admin I have a confession to make. Back in 2019, I wrote about how a simple $70 pair of Reebok Club C 85s had become my exit ramp off the endless sneaker-copping highway I’d been careening down for years. Truth be told, despite my pure intentions, that’s not exactly how things played out. I’ve picked up my fair share of kicks since then, from meshy retro New Balance runners to FYP-worthy Adidas. Most hypocritically, I lucked into a pair of hard-to-get Reebok Club Cs from the king of the subdued IYKYK collab, JJJJound, which normally cost over $300 on the resale market. (Full disclosure: Reebok floated a pair my way while fellow ’heads frantically refreshed their browsers on launch day.)
Four years later, the under-the-radar pair hasn’t been the miracle cure for my sicko sneaker tendencies—but they’re definitely the sneakers I’ve worn most by an enormous margin. (For proof, see below.)
After four years of abuse, the soles have been eroded to the point of actually tearing apart. Even the occasional scrubdown of the leather can’t dislodge the dirt that’s so deeply embedded into those chasmic creases. They’ve been disqualified from appearing in any halfway-decent public space. This irredeemable thrashed-ness is proof of my love—and it’s why you, too, should consider the style if you too want a sneaker that’ll never let you down.
Not to go all Wikipedia on you, but a little backstory helps explain how, exactly, the Reebok Club C 85 ended up in the pantheon of all-time classic kicks. The “Club Champion” (legal name) arrived in 1985 so that country-club types had a court sneaker to match their tennis whites. Then, ironically, the aerobics set fell in love with the C, mostly because it played nice with high-wattage neon spandex. From there, the Club C became a sneaker staple for a synthed-out generation that, kinda like today, loved dressing for show.
Forty years later, Reebok’s quiet icon remains undefeated at sporty, goes-with anything simplicity. Yes, the Club C is comfy (shout out a wide toe box, cozy terry lining, and my love of tying them once and leaving them that way). Yes, it’s perfectly competent at the gym for any non-treadmill-based workout. But the Club C’s unmatched super power is its aggressively anonymous look.
This sneaker is as at-home with mesh shorts as it is anchoring relaxed-fit jeans or big chinos. As a person who gets fit-induced decision paralysis just putting on clothes for a run to the grocery store, I know I can never go wrong trust-falling into a pair of Club Cs. (The JJJJound version ditch the Union Jack flag, but beyond that, and in typical JJJJound fashion, the differences are negligible.) It’s an enormous relief to pull on a pair of kicks without worrying that they’re stealing the spotlight—or worse, ruining a fit.
If I have any other confessions to make, it’s that my heavily toasted Club Cs have been so easy to rely on partly because I’m wearing sneakers less than ever. After years of throwing elbows for limited-edition collab pre-registration raffle-only sneakerhead grails, I’ve pivoted my energies elsewhere. We’re going through a men’s shoe-with-a-capital-S renaissance, and the footwear I’ve splurged on recently are derbies, loafers, and chunky-treaded leather boots that hold down pressed chinos and a double-breasted blazer while also making a hoodie and jeans feel more special. Maybe that’s personal growth, but it could also just be life in a post-streetwear world.
Even though I’ve had some unworn, regular ol’, non-special edition white-and-navy Club Cs in the back of my closet, ready for the day I finally retire my overcooked pair, I’m really itching to replace my toasted JJJJounds Club Cs. Is paying $400 resale for plain Reeboks that only sneaker sickos would recognize the move of a backsliding man? Or am I just giving myself the gift of my personal platonically ideal sneakers? Sneakers I know I’ll wear over and over (and over, and over) again. Like all things Club C, I’m just not gonna overthink it.
