Collector Interview: Chase B

Let's get into it Chase! You’ve publicly connected shoe photography to where this all began, and you’ve described waiting hours in line in (allegedly) rainy Oregon for retail pairs. What did those early years teach you about what actually makes a pair worth chasing?

Those days honestly taught me a lot. I remember questioning what I was doing plenty of times standing outside in miserable Oregon weather waiting for releases, but all of that doubt disappeared the second you got the pair in hand. As dumb as it sounds, back then you could genuinely feel when something dope was coming out.

Part of that was just being around other people who were really deep in the culture, but another big part was the attention to detail brands were putting into shoes at the time. Nike Basketball was going crazy, NikeID was everybody’s favorite pastime, and collabs were still pretty rare. Very few releases felt lazy, and when collaboration pairs dropped, the storytelling and details were actually there.

I was also working at Nike retail during that era, so I’d camp out at the Employee Store for major releases because there was no sales tax and I could get pairs for 50% off. At the time it almost felt impossible to lose, so it was easy to buy first and figure it out later.

Over time though, especially once StockX really started booming and suddenly anybody could see market prices instantly, I learned to only buy what I genuinely liked. That shift changed sneaker culture a lot. Crazy to think all of this was before StockX even existed.

You now present yourself professionally as a photographer, videographer, and social strategist through ByChase. How has that visual training changed the way you collect sneakers?

I grew up in Newport, Oregon, which is a pretty small coastal town. Outside of minimum wage jobs, fishing, and mill work, there honestly wasn’t a ton going on. A lot of people felt stuck there. And while I loved fishing growing up, I knew I didn’t want to spend years of my life alone on a boat.

At the time, YouTube completely changed my perspective on life. Seeing small glimpses of how people lived in other parts of the world was incredibly inspiring to me. All of the creators I looked up to were doing different things, but the one thing they all had in common was a camera. So in my mind, I needed one too.

I worked two jobs in high school and eventually bought my first camera. The funny part is I had no idea what to even photograph. I had a couple pairs of sneakers, so I figured I’d start there. My expectations were sky high, but reality hit hard — I was terrible at photography and video at first. But I became obsessed with improving.

A few years later, after constantly practicing and teaching myself, I started developing real skills and began posting sneaker photos on Instagram. That was the first time I started seeing traction online, and honestly, that’s where everything began shifting for me creatively.

You’ve also been close to sneaker culture from behind the camera, including editing shop-focused videos and filming at sneaker events. What do those vantage points reveal about collectors that regular attendees often miss?

What I've noticed is that the collectors who are in it for the long haul usually aren't the loudest people in the room. They're often more interested in the stories, the design details, and the relationships they've built through sneakers than showing off the most expensive pair they own.

When you're filming events, you also see how much community exists behind the scenes. People trade stories, help each other track down pairs, and connect over memories tied to specific releases. From the outside, sneaker culture can look like it's all about resale prices and hype, but being behind the camera showed me that for many collectors, the shoes are really just the entry point. The real value is the nostalgia, the creativity, and the people they've met along the way.

Your recent shoe posts have ranged from Nike Mind 002s to Air Max 95 Neons, Chicago 13s, and the Oregon Ducks Air Max 1 ’87. What is the real through-line of your collection today: nostalgia, design language, wearability, rarity, personal story, or something else entirely?

Nostalgia was definitely the starting point. Like a lot of kids, I couldn't afford most of the pairs I wanted growing up. I remember buying cheaper colorways of retros that I knew I could paint or customize to look like the unattainable pairs I saw online. In a weird way, the chase started there.

Once I got older and was able to build a collection of nearly 300 pairs, I made it a mission to track down a lot of those grails I'd dreamed about as a kid. But somewhere along the way, I realized actually owning the shoes was never really the point.

The real through-line of my collection today is the story attached to each pair. The shoes are reminders of specific moments in my life, certain eras of sneaker culture, people I've met, events I've attended, and memories I don't want to forget. That's why a pair like the Oregon Ducks Air Max 1 means something completely different to me than a random rare shoe with a high resale value.

