Recent news about the Hundreds' Fairfax location permanently closing and Bodega co-founder, Dan Natola, stepping away from the brand after 20 years reaffirmed a long-standing thought: streetwear and culture are changing. Virgil Abloh's sentiment from 2019 that these things will eventually "die" might be a bit dramatic, but what can't be denied is that the landscape's lost something over the last two decades.
Jeff Staple, however, serves as an anomaly.
The New Jersey-native launched his eponymous brand, Staple Design, in the late 1990s. Since then, he's done everything a streetwear imprint from that era could've dreamt of: He opened up a brick-and-mortar space on the island of Manhattan; worked with Nike on some iconic footwear; and saw his signature Pigeon logo on countless products bought across the globe.
That's it then, right? Wrong.
The 50-year-old designer recently opened up the Staple Flagship Store at 21 Mercer Street, an important address in New York City's highly-competitive SoHo neighborhood. The move might seem financially unsound from the outside, but it doubles as an effort to preserve a piece of street culture history and attempt to propel streetwear into its next half-century.
House of Heatº exchanged emails with the multi-hyphenate creative to discuss the move, as well as his debut collaboration with Brooks on the Adrenaline GTS 4. Staple also touched on Reed Space, his first retail venture in New York; a potential reissue of his Nike SB Dunk Low project from 2005; and legacy.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
House of Heatº: How does a typical morning look like for you?
Jeff Staple: I like to start my mornings slow but intentional.
First, I wake up and take my dog, Prius, for a walk. That’s my time to clear my head, think about the day, and just be present with me and my partner. Then it’s a decaf coffee (I’ve completely given up on caffeine) and I skip solid food until lunch (known as intermittent fasting). After, I check emails and messages to see what fires in my world I need to help put out and start diving into the work of the day.
I don’t have a rigid structure because every day brings something different, but movement and mindfulness are key.
You founded Staple back in 1997. Could you paint the era’s street culture and creative scenes for us?
Man...’97 was such a raw time.
Street culture wasn’t a defined industry yet—it was just people creating out of passion. There wasn’t social media or e-commerce, so if you wanted to be part of the scene, you had to be there in person.
Supreme had just opened a few years prior. A BATHING APE® was bubbling in Japan. Brands like Stüssy and FUCT were setting the foundation. Graffiti, skateboarding, and hip-hop were all intertwined; and the Lower East Side was this creative melting pot. You had to hunt for pieces, whether it was a sneaker drop or graphic tee. It was all about community and discovery.
How do brands starting out this decade differ the most from those from the late ‘90s and early 2000s?
Two big differences: access and speed.
Back in the late ’90s, if you wanted to start a brand, you had to physically print tees, find retailers, and hustle to get noticed. Today, you can start a brand from your bedroom and sell worldwide through Instagram. With that access, however, comes saturation—there’s so much out there, and brands have to work harder to differentiate themselves. Also, the pace of fashion has changed; trends used to move in weeks, not years. Back then, you could build something slowly. Now, you have to be constantly evolving.
You’ve been at this with Staple for 28 years. How has your way of going into a project—be it mainline or collaborations—changed over the years?
In ’97, I was just doing what felt right, no grand strategy. It was pure instinct. Now, I still trust my gut, but I also think long-term.
Back then, a collab was just about making something dope with a brand or person I respected. Today, I consider the bigger picture—what does this mean for Staple’s legacy? How does this push culture forward? I also collaborate with teams now, rather than just making every decision myself. It’s less about “me” and more about the ecosystem we’ve built.
Although 21 Mercer is now the flagship home of Staple, it isn’t your first brick-and-mortar experience in Manhattan. You and your team operated Reed Space for 15 years. What were some of the challenges you faced while being open in the Lower East Side? What were some of your fondest moments at Reed Space?
Reed Space was an experiment that became a movement. The biggest challenge was just surviving in NYC’s retail scene. Rent increases, changes in foot traffic, and the rise of e-commerce all made it tough, but the community made it worth it.
Some of my best memories are just the spontaneous moments: Pharrell Williams and Dave Chappelle dropping by; a kid from Tokyo visiting because he read about us online; the energy around sneaker drops [including the legendary "Pigeon" Nike SB Dunk Low in March 2005]. It was a place where people connected, not just shopped.
Reed Space officially closed its doors on Sept. 30, 2016, with an official statement citing the desire for “a complete reset.” What informed this decision? What’s different or new now that has made you and the team ready for a (big) move to SoHo?
Retail was changing and I felt Reed Space needed to evolve. I didn’t want to force it, so I took a step back, reassessed, and came back stronger when the time was right. Fast forward to now and we’re in a different retail landscape—people want experiences, not just transactions.
