IT’S BETTER WITH CHEDDAR

NikeLab consultant Luis “Cheddar” Alcala has the line on hard to find sneakers

By Jason R. Latham / Portrait by Anthony Tahlier

It’s Wednesday afternoon at the Ross Dress for Less in Riverfront Plaza, and Luis “Cheddar” Alcala is treasure hunting. “I go looking for shoes in the craziest places,” he says, moving from aisle to aisle. Alcala, one of Chicago’s most venerated sneakerheads, is here to unearth some hidden gems—shoes that went unnoticed by the buying public before ending up on the shelves of the discount retailer. “There’s so many [sneaker] releases that come out that people don’t see,” he says. “If there’s not a good push behind it, I can pick it up, put it on Instagram, and give it some limelight.”

A three-hour search produces one find: a pair of 2018 Nike Air Max Plus with an aqua blue design, zebralike black-to-purple stripe and a black-and-white midsole. It’s a $60 purchase, but future value is what matters. Sneakers are a lifestyle in Chicago, part of a $55 billion global industry with a scorching secondary market in which rare collections have fetched as much as $850,000 at Sotheby’s.

Alcala’s eye for recognizing rare and undervalued footwear is one reason he carries so much clout in the same city where Michael Jordan launched his iconic Nike partnership and streetwear gurus such as Don C and Diego Ross are revered as celebrities.

“Chicago is very blue collar, but we’re very fashionable people,” he says. “Everything you see that’s hot, the way people talk, the way people dress, it’s Chicago-based. Guys like us are important because we tell the story.”

“You Got a Lotta Cheddar” Growing up in the golden age of Jordan’s Bulls, the young Alcala would bike through town, hitting up Foot Locker and Diana Shoes (now Dream Town Shoes) to watch fans line up for the latest Air Jordan release. His first pair was the Air Jordan “Carmine” 6, a thrift store find and gift from his mother. “She thrifted ’em for me,” Alcala recalls. “They were a year old, ’92, and Nike was already on the Jordan 7. I was 10, and it was such a big deal for me.”

Fast forward to high school, when a car accident netted Alcala a $4,500 settlement. He rushed to the mall with his uncle and picked up 10 new pairs of sneakers. At the cash register, the sales associate took one look and said, “You got a lotta cheddar, man.” Alcala’s uncle chimed in, “That’s his name, Cheddar.”

The moniker stuck, and by forging connections with store owners who would sell him rare and soon-to-be-released stock, “Cheddar” became known as “the dude who gets things early.”

An industry career followed, with Alcala balancing consulting gigs alongside turns at Leaders , Reebok, Finish Line, New Era and, currently, NikeLab—a hybrid shoe store, gallery and R&D facility that serves as the brand’s Chicago outpost.

“I knew I always wanted to do something with sneakers,” he says. “I didn’t know there was money in it, but it’s really all about relationships and helping the process. Now, whenever somebody comes to Nike and says, ‘We’re going to be in Chicago a couple of days,’ they say, ‘Hit up Cheddar.’”

“I Remember Every Single Purchase” At its peak, Alcala’s sneaker collection boasted as many as 1,400 pairs. After years of downsizing, he’s held onto about 500, all of them holding sentimental value. “For the most part I remember every single purchase, where I was and what was going on in my life,” he says.

The most prized pair, he explains, comes from the original Nike Air Max 96 line. “I was 13, and my father got arrested for doing some stuff that he shouldn’t have,” Alcala says. “The 96 is an important shoe because my father got locked away at the time. It’s the one I saw all the kids wearing that I couldn’t have . I struggled to get a pair at that time, living off a one-parent household income with three siblings.”

“To You, It’s Just a Shoe. To Me, It’s a World” The day after his Air Max Plus score, Alcala is back at NikeLab, where athletes and artists collaborate on new designs, and celebs seek advice curating their collections. A new release is on the day’s schedule, though online reservations have removed any concerns about long lines at the door.

Technology has changed the culture, and not all for the best. Social media gives Alcala a platform to showcase rare finds, but he sees too many of today’s buyers consumed with chasing dollars. Sneaker conventions used to be gathering spots for people to show off their collections, he adds, but now, “It’s more like, ‘I’m here to sell, sell, sell.’”

Equally disappointing: some of the kids who patronize the Lab don’t know Jordan from the court because they were too young to witness the Bulls dynasty. Alcala has taken it upon himself to serve as their history teacher. “They don’t know the stories. I’ve been doing this for years,” he says. “We were doing it when nobody thought it was cool, and we want to share that passion with the people. To you, it’s just a shoe. To me it’s a world. Everything that I’ve been able to do in my life, it’s all because of sneakers.”