At this point, I'm much more interested in what a shoe represents than what it's worth. The shoes are just the physical objects—the stories, memories, and people behind them are what make them meaningful.

That's a great way to think about it. What pair in your current collection feels most like a self-portrait, and why?

As funny as it sounds, I'd probably say a pair of Golden Goose sneakers.

I recently got engaged, and while my fiancée and I were in Paris, we decided to get matching pairs. The store had artists on-site who could customize them, so we had a New York skyline drawn on one side and a Paris skyline on the other, along with a few other personal details that represented our relationship and travels.

What's funny is that younger me would have never understood that purchase. I grew up obsessing over pristine sneakers and chasing the pairs everyone else wanted. The idea of buying an expensive shoe that already looked worn and then paying someone to draw on it would have sounded ridiculous.

But in a lot of ways, that pair symbolizes my entire journey with sneakers. I went from idolizing shoes as objects to appreciating them as vessels for memories and stories. Today, I'd rather own a pair that reminds me of one of the best moments of my life than a pair that's valuable simply because it's rare.

Those Golden Gooses aren't the most hyped or the most expensive shoes in my collection, but they probably say the most about who I am today. They're personal, they're imperfect, they're meant to be worn, and I genuinely don't care what anyone else thinks about them—which is a mindset sneakers helped me grow into over time.

Congratulations on the engagement! Tell me about a pickup that the broader market might treat as minor, but you consider major because of the story attached to it.

The pair that immediately comes to mind is the 2016 Bred 1 that I recently bought for $250.

What's funny is that if you look at today's market, Jordan 1 hype is pretty much dead compared to where it was a decade ago. There have been so many colorways released over the years that the silhouette feels oversaturated to a lot of people. But that's exactly why this pair means so much to me—it has nothing to do with current hype.

The 2016 release happened the year I graduated high school. At the time, I worked Nike retail and sneakers were my life. I loved the Bred 1 so much that I'd buy clearance colorways like the Laser 1s and paint them myself just to have something that looked close to the pair I really wanted.

When the shoe released, I actually requested the day off from Nike and got denied. So after finishing my shift, I drove almost three hours to the employee store and got there around 3 or 4 in the morning. I remember pulling up and seeing this insanely long line and immediately thinking my chances were slim.

I waited until the doors opened around 10 a.m., hoping I'd at least have a shot. By the time I made it to checkout, they were gone.

Eventually I paid around $400 resale for a pair, which felt absolutely insane at the time. I was used to camping for Jordan 1s at the employee store and paying around $80. As a 17-year-old kid making minimum wage, spending $400 on a pair of shoes felt borderline irresponsible.

Looking back, the shoe isn't important because it's a Bred 1 or because it's worth money. It's important because it reminds me of who I was then—a kid working Nike retail, painting his own sneakers to look like grails, driving through the night for releases, and stretching every dollar just to be part of the culture.

That's why I bought a deadstock pair recently. Not because the market told me it was valuable, but because it instantly brought me back to that chapter of my life. The older I get, the more I realize the best shoes in my collection aren't necessarily the rarest ones—they're the ones attached to the strongest memories.

When a pair earns a permanent place with you, what matters most: silhouette, materials, cultural context, comfort, styling potential, or the memory tied to when you got it?

If you had asked me that question ten years ago, I probably would've said rarity or cultural significance. Today, it's the memory attached to the shoe and it's not even close.

I've owned hundreds of pairs at this point, and one thing I've learned is that the excitement of owning a shoe eventually fades. What doesn't fade is what that shoe reminds you of.

You’ve posted both first-impression excitement and honest disappointment, including criticism of the Nike Mind line. What separates a short-term curiosity from a true keeper?

For me, the difference between a short-term curiosity and a true keeper is whether the shoe holds up once the excitement wears off.

Social media and product photos can make almost anything look amazing these days. I've definitely bought pairs based on first impressions only to realize they weren't nearly as compelling once I had them in hand.

Quality plays a huge role in that. I actually just went through this with the recent Banned 1 Lows. In pictures, I thought they looked incredible, so much so that I bought three pairs on release day. When they arrived, I noticed the leather differed not only between each pair but also between the left and right shoes of the same pair. Once you see inconsistencies like that, it becomes hard to unsee them.

