1996 Reebok Question
by John Gotty
In the mid-’90s, Nike dominated the basketball category and American sports footwear as a whole. The big names and the best shoes all existed under the Swoosh umbrella. To stay competitive in a crowded marketplace, Reebok wanted a player as electrifying as Allen Iverson. “He was 6-foot-1 and could jump through the gym, could do everything, and he was also a good-looking kid,” said Todd Krinsky, a long-time Reebok executive. “He had the swagger. If you write down the ten things that need to work in our industry, you could check off all ten.”
In the wake of the sneaker wars of the ’80s, which saw it cede its top spot to Nike, Reebok faced the difficult task of rekindling excitement around the brand. How could it harness the growing popularity of basketball to regain its spot in the industry? Its response came in the form of the Question—Iverson’s signature debut.
The model, now almost a quarter-century old, sits near the top of the pantheon of basketball footwear. Reebok began crafting it for Iverson while he was still a sophomore at Georgetown University, well before he set foot on an NBA court, and before he signed with the company. Krinsky steered the project in its early stages. He and his co-workers watched the point guard wreak havoc on opponents throughout the college season and the NCAA tournament. Iverson’s fast-paced play informed the initial design. “When we designed it, it was really all about performance,” Krinsky shared in a 2015 interview with Nice Kicks. “We wanted it to be about speed, and we wanted it to have elements of speed to it.” Led by designer Scott Hewett, Reebok created an initial prototype meant to embody the quickness and flash Iverson showed on the court.
But Iverson was still far from a lock for the brand. By the time he declared his intentions to go pro, he was still debating between shoe companies he wanted to represent him. All signs pointed to a deal with Nike. He’d worn its shoes throughout high school and college. Georgetown’s coach, John Thompson, held a position on Nike’s board of directors and served as a mentor for a young Iverson. David Falk, Iverson’s agent, delivered a rookie Michael Jordan, Iverson’s idol, and many other standout athletes to Nike in years prior.
Reebok knew that Nike was creating a shoe for Iverson. It also knew it desperately needed a jolt to its roster, which at the time included Shawn Kemp, Glenn Robinson, and Shaquille O’Neal as the company’s biggest names. They were all great players, but not as attractive as the guards who were beginning to dominate the nightly highlights.
Falk was part of the reason Reebok was able to secure Iverson. The agent knew the player was a special talent and that Nike’s long list of clients meant the rookie might not get the full attention he deserved. And at the time, the New York Times Magazine reported in a profile on Falk, Nike aimed to control the number of endorsement deals its athletes could take on by signing them to overall management contracts.
Reebok wanted to make the ballplayer a star, and the company didn’t leave anything to chance. When it was its turn to make Iverson an offer, it proposed a ten-year deal for $50 million, an unheard-of figure at the time and far more than other companies reportedly offered. Even Thompson told Iverson it would be foolish to pass up the enormous payday from Reebok. “I told him what Reebok offered me and what Nike offered me, and it was a no-brainer,” Iverson said in an interview at ComplexCon in 2019. Iverson concluded that Nike didn’t realize who he could one day become.
Now that Reebok had its man, the two sides immediately went to work. The brand met with Iverson to show him the sample it created for him. He approved the design with only a few changes between the early prototype and what would become the Question. The shoe featured a leather upper, a suede or pearlized toecap, Hexalite cushioning with windows in the midsoles, and a blue-tinted translucent outsole to round off the look. “The emphasis was really on the toe,” Hewett told Slam Kicks in 2002. “We just wanted to have some different materials, especially on the toe. Then there was the ice bottom, the ghilly lace loops—we just wanted to keep it nice for him . . . we used Hexalite to keep some weight out, as well as a full mesh tongue.”
The shoe’s focus on the toecap and the lacing system drew comparisons to the Air Jordan XI, a model originally released in 1995 and one Iverson famously wore at Georgetown. Reebok contended it never had any intentions of making Iverson’s first shoe a replica of anything Jordan wore. “No, it wasn’t, really—it was more we were trying to bring some familiarity to the shoe in general with different elements,” Krinsky told Complex in 2012. “But there was no, like, look to something. We didn’t say, ‘OK, he likes Jordans; let’s try to make him comfortable.’ Our goal was to make things that were really going to stand out on the court.”
Reebok readied the shoes to launch by the fall of 1996. It couldn’t, however, get the production numbers where they needed to be in order to orchestrate a wide release. Instead of flooding the market, Reebok took a measured approach by releasing the shoe in a handful of stores in Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, DC. To its surprise, people snapped them up with quickness. The Question sold through in days, even minutes in some cases. Reebok even had reports of heatseekers driving hours in search of the Question. “Allen had great style on the court, and [the Question] looked cool with jeans, especially all the toe colors. We didn’t anticipate it to be a big fashion play, but it quickly became adopted on the street as one of those must-have looks for kids,” Krinsky recalled in a 2015 interview with Nice Kicks.
