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A Yeezy Boost Story With a Happy Ending

New, 2 comments

Sexual Jumanji’s quest from non-Yeezy haver to Yeezy haver.

By Brandon Zaboklicki
2 comments / new
Photo:  Keipher McKennie/Getty Images

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September 24th, 2016: The day I reached my final form as a Fashion God. My two year battle with Adidas and Kanye West has finally come to a close and left me the supreme victor. All of my anger, sadness, and disappointment finally felt worth it. This is a fable unlike other Yeezy tales, ones that involve defeated men and women, bitter tears, and the "taking of Ls." This is a story about perseverance with a happy ending. I did it, I got Yeezys.

The earliest known record of me attempting to get Yeezys comes from 2014, where it appears I was mad that someone who barely used Twitter won them. I had every right to be mad, I’m good and have good tweets, I deserved Yeezys, they did not. I hope they still can’t sleep at night.

The Pirate Black drop was my first true taste of Yeezy defeat. I don’t even think I got them into my cart. No big deal, I only tweeted about Adidas ruining my life like 15 times that day. Business as usual for 2015 sexualjumanji.

Photo: Adidas Originals

Five days later, a man was giving away a pair of Yeezys for a kidney, even Kanye and Kim helped him, but the doctors told me my body parts are too powerful for others to handle. Trading body parts for clothes would be extremely my shit otherwise. Nobody is like, "Yo dude, sick kidneys, where’d you get em?" So this is a sacrifice I would have been more than willing to make for a pair of Yeezys.

On February 19th, Adidas decided to re-release the Pirate Black Yeezy's and my bloodlust for them was back almost instantly. This time I thought I was blessed, I had the Yeezys in my cart. I was on top of the world for no more than five minutes until the Adidas site sputtered out. The Yeezys were taken from my cart by the time it was running again. A cruel trick had been played upon me, the boy who has done nothing but good for the world.

One might say my reaction to losing the Yeezys was a little much. But between making my dying wish my body being sent to Adidas headquarters and taking this picture I feel like I was cool calm and collected during this betrayal.

What followed, June 11th, was one of the worst days of my life as a hypebeast. The Yeezy Boost 750 Grey/Gum drop. I had all of my info entered, I was ready. I had the Yeezys in my cart! I pressed the "complete order button" and was met with this picture. The walls around me crumbled from the bellows that erupted from my chest.

I live-tweeted my Yeezy induced breakdown like any rational human being. I threatened to eat an orange with the peel on it, I threatened to eat a whole entire corn cob in one bite. I needed to be seen by those who had taken the one thing I wanted from me. I called on others to buy plane tickets and baseball bats and to come with me to the Adidas Headquarters in Portland. I wanted to cause an uprising and become the CEO of the show.

And then one day, THE day, September 24th, 2016, everything changed.

I didn’t even plan on trying to get Yeezys the night before. I was resigned to my Yeezy-less existence. I was a man beaten down and defeated by capitalist society. I woke up at 7:46 AM angry, because I had woken up in time for the first round of drops, and I knew what lay ahead of me. I took a 30 minute shower and mentally prepared for the expected day of sadness.

I laid in bed and opened the typical tabs on my Macbook: Footaction, Footlocker, Eastbay, even Urban Outfitter. Desperation was my name. As word spread that I was going to make the grand attempt, the offers of bots started to roll in. "I will never use a bot," I declared. This was met with the words of doubters and haters: "You’ll never get them then." Well guess what, folks, they were right. All of the usual suspects sold out, even the Adidas site was depleted instantly. I was distraught. I called my mom to tell her I didn’t get Yeezys. "You never do, honey," she responded. Thanks for reminding me.

And then it happened. Not even 10 minutes after I hung up the phone, Kith sent the tweet that would change my life. My body was on autopilot, I clicked the link and was taken to the Yeezys, I picked my size, 13, and screamed. My heart pounded at ever clicks — it felt like someone was using my chest as a drumset. I don’t even remember entering my information — it was all autosaved to the computer and entered in by the Gods for me.

I pressed checkout. I had them, they were mine.

And this time, they really were.

I howled like an ancient beast that hasn’t been heard on Earth for thousands of years. I called my mom, again, this time screaming into the phone about my triumph like I had just won the Superbowl. This WAS my Superbowl.

I felt like a giant cloud with the sun's (Ultralight) beams blasting through it. I’m actually pretty sure it’s impossible for me to die now. I feel like I’m possessed by a demon, but one that’s good and chill and I’ve never been happier.

My life before owning Yeezys is really hazy to me now, and I expect once I have them in my hands I won’t remember it at all.

Thank you Ronnie Fieg & Kith for this blessing, and thank you for letting me spread this good cheer. After two years my quest for Yeezys is complete and I can finally rest soundly on Twitter.

Update: September 28, 2016, 1:45 p.m.

Shit.

Update: October 7, 2016, 12:45 p.m.

Guy gets shoes, guy loses shoes...

Guy gets shoes back. Who's buying the movie rights to this thing?

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