Streakfly’s launch, it allowed me to nerd out about running shoes.

Converting sales through affiliate links was an additional goal of the guide, but, as I’ve learned through my own running journey, new shoes aren’t mandatory to engage in the sport – and I wrote so in the piece’s preamble. The best sneaker for beginner runners, then, is whatever pair they can get their feet into.

The second-best running shoe I recommend is any older Nike Pegasus model.

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It’s hard to argue against Nike’s “workhorse with wings.” Debuted in 1983, the Pegasus has been a consistent road-ready shoe for decades. The model’s heyday is behind it, but not because it’s no longer a viable running shoe; over the last handfuls of years, the neutral, daily-trainer category has exploded with options from even the most unexpected brands. Loyalists of the Nike Pegasus line may criticize some of the series’ modern iterations, but they’ve been mostly treated to the familiar. And therein lies the “problem” with the historic range: it’s outright boring when compared to some of the competition. Before this year’s, the last four Pegasus models featured a similar geometry, as well as combination of React foam and Zoom Air. While reliable, the Swoosh’s daily-trainer paled in excitement and comfort (read: “bounce”) to similarly-positioned offerings from HOKA, PUMA, or Saucony.

And yet, I recommended the Nike Pegasus 40 to people more than I have any product from the aforementioned brands. Why?: Price. With the right codes and in the right places, the current “workhorse with wings” could be had for at least 50% off its MSRP of $130. Who wouldn’t recommend a reliable, all-around running sneaker for $65, especially considering how expensive running shoes have gotten over the last three years? Nike Outlet stores are prime locations for super-discounted Pegasus sneakers, so I’d recommend visiting those closest to you to stock up on a couple of pairs if you’re a fan of their ride and look. (The Nike Pegasus 41 debuted in June 2024 and drastically changed things [ReactX foam, mesh zones across the upper] from the last handful of iterations.) I currently have 18 miles on a pair of the Pegasus 40 (and who knows how many on a pair of the near-identical Pegasus 38) and I’ve appreciated the ride. Its upper feels bulkier than some of its competitors’, but some runners might get a sense of protection from the layered Flyknit upper. My brother has put over 100 miles on two different pairs of the Pegasus 39 and he can’t rave about the Nike Pegasus line enough, praising its neutral ride and all-aroundability.

However, what does the older, wiser sibling recommend?: New Balance’s Fresh Foam X 1080v13.

For full disclosure, the folks at New Balance gifted me a pair of the 1080v13 (as it’s more commonly referred to) at an event in the lead up to the New York City Marathon 2023. As the race’s official sportswear outfitter, New Balance tends to pull out all the stops for the last Marathon Major of the year. The 1080v13 didn’t debut for or at the race, but it released in a special makeup in celebration of the event. I didn’t have any obligation to review or promote the sneaker, so I put off running in it for a week or two after receiving it. I did, however, try the shoes on immediately upon arriving home, and was quickly impressed with how much the Fresh Foam X midsole compressed with each step. The ASICS GEL-Nimbus 25 and Nike React Infinity Run had been my go-to trainers for daily miles, but they paled in initial step-in comfort to New Balance’s 1080v13. Running in the sneaker only solidified my initial impression, which eventually transformed into a type of devoutness that prompted me to publish this post.

Prior to trying on the 1080v13, my only experiences with New Balance footwear had been a pair of the 990v4 and of the 1906R, two lifestyle-focused options. I found the former a lot more comfortable than the latter, but its cushioning solution was nothing to rave about, especially when compared to performance-first models. Having never run in any of New Balance’s products, I didn’t know what to expect, but Fresh Foam X is a delight underfoot.

Similar in responsiveness to the Pure GEL and FF Blast+ setup in ASICS’ GEL-Nimbus 25, the New Balance 1080v13’s cushioning feels a lot lighter in-hand and on-foot. The sneaker’s 6 millimeter drop from heel to toe and less dramatic general shape are also easier to get accustomed to than some other running models I’ve tried, so much so that I’ve considered buying another pair of the 1080v13 for everyday walking. Everything else about New Balance’s trainer also felt “right” straight out-of-the-box – and even more so on runs. By comparison, laces and tongues across adidas’ Adizero lineup are too flimsy, and uppers on Nike’s Pegasus 40 and Invincible Run 3 feel a bit constrictive, causing hot spots and points of discomfort after certain milage. I haven’t experienced these or any other issues with the 1080v13.

Since November 2023, I’ve logged 221.2 miles (355 kilometers) in New Balance’s Fresh Foam X-cushioned model. The pair still feels soft, bouncy, and comfortable, although its ride isn’t as peppy now. It’s become the sneaker for me – I’ve scattered runs in other daily trainers here and there and I’ve had the same conclusion time and time again: “I can’t wait to run in the 1080’s again.” And that I have.