That's part of what happened with the Nike Mind line for me as well. I appreciate Nike trying new things, and I still get excited about experimentation, but eventually a shoe has to justify its place beyond the novelty factor.

The pairs that stick around are the ones that continue to earn their spot months or years later. Maybe it's exceptional quality, maybe it's versatility, maybe it's a great story, or maybe it's a silhouette I keep reaching for without thinking. Usually it's some combination of all those things.

From your perspective, what does today’s market get right that the peak-hype years got wrong, and what, if anything, do you still miss about the old chase (pun intended)?

I think today's market gets a lot more right than people give it credit for. One of the biggest shifts I've noticed is that people seem to be prioritizing comfort and personal preference over hype. Ten years ago, it felt like everyone was chasing the same handful of releases. Today, you see people genuinely wearing what they like, whether that's a retro Jordan, a running shoe, a New Balance, or something completely unexpected.

That's been great for someone like me who's still actively collecting. Not so great for resellers, but great for collectors.

The other thing I appreciate is that the market has cooled enough that people can actually buy and wear shoes again. There was a period where every release felt like a financial asset first and a sneaker second. Now it feels like we're slowly getting back to shoes being shoes.

That said, I do miss parts of the old chase. Before platforms like StockX became the default, there was something special about the hunt. You'd show up to a release, camp out overnight, meet people in line, swap stories, and if you got lucky, you'd walk away with a pair.

It wasn't always convenient, but it felt more personal. The memories weren't just about the shoe—they were about the experience of getting it.

Today, almost any pair is only a few clicks away, which is great in a lot of ways. But there's something you lose when every release becomes a transaction instead of an experience.

I don't miss paying resale, and I definitely don't miss losing raffles, but I do miss when the journey to a pair felt just as important as the pair itself.

What collecting habits or trends feel overvalued to you right now?

I think one of the most overvalued trends right now is the obsession with getting pairs early.

Don't get me wrong, there are situations where it makes sense. If you're a creator, retailer, or someone whose business benefits from being first, there's real value there. But for the average collector, I think too many people end up paying way above market value just for a few weeks of bragging rights.

More often than not, those same pairs end up dropping significantly in price once the official release happens. On top of that, you're taking on a much higher authenticity risk since early pairs typically aren't coming through traditional retail channels.

I've never really understood paying a massive premium just to be first. I'd rather wait a few weeks, buy the pair at a more reasonable price, and have more confidence in what I'm getting.

At the end of the day, if you're truly collecting for yourself, the shoe will still be just as good on release day as it was a month before. Patience is probably one of the most underrated skills in sneaker collecting.

Where do you see your collection moving next?

I think my collection is moving away from volume and more toward curation.

These days, more than half the time I'm wearing Brooks. My lifestyle has changed quite a bit, and I'm either working from home, traveling, or prioritizing comfort on a day-to-day basis.

Most of my sneakers now get worn on trips, special occasions, events, or moments where I want to wear something with a story behind it. Because of that, I'm much more intentional about what I bring into the collection.

My goal is for my sneaker room to feel almost like an art gallery. Sure, I wear most of the shoes, but I also want to be able to look around the room and see memories, milestones, and stories. Every pair should have a reason for being there.

So definitely more sets, display pieces, and of course Oregon gear! Go Ducks!

Go Ducks is right! And that approach to collecting is similar to mine and wanting sneakers as art pieces that I also like to wear. What advice would you give a newer collector who wants to build taste instead of just stacking boxes?

Be patient.

Don't give in to the hype. Not every release is a must-have, even if the internet tells you it is.

Get out to events, visit sneaker shops, and see stuff in person. Some shoes look incredible online and disappointing in hand, and vice versa. The more pairs you see, the more you'll figure out what you actually like.

Talk to other collectors too. Some of my favorite sneaker memories came from conversations and experiences, not purchases.

Most importantly, have fun. Sneakers are supposed to be enjoyable. Buy what you like, wear your shoes, and don't worry so much about what everyone else thinks. Your collection should look like you, not your explore page.