Reebok knew it had a hit on its hands. But as big as the moment was for the company, it meant even more for Iverson. “When you’re twenty years old, man, you ain’t giving a fuck about what the shoe look like,” Iverson said. “It’s your shoe. It’s your dream come true. You got your own shoe. So that was just the icing on the cake that it looked good and everybody loved me.”
Iverson, who in 1996 was drafted first overall by Philadelphia (ahead of future MVPs Kobe Bryant and Steve Nash, and others like Ray Allen and Stephon Marbury), wore the blue-toe version of his shoe during his first NBA game, on November 1, 1996. “I think, for the most part, the fraternity was proud of me,” he said. Not all rookies are blessed to start their careers decked out in a shoe named for them, but Iverson was. And he put up 30 points and 6 assists against the Milwaukee Bucks that night.
Iverson experienced his share of highs and lows during the first half of the season, but filled the box score each night with crazy stats. His play earned him a roster spot in the Rising Stars Game as part of All-Star Weekend in February 1997. In a matchup filled with future stars, two of the brightest and youngest—Iverson and fellow rookie Bryant—went head-to-head in a battle for the ages. Both players scored their fair share of points, Iverson notching 19, Bryant finishing with 31, a then-game record. Iverson’s East squad won the game, and he earned Most Valuable Player honors, along with a cascade of boos from fans in Cleveland’s Gund Arena.
To many, what transpired during the game was symbolic of the changing face of the league. Young players were leaving college early or skipping it completely for professional riches. Teamwork gave way to ego-driven, me-first play that frustrated a lot of people. “Perhaps people have been listening to the legends of the league talking about rookies like Iverson this week, grumbling about how selfish they are, and how they have an image before they have a game,” read a report published the next day in the New York Times. “So what did Iverson do? He showed up with eye-catching cornrows, flashy passes behind his back, and greedy shot-taking in the second half. All of which only furthered the perception that he is a me-me-me rookie.” For his part, Iverson soaked up the boos and barked back by reminding those same fans they would see him and his Sixers team the following week. “We play Cleveland Tuesday and I can’t wait to play the Cavaliers,” he told the paper. “I’ve never had people boo me for playing hard.”
For everything polished players like Jordan, Larry Bird, and Magic Johnson represented, Iverson stood as the polar opposite, with his aforementioned cornrows, baggy uniform, black ankle braces, and colorful headband. He looked like a potential headache for a league attempting to wash away its less-than-stellar image from the early ’80s due to drug use among players. But what he represented to a younger generation of basketball fans was an average-size athlete who was a scoring machine on the court.
As the Sixers guard made a name for himself, a cultural shift was occurring in the music world. Rap was experiencing a boom of its own. By 1996, hip-hop had moved beyond the park jams and underground scene with which it had been synonymous in previous decades. Artists like LL Cool J, Busta Rhymes, and Outkast worked their way onto the charts, while seminal albums like 2Pac’s All Eyez on Me cemented hip-hop’s crossover. But for all its good fortune, rap was still stigmatized, in part because of the coastal beef between the Bad Boy and Death Row record labels, which led to the killings of 2Pac and the Notorious B.I.G. Iverson represented the energy of hip-hop, which in the eyes of some eclipsed everything else about him. His attitude was hip-hop in every sense of the word. But, much like it did the music, the mainstream loathed him, since he came up before middle America was ready to embrace certain elements of Blackness. Players of previous generations called him selfish, and he represented regression for a league that had finally managed to scrub its image clean. Many considered Iverson a thug who skirted the law just because he could dribble a basketball well.
Despite the critics, A.I. grew to be beloved by younger audiences, who recognized that the twenty-one-year-old looked like them, spoke like them, and listened to the same music as them. He embodied the “stereotypes of a Black male misunderstood” the Notorious B.I.G. rapped about. Teens loved how Iverson comfortably straddled the line, with a foot planted in each culture’s—the NBA and hip-hop’s—rise to prominence. His clothing mirrored what rappers of the day wore: oversize tees, excessively baggy jeans, flashy diamonds, expensive chains, and a fitted baseball cap with the braids and durag poking out underneath. How influential was his style? In 2005, the NBA instituted a dress code mandating that players wear business casual attire when on official business partly because of Iverson’s sartorial choices. The same code also barred them from wearing chains and jewelry. Iverson was immediately critical of the new rules. “Just because you put a guy in a tuxedo, it doesn’t mean he’s a good guy,” he told the Philadelphia Daily News.
Unlike the league, Reebok never asked Iverson to shift his image. Neither did his agent, Falk. Both parties knew times were changing for society and understood what was expected of athletes as pitchmen. “With him, I have a penchant to do it differently,” Falk told the New York Times. “It doesn’t work to do the same stuff that Jordan did in 1984. It would be as if Allen Iverson wore Michael Jordan’s custom-made clothes from 1984. They wouldn’t fit and they’d be out of style.” They saw the shift in the audience and anticipated Iverson being one of the key faces for the future.
