Allen Iverson left a big imprint on the NBA. Basketball fans remember his reckless playing style, his devastating crossover and his liberal views on “practice.” But it has become clear that his biggest legacy is this: Now everyone wears sleeves. The NBA’s sleeve revolution began in the early 2000s when then Philadelphia 76ers trainer, Lenny Currier, thought Iverson needed added compression. He obtained a roll of “tubular sleeve” and measured a length that would stretch from Iverson’s bicep to his wrist. Before long, Iverson was sporting sleeves that matched his jersey. “He started to wear it and felt very comfortable with it,” said Currier, who is now the director of sports medicine at Villanova.
Today, 65% of NBA players who have played this season wear at least one shooting sleeve or one legging, according to a Wall Street Journal photo analysis of 424 players. The Toronto Raptors and the Miami Heat lead the league in covering up appendages, with 28 sleeves or leggings worn by players on their respective rosters.
Westbrook was born to dress people in the same way he was born to drop 40 points on opposing teams. “It’s funny. If you go to my house and look in my closet – I’m not lying – I have seven different piles of clothes, each for a different friend,” Westbrook says, sipping a juice at Fred’s, the sleek restaurant above the Barneys Madison Avenue store. When he isn’t playing ball or designing clothes, Westbrook is outfitting his buddies, operating as a sort of Santa of style. “All my friends, I send it to them, and they’re like, ‘Oh yeah. This is me.’ They don’t have to ask, I just send it to them: That’s for you, that’s for you, that’s for you. …A lot of times, we’ll go out, and I’ll think to myself, ‘Damn, I used to have a shirt like that.’ Then I realize, that’s my shirt!” Until recently, the dominant fashion in the NBA was a rejection of fashion, or at least high fashion. Players tended to favor jerseys, T-shirts, warm-ups, and do-rags. Then, in 2005, NBA Commissioner David Stern decided to institute a dress code to clean up what he regarded as the league’s thuggish image. His decision, which some criticized for its undercurrent of white paternalism, initially caused a furor. But it worked better than he could have imagined and sent the league rocketing off in a new direction.
Ten years ago on Oct. 17, 2005, NBA players received a surprising memo from then-commissioner David Stern. A league-wide dress code was going into effect. No more baggy jeans. No fitted baseball caps. No XXXL white T-shirts. No Timberland boots. Oversized necklaces – even ones with religious pendants – were also out. Players were not happy. Some jokingly called it the “A.I. rule” after Philadelphia 76ers guard Allen Iverson. Some thought it was racist toward black players or a slap at the hip-hop community. “I remember a lot of guys being upset with it,” said San Antonio Spurs forward David West who was then playing for the New Orleans Hornets. “A lot of guys thought they were being too intrusive. … I just remember felling like, ‘Damn, I’m a grown man and someone is telling me what to wear.’ ”
West, however, ignored the rule and continued to wear sweats to games. His wallet faced the consequences. He said the league had fashion police at NBA arenas, and they took pictures and reported players who didn’t adhere to the dress code. “I didn’t really change much,” West said. “I got fined a couple times because I’d rather be comfortable. My comfort comes first before anybody else.”
In the 1990s, hip-hop culture became popular with young adult fashion with its relaxed, baggy and sports-geared clothing. You didn’t have to be from the so-called “hood” to be attracted to dressing that way. And it wasn’t only black kids wearing the clothes. “I was in the era of when guys, especially rappers, were wasting tons of money, including myself, on extravagant, unnecessary and oversized jewelry,” former NBA player Jason Richardson said.