Can you wear sports merch if you don’t support the team?

I was leaving for work wearing an Orlando Magic baseball cap. It was, and is, a fine thing. £8 from eBay, slightly junked, and with that sort of shouty-but-regal typeface that died with the ban on tobacco advertising. My housemate stumbled from his room and pointed at it, his finger pre-cocked with sarcasm. “Been shooting some hoops recently?”

Of course, I had not been shooting some hoops. I never have and, as an ashen Englishman, I likely never will. Nor, if I’m honest, do I support ‘the Magic’.  I’m just another fraud wearing the merch of a team I don’t support in a sport I’ll never follow.

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But I’m not alone. For years, if not decades, fashionheads have appropriated the kit of sports teams for nothing more than aesthetic gain. Think of the baseball jerseys worn by various generations who have neither the elbow nor the inclination to pitch. Think of the World Cup kits that became grails for some supporters who bought entirely on looks, like Nigeria’s 2018 strip, and Japan’s from 2022. And, yes, think of the New York Yankees baseball caps: so ubiquitous that you’re forgiven for misremembering their sporting roots. These days, those hats are perhaps less about the sport than they are about the city.

Fans can be understandably partisan on such matters. A lifelong oath to a club is no small commitment, after all, and after years of hurt, fairweather supporters – and brass-necked interlopers – are not welcome. “I guess I’m more disappointed when I meet someone wearing a Yankee hat. I’m ready to talk baseball and they don’t know anything,” sighed one Redditor. Barcelona fans mocked the inauthenticity of an official collab with Drake last year (especially when the Canadian rapper was pictured in a Juventus strip back in 2016). And, lest we forget last May, when die-hards were close to self-immolating as bootleg stockists sold cup final-style ‘half-and-half’ scarves outside Stamford Bridge for domestic games: one polyester end dipped in true Chelsea blue, the other in the colour of whatever team filled the away stands. The fans really don’t like it – according to a MyLondon news report anyway, which also found that merchants can make up to £7,500 in just three hours of selling them. This stuff is sacred to so many.

But that hasn’t stopped fashionheads. You only have to look at any street in London, or the bullish vintage market. Moses Rashid, founder and CEO of British luxury resale site The Edit LDN says this shows up on his bottom line. “I was recently shopping vintage stores in Brooklyn, and I ended up buying a small handful of retro jerseys from the Mets, the Jaguars and the Lakers,” he says. “We’ve seen a keen interest in sports kits to varsity jackets that are just so cool. It’s even more interesting when the customer is completely team agnostic.”

In the UK, the conversion of club kit-to-brand grail arguably began with Manchester United. People from all over the world have fervently supported the club. But, according to Reuters, the club’s revenue grew from £25m to £320m between 1993 and 2012, with merch proving to be a substantial cash stream. Famous people from all eras began popping up in the shirts, official or otherwise: Floyd Mayweather showed up to a 2022 press conference in a Man U shirt to taunt Ricky Hatton; Megan Fox was pictured in 2013 wearing the sort of bootleg T-shirt that could’ve been knocked up in a box room; even Miley Cyrus was seen in the 2014 strip. True believers? Who can say.

Blokecore, the TikTok trend fuelled by footy, lager and lout-lite apparel, has seen football shirts accrue aesthetic value. It’s about the look, not the love of the beautiful game. And if you’re still unconvinced of Manchester United’s cachet in fashion, think of its counterfeit appearance in Balenciaga’s New York Stock Exchange show in 2022; a jersey that was remarkably similar to the strips of yore. Elsewhere, fashion has been taking cues from football more generally: KidSuper’s collab with Coca Cola resulted in a pink and blue football shirt. Martine Rose built a cult on a similar piece. Even Gucci was at it under former creative director Alessandro Michele in the form of a strawberry-printed jersey.

But, as with most things marketing, there would be no Man United merch boom without an American ignition. It began with the Chicago Bulls, and thrived in playgrounds in countries that had no affinity to basketball whatsoever. The ’90s saw the Bulls go from a middling side to championship winners for the first time in the team’s history – built not just on the shoulders of Michael Jordan (who had alread led Nike’s renaissance in the mid ‘80s) but also Dennis Rodman, Scottie Pippen and Steve Kerr. Their success fast-tracked the Bullsto heritage status. “We’re building on our legacy, with the ‘90s Bulls being one of the first truly global sports teams and Michael Jordan being one of the most marketable athletes of all time, but there are other factors too,” says Dan Moriarty, VP of marketing at the Chicago Bulls. “A big one that’s not talked about enough is that the logo hasn’t changed since the 1966 original – we’re the only NBA team that has never rebranded or updated its look. You can’t buy that kind of heritage or story.”

But you can sell that sort of heritage to the masses. Bulls merch became the merch on both sides of the Atlantic. You didn’t need to understand a double-dribble to wear a black and red varsity jacket. “It’s obviously hard to draw conclusions when people are buying merch, either because they’re a fan of the team or a fan of the brand. And by the way, those two circles aren’t exclusive,” says Moriarty. “But we know that the brand has a strong following beyond the sports fandom.” And if the statistics weren’t proof enough – sports apparel retailer Lids reported that Chicago Bulls was the leading sports merch brand in 22 US states – Moriarty’s evidence is also empirical. “I play a game whenever I’m travelling: ‘spot Bulls gear’. And without fail, I’ll see it. Even at musical festivals anywhere around the world. And if you look at the list of celebrities who’ve worn Bulls merch at one point or another, it’s pretty extensive.”

But at a time when clubs become companies proper, merch sales keep team finances in rude health. On its website, Manchester United listed revenues of £102m in 2019 on retail, merchandising, apparel and product licensing alone. According to Irish media title Pundit Arena, the team also received an additional £75 windfall from Adidas every single year.

Plus, gatekeeping in 2023 is just foul play. Fashion at its core has always involved an element of cosplay. To the guy in the French worker’s jacket insisting on a very specific cortado: how many mid-century tables have you been restoring, pal? To the man in Oakley wraparounds and the tiny ACG shorts: your calves might be solid, but it’s a long way down from that sheer cliff face you’ll never climb. And to the countless boys in Dickies: here’s a skateboard. Prove it.

So, what’s the big deal in dressing like a Florida dad circa 1983 with an Orlando Magic cap? It isn’t so much a robbery as it is A Look™. And fashion brands have long partnered with sports teams. It was inevitable that the raw merch would become part of the menswear canon too. As The Edit LDN’s Rashid argues, aesthetics take precedence over allegiance. “Sports teams are lifestyle brands, and team performance actually doesn’t quite matter… if it looks good, we’ll buy it, regardless of the team.”