Sports’ relationship with sneakers had evolved in the wake of Jordan, and by the time Iverson arrived in the league with his own model, the landscape was crowded with players who either had a shoe bearing their name or a sneaker endorsement deal in place. “Today, the marketing of an athlete sometimes exceeds the potential of that athlete. Back then, the potential of the athlete built the marketing,” Jordan told the New York Times Magazine in 1996, in Falk’s profile. “Now, it isn’t as important.” He didn’t single out Iverson, although the comments could certainly fit.
What happened on March 12, 1997, in Philadelphia changed how Iverson would forever be seen. A 16-45 Sixers team faced the defending champion Chicago Bulls, who were marching along to another title. Iverson and Jordan matched up against one another in the frontcourt. Wearing “Blue Toe” Questions, the scrappy guard hit Jordan with a low, quick crossover dribble that baited Jordan to reach for the ball. Then Iverson rocked Jordan with another cross even quicker than the one before it. Jordan reached helplessly, leaving himself exposed in the process. “The only reason I did it the second time is because I seen how hard he bit when I wasn’t even doing a move. I was setting a move up. I said, ‘Oh, he’s biting hard,’” Iverson told Complex in 2012. Iverson skirted past him, rose up and flicked a jump shot off his fingertips over Jordan’s outstretched hand.
The shot only counted for two points in the box score. But it showed that the Sixers rookie had the potential Jordan spoke about, and it put the rest of the league on notice—if the greatest player ever couldn’t check Iverson, every other player needed to worry. If there were ever any questions about whether he could play, Iverson answered with a highlight that certified his arrival.
Iverson went on to have a legendary career that spanned fourteen seasons. While he never won an NBA Championship, he earned nearly every other award in the NBA imaginable—one Most Valuable Player award, two All-Star MVP awards in his eleven appearances—and led his team to the NBA Finals in 2001 and ultimately entered the Hall of Fame his first time on the ballot in 2016.
But the accolades don’t completely define what he meant to the culture of basketball and sports as a whole. His fingerprints show up every time a player enters the arena hallways wearing streetwear instead of a suit or hits the court with an armful of tattoos.
And even after more than twenty years, the Question remains one of Reebok’s strongest models, and the Iverson franchise as a whole holds the distinction of being one of the longest-running signature series in basketball footwear. While Reebok has experienced ups and downs in recent years, shoe sales never falter when reissues of the Question hit store shelves. The model has been released in over one hundred different styles and colorways in its lifespan. In 2016, the brand commemorated the model’s twentieth anniversary by releasing twenty different versions of the Question Mid. Those collabs with the likes of streetwear staple Bape, graffiti writer Stash, artists like Jadakiss and Teyana Taylor, and a slew of other partners introduced the shoe to a new generation of consumers. Much like Jordan’s, Iverson’s first signature sneaker will always be considered one of the greatest basketball shoes to find a life away from the court. Through the stunning performances of its namesake and its cultural staying power, the Question has made its mark.
Honorable Mention
Nike Air Penny 2
by John Gotty
Nike owned basketball in 1996. Michael Jordan had stepped away from the game for what would be a brief hiatus, but the brand still had the coolest shoes and the best players, perhaps none greater than Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway and his Air Penny 2. The 6'7" point guard found success early in his professional career with the Orlando Magic after going third overall in the 1994 NBA Draft. Hardaway earned All-Rookie First Team in 1994, consecutive All-NBA First Teams in 1995 and 1996, and, along with Shaquille O’Neal, led his team to the 1995 NBA Finals and 1996 Eastern Conference Finals.
With the Penny 2, Eric Avar designed a shoe that represented an evolution from Hardaway’s first model, released in 1995, without abandoning what about it had worked. It sported clean, fluid lines mirroring Hardaway’s style of play and disposition. Elements like the reflective 3M on the piping, the Swoosh adorning the ankle, and Hardaway’s One Cent logo stitched on the tongue distinguished it from other models. The combo of Zoom Air in the forefoot and Max Air near the rear created a responsive shoe built for Hardaway’s quick, explosive play.
“The 2 was my favorite one to wear, because it was more comfortable to me, and it was just a tighter, snug fit,” Hardaway told Sole Collector in 2008. “The [Penny] 1 was a little bit wider, and it was still a great shoe, but the [Penny] 2 is a bit more narrow and becomes more snug around my arches and were probably my favorites.”
Hardaway wore the Penny 2 at the beginning of the 1996–97 NBA season, before buyers could get their hands on it for Holiday 1996. The model originally released in three colorways: a white-based “home” pair, a predominantly black “away” pair, and the “Atlantic Blue” version. Those sound tame by today’s standards, but they synced perfectly with the Orlando Magic’s team colors and pin-striped uniforms. Truthfully, though, the shoes didn’t need to be loud, and neither did Hardaway. Nike left all the boasting to Lil’ Penny, the player’s puppet alter ego, voiced by Chris Rock, who sent the marketing into another stratosphere.
Nike continues to reissue the Air Penny 2 in an endless array of color schemes. They still sell, too, thanks to the nostalgia for their namesake and those commercials. But it all dates back to 1996, when a powerful mix of talents—Avar, Hardaway, and Rock among them—created the design and marketing alchemy responsible for one of the best models of Nike’s 1990s basketball run.