Over the last several months, I’ve laced up the New Balance 1080v13 dozens of times. Most of my sessions since last November have been easy runs, with 3.1 miles (5 kilometers) being the most common distance I’ve tackled per run. Fresh Foam X can be pushed beyond slower paces, but – at least in this implementation – it begs for easy running. And unlike in other daily trainers, I don’t mind taking things slow in the 1080v13, largely because I never feel discomfort in New Balance’s shoe as I have in other models after a certain distance or outside of specific paces. My longest session in the pair has been a 12 mile walk/jog over the course of almost four hours, with a few 6.2 mile (10 kilometer) efforts in the mix.

Whereas I’ve had issues with other sneakers in the “Daily Trainer” category, I haven’t had any with the 1080v13. What I’ve enjoyed most about the shoe is that I’m able to “set it and forget it,” which has only been possible because of how well every part of the sneaker works with each other. The Fresh Foam X underfoot might not feel as bouncy as it once did, but it’s still easy on the legs. And while I tend to keep sessions extremely tame in the 1080v13, the shoe’s relative light weight makes the occasional strides feel less clunky than other similar options. If there is one area of concern for New Balance’s soft-cushioned runner, it would have to be the outsole. I don’t know the specific rubber compound used for the tread, but New Balance’s outsole solution is visually less aggressive and physically softer. Coverage is fine, but the outsole isn’t as reassuring as what’s on the Nike Pegasus or adidas’ Supernova Rise. My pair is holding up well, so I can’t complain, but your milage might vary.

New Balance is expected to launch the 1080v14 soon. Early leaks shared to Reddit suggest the pair will be fairly similar to its predecessor, which is great news. Visually, both the upper and midsole are different from what’s offered on the 1080v13, but the sneaker should still run the same. Interestingly enough, rubber coverage across the outsole has been notably modified, perhaps to save some weight. If the New Balance 1080v14 debuts before the 2024 NYC Marathon, it’s possible the 1080v13 goes on a slight discount by Black Friday (Nov. 29). I recommend waiting to see what happens, but if you can’t, rest assured you won’t regret picking up New Balance’s 1080v13 – what you might regret is lacing up any other shoe after.

I spent most of 2022 longing for something different, dissecting what I didn’t have and concluding that certain things would never be for me. Whenever the wallowing would reach a point too pathetic to take myself seriously, I repeated a phrase Craig Ferguson shared during a March 2019 appearance on the TigerBelly podcast: “Nothing changes if nothing changes.” Obvious? Yes, but effective nonetheless.

Ferguson’s words have assisted with tasks of all sizes, from answering friends’ message in a timely manner to tackling work with the energy required to be proud of my output. I’m far from where I want to be – from where I believe I deserve to be – but I’m trying to be more intentional about both my vision of the future and my plan of action.

Where Ferguson’s words have felt futile, I’ve revisited a mantra M.C. Serch credited to his wife during an appearance on the My Expert Opinion podcast in late November: “How you do anything is how you do everything.” Perhaps guilt-tripping myself into storing cereal boxes “the right way” in the wee hours of the night isn’t healthy, but I’ve found value in the nine-word phrase – in particular as it relates to my professional development. The rushed assignments I’m not passionate about reflect poorly on my character even if my highlights are praiseworthy.

A friend shared a powerful message with me sometime last week: “[You] can’t limit the expansion of your reality bc someone else’s frame of view is limited.” His words have been showing up in my mind at random moments à la internet pop-up ads from the early aughts.

Surprisingly, the announcement of Ja Morant’s first signature shoe, the Nike Ja 1, has also formed part of my desire to change things moving forward: “Beneath No One” – the words Morant’s parents shared with him when he was young and doubtful of his greatness – appear on the sneaker, which he debuted in a Christmas Day game against the Golden State Warriors. For so long I’ve been proud of “knowing my place,” but notice I’ve subconciously become disillusioned about my capabilities in the process. My plan has been to instill an unwavering confidence in my children (whenever I have them), but I’ve overlooked the necessity to live what I’d be preaching.

I’m excited for 2023. Although there are several prospects in my personal life, I’m more eager to see how my work efforts develop throughout the next year. I want to interview more people, go on more business trips, and further cement my legacy within the worlds of sneakers and writing.

Who knows how I’ll internalize the over four hundred words that precede this sentence when I read them over on Dec. 28, 2023, but I’m ready to position myself adequately enough to be proud that the first glimpse of intentionality arrived before New Year’s Day.

Originally published on March 31st, 2021 on a previous blog.

Sometime three weeks ago, I went on a walk in the Bronx. As I do whenever I want "scenic" views, I walking alongside Fordham University (from the Fordham Road and Southern Boulevard side) and onto Bedford Park Boulevard. Although I've walked this route dozens of times throughout my near-27-years of life, my walks over the last two years have found me hyper-aware of the surroundings, as I've been looking for potential apartments to rent; businesses that've gone under or been propped up because of COVID-19; and "gems" hidden in plain sight. 