That’s what we’re building at 21 Mercer.
Staple is now at 21 Mercer, the address of NikeLab from August 2008 to January 2023. How often did you interface with the location during that 15-year stretch?
A lot. 21 Mercer was a cultural hub. Whether it was Nike SB drops, special projects, or just hanging out, I was there all the time. So when the opportunity to move into the address came up, it felt like a full-circle moment.
Did you experience any “responsibility” to “preserve” the address from becoming just some other “soulless” storefront of a big corporate retailer like so many NYC institutions have?
1000%.
New York has lost too many cultural landmarks to big corporate retailers that don’t care about the community. 21 Mercer wasn’t just a Nike store—it was a hub for sneaker culture, design, and creativity. It meant something. So when we had the opportunity to take over the space, I felt a deep responsibility to honor that history. But we also wanted to evolve it.
The goal wasn’t and isn't just to keep it alive—we have to push it forward and make sure it stays a place where culture happens, not just a place where transactions take place.
Can you walk us through the layout and design of Staple at 21 Mercer? Were there things—physical or otherwise—carried over from Reed Space?
Reed Space’s DNA is definitely alive at 21 Mercer.
We still have a gallery space, and we still highlight up-and-coming creatives. The design, however, is more elevated—modern but warm, with nods to street culture’s past and future.
A big focus of Reed Space was community. How do you plan on fostering a similar sense of community at 21 Mercer?
Reed Space was never just a store—it was a meeting place. It was where people connected, discovered new brands, and felt like they were part of something bigger. That same energy is at the heart of what we’re building at 21 Mercer.
First, we’re curating the space beyond just Staple product. We’re showcasing up-and-coming brands, artists, and creatives who need a platform. Just like we gave early shelf space to brands at 151 Orchard Street, we’re doing the same here, whether that’s through collabs, installations, or pop-ups.
Second, programming is key. We’re hosting events, talks, and workshops where people can come together, not just shop. We want 21 Mercer to be a cultural hub where you pull up not just because you need something, but because you want to be part of the conversation.
Lastly, accessibility matters. In the digital age, community isn’t just about who walks through the door—it’s about who taps in from anywhere in the world. We’re making sure that the storytelling and experiences at 21 Mercer can live beyond the four walls of the store. The goal is for people to feel connected to what we’re doing, whether they're in NYC or across the globe.
Storefront windows at the Staple Flagship read “Culture Comes Home.” Could you give us your current diagnosis of the “culture?”
Culture right now is in flux.
There’s nostalgia for the past, but also an eagerness to define what’s next. Streetwear has gone mainstream, but that means it’s also ripe for reinvention. It’s a perfect time to bring it “home” and reset the foundation.
The grand opening of Staple’s flagship store coincided with the launch of Brooks’ first-ever vault release. How did this collaboration come about?
I’ve been wanting to work with Brooks for over a decade. Everyone in streetwear focused on basketball or skate shoes [throughout the 2010s], but I always thought runners had a place in the culture. Brooks has heritage and quality, they just needed the right storytelling.
I’ve always been drawn to underdogs, and Brooks felt like one in the sneaker culture space. I knew that if we could merge their tech and history with a strong narrative, we could create something unexpected.
It wasn’t about following a trend, but rather about shifting the conversation. And now, with the rise of runners in streetwear, it feels like the perfect moment for people to finally see what I saw in Brooks all those years ago.
Did you anticipate consumer trends shifting away from basketball footwear?
I just saw it as a natural progression.
It was always about seeing potential where others weren’t looking. Everyone in streetwear was hyper-focused on basketball, skate, or retro running brands like Nike and Adidas. But Brooks had this deep heritage in running—over 100 years in the game—and an insane level of quality and performance that no one was really tapping into from a lifestyle perspective.
As Brooks’ first lifestyle collaborator, what were some of the challenges you faced in getting the Adrenaline GTS 4 from idea to final product?
The biggest challenge was shifting the mindset. Brooks is a performance-first company—they live and breathe running. Every decision they make is based on biomechanics, efficiency, and science. So introducing the idea of a sneaker that wasn’t strictly for running, but more so for cultural relevance, was a new conversation for them.
We had to bridge the gap between function and storytelling. They’re used to marketing to marathoners, not sneakerheads. So we had to educate them on how hype works, how limited drops function, and how design cues—like materials, colorways, and even packaging—carry deep meaning in street culture.
Another challenge was product selection. We didn’t want to force a lifestyle sneaker into existence; we wanted to take something authentic from their archive and reinterpret it. The Adrenaline GTS 4 made perfect sense because it had that early-2000s runner aesthetic, but we had to carefully tweak materials, colors, and branding to make it resonate with both sneaker culture and Brooks’ core audience.
