Sneakers and music have shared a symbiotic relationship since the birth of hip-hop and R&B. From block parties in the Bronx to sold-out arenas around the globe, artists have long used footwear as an extension of self-expression, a wearable signature that speaks before the mic ever does. Fans don’t just buy the shoes; they buy into the ethos of their favorite artists.

Few silhouettes embody that intersection like the Adidas Superstar.

Before it became a lifestyle staple, the Superstar was built for basketball. But culture, not sport, made it immortal. That shift can be traced back to Run-D.M.C., the legendary hip-hop trio who turned a shell-toe into a symbol.

When Run-D.M.C. dropped “My Adidas” in the mid-’80s, they weren’t chasing a brand deal. They were documenting devotion. The song came first. The endorsement followed. “We were doing it because we loved the sneaker,” Rev. Run once told Billboard. D.M.C. famously recalled placing his first pair on the dresser and waving goodnight to them before bed.

It wasn’t transactional, it was cultural. And when adidas signed the group, it marked the first time a major sportswear brand formally partnered with a hip-hop act. The deal didn’t just move product; it changed how sneakers were marketed forever. From that moment on, footwear wasn’t just athletic gear. It was identity.

Now, in 2026, adidas is reframing the narrative once again. This time, Samuel L. Jackson leads the charge, wandering through a surreal “Hotel Superstar” in search of the next generation of icons defining time on their own terms.

Along the way, he encounters style icon Kendall Jenner, global music powerhouse JENNIE, soccer prodigy Lamine Yamal, rap innovator Baby Keem, NBA veteran superstar James Harden, skateboarding legend Tyshawn Jones, and pop’s rising force Olivia Dean, each laced in the same-shell toes that once shook arenas alongside Run-D.M.C.

The metaphor is clear: the Superstar doesn’t belong to a moment. It belongs to those who move culture forward.

But here’s where the conversation gets interesting.

The campaign frames this as the “next era” of the Superstar. And that’s where I disagree.

Calling this a new era suggests the Superstar ever left.

It didn’t.

The silhouette has been quietly and loudly embedded in fashion, music, sport and street culture for decades. I’ve personally owned 15 pairs since 2015, roughly one a year. Not because they were trending. Because they never stopped meaning something.

What adidas is really doing isn’t reviving the Superstar. It’s reminding us who qualifies to wear it.

JENNIE represents borderless stardom. Her dominance on global charts and influence through BLACKPINK cement her as a cultural bridge between East and West.

Lamine Yamal, fresh off a historic run with Barcelona and already stacking individual accolades, is redefining what a prodigy looks like in real time.

Baby Keem continues to carve his own lane in hip-hop, unconventional, unpredictable and unapologetically modern.

James Harden’s longevity speaks for itself. Eleven All-Star selections. Sixteen seasons deep. Still elite. Still culturally relevant.

Tyshawn Jones carries New York skate DNA with authenticity, reshaping street skating’s global impact.

Olivia Dean’s rise has been a masterclass in patience. Not overnight hype, sustained artistry that resonates across generations.

And Kendall Jenner? She represents fashion infrastructure, visibility at scale.

Together, they form a cross-generational, cross-disciplinary lineup that mirrors the Superstar’s own journey: born in sport, adopted by music, refined by fashion and validated by culture.

Samuel L. Jackson’s presence ties it all together. There’s humor in watching him search for his “Superstar,” a playful wink to his iconic “Where is my super suit?” line in The Incredibles, but beneath that charm is something sharper. He’s a generational constant. From ’90s blockbusters to fantastic Marvel movies dropping today, he embodies longevity. And longevity is the true definition of iconic.

So, is this campaign a Flex, Trade or Fade?

It’s a Flex.

Not because it’s new. Not because it’s nostalgic.

Because it proves the Superstar never needed saving.

The real flex isn’t the casting. It’s the consistency. The Superstar has always found its way onto the feet of individuals who define culture instead of chase it.

Superstars don’t join crowds.

They build them.