When Politicians Use Sneakers as Props: The Susan Collins Problem
One senator made a dad joke. The other built a movement.
Senator Susan Collins announced her 2026 re-election campaign today with a 14-second video. She unboxes a pair of New Balance sneakers and delivers the punchline: “This is perfect for 2026, because I’m running.”
Cue the collective eye roll from anyone who actually cares about sneaker culture.
Look, I get it. Politicians need to connect with voters. They need moments that feel relatable, human, accessible. But there’s a massive difference between being part of sneaker culture and using sneakers as a prop for a dad joke 3that your communications team probably workshopped for three weeks.
The Collins video isn’t about sneakers. It’s about optics. It’s a calculated move designed to make a 73-year-old Republican senator—one who’s repeatedly provided the deciding vote for policies that have actively harmed communities—seem approachable while simultaneously checking boxes about American manufacturing (New Balance has facilities in Maine) and fiscal responsibility (because God forbid a politician wear expensive sneakers). It’s the political equivalent of “how do you do, fellow kids?” except the sneakers are doing all the heavy lifting for a weak pun.
And honestly? It might be perfectly on-brand for New Balance at this point... the dad joke shoe making a dad joke campaign announcement. But that’s not a compliment.
What Authentic Engagement Actually Looks Like
Contrast that with what New York State Senator Zellnor Myrie has been doing. When I interviewed him for the Sneaker History Podcast, he didn’t lead with sneakers as a gimmick. He led with his story.
Myrie grew up in Brooklyn. His mom worked in factories, then became a small business owner and eventually a nurse. His dad taught special education in the Bronx. When young Zellnor asked for his first pair of Jordans, his mom laughed and told him he’d get them when he got a job. Sound familiar? That’s the origin story for thousands of sneakerheads... the lecture about corporations, the promise tied to earning your own money, the first paycheck that finally lets you cop what you’d been wanting.
His first “real” purchase wasn’t even Jordans. It was Diesel sneakers, which he freely admits was slightly embarrassing in retrospect. But when he finally got those first Jordans working at Old Navy as a “denim expert,” it meant something. He has stories about waiting in line at Cross County Mall for Grape 5s at 4 AM, watching the entire system fall apart when the second bus arrived, people fighting over spots, cops getting called. He vowed never to wait in line again... and of course, he did it anyway. Because that’s what sneakerheads do.
Fast forward to his time in the New York State Senate. There’s an actual dress code requiring jackets in the chamber, but nothing in the statute about footwear. During COVID, when everyone still had to show up masked and suited, Myrie decided if he was going to look rough (full beard, hair unkempt because barbershops were closed), he was at least going to be comfortable. He walked into the Senate chamber wearing DMP 6s. Nobody stopped him.
He kept doing it. Started switching it up... Dunks, White Cement 3s, whatever felt right. Other senators started following his lead. His friend Senator Jamal Bailey from the Bronx, also a sneakerhead, started showing out with his rotation. Staff members joined in. People who clean the building brought their heat.
So Myrie introduced a resolution to make it Sneaker Day in New York.
This wasn’t some publicity stunt timed for an election cycle. This was at the end of session when things are at “fever pitch,” as he described it... drag-out fights over legislation that actually matters to New Yorkers, blood on the walls type intensity. And in the middle of all that chaos, Myrie brought forward this resolution about sneakers.
Republicans and Democrats stood up in unity to talk about what sneakers meant to them. People got emotional. Senators who rarely showed any style came through on comfort alone, discovering what it felt like to wear sneakers all day in the chamber. The Senate Majority Leader, Andrea Stewart-Cousins (the first Black woman to hold that position in the Senate’s 200-year history), received white Air Force 1s from Myrie and Bailey... a shoe that speaks to everybody, from the bodega worker to the tourist to the guy in a suit on the train.
That’s what authentic engagement looks like. It’s not a punchline. It’s creating space for community, for shared stories, for people to bring their whole selves into spaces that traditionally demanded they leave parts of their identity at the door.
When Myrie wore Cool Grey 11s to the White House for an event on gun safety, he posted about it. Someone from his district stopped him on the street days later: “Yo, I saw you had Cool Greys on at the White House. I’ve never seen a politician do anything like that.”
That moment mattered to that person. Not because of a clever marketing line, but because representation is powerful. Because seeing someone navigate institutional spaces while staying true to themselves gives permission for others to do the same.
The Problem With Performative Sneaker Culture
Here’s the thing about sneaker culture... it’s built on authenticity, knowledge, and community. You can’t fake your way in. You can’t hire a social media team to make you seem credible. People know immediately whether you’re actually part of the culture or just borrowing it for a moment.
Susan Collins unboxing New Balances for a campaign video isn’t her sharing her love of sneakers. It’s her team recognizing that sneakers poll well with younger demographics and that New Balance has convenient manufacturing ties to her state. It’s focus-grouped relatability packaged as a running pun.
It’s the same energy as brands jumping into cultural moments they have no authentic connection to, thinking they can just buy their way into credibility. Or executives making political statements, watching the backlash explode, then scrambling to backtrack and clarify. That’s a story for another day, but the pattern is the same... performative engagement gets exposed every single time.
The sneaker community sees through it immediately.
What Leaders Should Actually Do
If you’re a politician, a brand executive, or anyone in a position of influence who wants to connect with sneaker culture, here’s the blueprint: do what Zellnor Myrie did.
Create space for community. Bring people together. Make room for authentic expression. Don’t just borrow the aesthetics for a photo op... actually understand what the culture represents and why it matters.
Sneakers are about more than shoes. They’re about identity, self-expression, shared experiences, and the stories we tell about who we are and where we come from. They’re about the kid working their first job to buy the shoes their mom said were too expensive. They’re about standing in line at 4 AM with strangers who become friends. They’re about walking into rooms you’re not supposed to be in and refusing to change who you are to fit someone else’s expectations.
You can’t authentically engage with that by making a pun in a 14-second video.
Myrie told me that sneakers and politics share something important: they’re both about telling stories. In politics, you’re showing people who we are as a collective. With sneakers, you’re showing people who you are as an individual, immediately, visually, without saying a word.
When he introduced Sneaker Day, he wasn’t trying to score political points. He was creating a tradition, building community, showing that Republicans and Democrats could find common ground over shared appreciation for culture and self-expression. He turned what could have been a gimmick into something meaningful... a day where the guy cleaning the building could show up in his heat and get the same respect as a senator wearing Jordans.
That’s the difference between using sneakers and being part of sneaker culture.
Susan Collins made a dad joke with New Balances. Zellnor Myrie changed the dress code and brought people together.
One is a moment. The other is a movement.
And in 2026, as we watch politicians try to co-opt sneaker culture for campaign videos and photo ops, it’s worth remembering what actual authenticity looks like. It’s not about the shoes you wear for the cameras. It’s about the community you build when the cameras are off.
I’m Nick Engvall, and I’ve been writing about sneakers and culture for over two decades, from building Eastbay’s first blog to being employee #9 at StockX. I run Sneaker History (website and podcast) and write The Sneaker Newsletter... sneaker lore, business breakdowns, and the stories that connect what we wear to who we are.
If you want the deeper stuff - the industry analysis, the “From the Vault” stories from my 20+ years in this business - become a paid subscriber.
Buuuuuut was that particular shoe a Made in USA? Haha Also, that was a great podcast interview by the way. Totally authentic.