As has become customary on this route, I stopped right across the Bedford Park Presbyterian Church to marvel both at its build and Korean language signage. (The Asian, Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander population of the Bronx sits at a combined 5% as of census data reported in July 2019, so its presence is uncommon.) On this particular trip, however, the building across from the church also caught my attention. Although I'd been aware of the construct at the corner of Bedford Park Blvd. and Bainbridge Avenue, I'd never looked at the detailing around its roof. I took a photo of the apartment complex–partially dubbed the Bainbridge Court–and went about my day. 

At some point between March 15th and 19th, I decided to edit my image of the Bainbridge Court to then publish it on Instagram. Wanting to provide a short history lesson within my potential caption, I began researching what architecture style birthed the building's roof decoration. Landing pages related to the specific complex bore no results, so I began perusing broader Bronx-related information. Wikipedia's "Timeline of the Bronx" page was my starting point and may have indirectly given me an answer by noting that the Manhaset built in 1905 (six years before the building across the Bedford Park Presbyterian Church) followed Neo-Renaissance guidelines. However, it also made me aware of Ota Benga.

Born Mbye Otabenga circa 1883, the Mbuti man was sold by African slave traders to a businessman searching for entertainment to display at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition (St. Louis World's Fair) in 1904. Known for his Congolese roots, Pygmy features and sharpened teeth, Ota Benga drew spectators from all over while in Missouri.  Following the conclusion of the St. Louis-held event, the 20-something-year-old briefly visited Africa only to reportedly return to the U.S.A. after not feeling welcomed by the Batwa. For the next decade, Ota Benga lived in New York City and Lynchburg, Va., with the former momentarily finding the Africa-native at the Bronx Zoo. 

Prior to this month, I knew Africans and African-Americans had been exhibited in zoos and traveling spectacles throughout the South, but I wasn't well-aware that they'd been displayed in the North, and in my own backyard at that. Although Ota Benga joined the Bronx Zoo to tend to animal habitats in 1906, William Hornaday, the zoo's director at the time, noticed that people were more drawn to the young Congo Pygmy than to the animals. Instead of immediately setting up an exhibit, Hornaday supposedly encouraged the young man to regularly frequent the Monkey House. Ota Benga had developed a certain fondness to Dohong, an orangutan in the Monkey House, so he didn't seem to mind Hornaday's nudge. On September 8th of that year, however, the sign outside the exhibit read: 

The African Pygmy, "Ota Benga."
Age, 23 years. Height, 4 feet 11 inches.
Weight, 103 pounds. Brought from the
Kasai River, Congo Free State, South Cen-
tral Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner. Ex-
hibited each afternoon during September.

Following pressure from African-American clergymen, Hornaday shut the exhibit down, but not without hesitance. Madison Grant, Secretary of the New York Zoological Society, shared Hornaday's sentiments about the Ota Benga exhibit being valuable to spectators. Grant would go on to gain national recognition within the fields of racial anthropology and eugenics. 

After a brief stint at the Howard Colored Orphan Asylum in Brooklyn, Ota Benga moved to Virginia. Although he gained some mastery over the English language, conformed to American fashion and had his sharp teeth capped, the young Mbuti man longed to return to Africa. A plan was set in motion, but World War I halted passenger ship traffic in 1914. Hopeless, Ota Benga reportedly chipped off the caps on his teeth and shot himself with a borrowed pistol on March 20th, 1916. His body fell onto a ceremonial fire he had built just moments earlier. He was between the ages of 32 and 33.

Growing up in the Belmont neighborhood of the Bronx, I didn't learn about Ota Benga throughout elementary and middle school. Yet, class trips to the Bronx Zoo, which was never more than a 15 minute walk from these locales, were common enough and pitched as "fun getaways" from the classroom. Would my life have panned out differently had I learned about this moment in the zoo's history? I can't say, but I believe it's important for people to be aware of the past. 

Presently, the Bronx Zoo is still home to racial and socio-economic gaps. Its Yelp page has previously been full of reviews warning against visiting on "Welfare Wednesday," a moniker given to the one day the Bronx Zoo offers free (but limited) admission. As someone who's only visited on Wednesdays, I can attest that most locals head to the world's largest urban zoo on this day of the week. And understandably so: Adult (ages 13 and over) tickets are priced at $39.95 while Child (ages 3 to 12) tickets come in at $29.95. When you make any combination of visitors (an adult, two children; two adults, one child; or in my case growing up, four adults, one child) visiting the Bronx Zoo on any other day but Wednesday is a financial decision. I haven't even factored in the giraffe head-shaped souvenir cup and cafeteria food. (Best believe my immigrant mother always packed lunch for us so to not spend money at the zoo.) While inside, a quick glance around reveals a notable amount of the employee population consists of non-Whites, as is the case at various other tourist attractions across the city...

In July 2020, the Wildlife Conservation Society, operator of the Bronx Zoo, apologized for the zoo's past promotion of eugenics and treatment of Ota Benga.