Ultimately, the process was about trust: Brooks had to trust us to introduce them to a new world, and we had to respect their heritage and DNA. That balance is what made this collab special.
Did you (or someone) have to educate higher-ups with some sort of “crash course” on sneakers and street culture?
Oh, 100%.
When we first started talking to Brooks about this project, we had to lay some groundwork. They’re experts in performance running, but the idea of sneaker culture—why people line up for a shoe, why storytelling matters, how scarcity drives demand—wasn’t their world.
We talked about the history of sneaker collaborations, the impact of certain releases, and why something like the Pigeon SB Dunk became iconic. I explained how sneakerheads don’t just look at tech specs; they care about the story, nostalgia, and emotional connection a shoe creates. Once we started breaking it down, they got it. They learned that certain sneakers aren’t just shoes—they represent a moment in culture.
The Pigeon, in particular, is more than just a logo. It’s a symbol of New York grit, survival, and hustle, which is the same energy a runner needs to push through a race. When they saw how deep that connection was, they understood that this wasn’t just about slapping a logo on a sneaker—it was about tapping into an ethos that people resonate with.
What I've appreciated about Brooks is their openness and willingness tolearn.
They weren’t trying to fake it or force a hype sneaker just for the sake of it. They wanted to understand the culture and do it the right way. Once they saw how sneaker collabs could align with their own brand DNA—heritage, performance, and innovation—everything started to click.
Also, I made sure we weren’t just borrowing from street culture but actually bringing something new to the table. We took a Brooks silhouette that had real heritage and history and infused it with a fresh perspective. That authenticity made all the difference.
By the end, they weren’t just tolerating hype culture—they were excited to be part of it in a way that felt true to them.
As someone responsible for creating one of the most iconic Nike collaborations of the modern era, how do you feel about former one-off projects getting reissues?
I get both sides.
Some people want classics to stay untouched. Others missed out the first time and want a second shot. As long as the story is respected, I think reissues can be great.
Did you ever contemplate or have the chance to pitch a one-to-one retro of the original Pigeon SB Dunk? Is it something you’d eventually like to see?
It’s been talked about. I think it would have to be done the right way, at the right time.
Who are some creatives that have inspired you over the years (be they big names or folks behind-the-scenes)?
So many: Hiroshi Fujiwara, FUTURA, KAWS, NIGO, Virgil Abloh (RIP). But also the unsung heroes—the designers, brand owners, and shopkeepers pushing things forward every day.
Do you believe there is a responsibility to get informed on the cultural history of this “thing of ours?” Or have sneakers and streetwear become so ubiquitous that seeking out this education is futile?
I entirely believe there’s a responsibility to know the history. If you’re truly passionate about sneakers and streetwear—not just following trends—then understanding where it all came from should be second nature.
Think about it: every culture, from music to art to fashion, has its roots. Hip-hop heads study old records; filmmakers watch classics; and designers learn about the greats before them. Why should sneakers and streetwear be any different?
Knowing the history gives you context. It helps you recognize what’s fresh versus what’s recycled. It teaches you who paved the way and why certain moments mattered.
That being said, I get that streetwear is everywhere now. You don’t need to know the history to buy a pair of Air Jordans or rock a Supreme tee. But if you want to contribute—whether as a designer, collector, or just someone who really lives this—you owe it to yourself to dig deeper. Otherwise, you’re just consuming, not creating.
What do you and the team hope to accomplish with Staple at 21 Mercer in the first two years? In 10?
In the first two years, the goal is to establish 21 Mercer as more than just a retail space—it has to be a cultural hub. We want people to see this as a home for creativity, collaboration, and storytelling. That means curating product in a meaningful way, hosting events that bring people together, and giving emerging designers and artists a platform. If someone walks in and leaves feeling inspired—even if they didn’t buy anything—that’s a win.
Looking 10 years out, I want 21 Mercer to be an institution. I want people to speak about this space the way they talk about Reed Space, UNION Los Angeles, and the old Supreme shop. It should be a place that defines a moment in time for street culture, sneakers, and design. I also hope we can use it as a launchpad to expand the brand’s global presence, whether that’s new locations, new creative ventures, or deeper storytelling. But most importantly, it should always feel like a place where culture is being built, not just sold.
If you think about legacy, how would you like yours to read?
I want to be known as someone who contributed to culture in a meaningful way. Not just through product, but through ideas, mentorship, and building spaces for the next generation.
If Staple can continue inspiring creators long after I’m gone, that’s the legacy I want.
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Jovani Hernandez is House of Heatº’s Lead Writer.
