99% Invisible - 100 Objects #14: Basketball Sleeve

Episode Date: August 21, 2026

Producer and reporter Ramtin Arablouei (co-creator of the NPR show, Throughline) has a simple question: why are so many NBA players wearing a compression sleeve on their arm? It seems like everyone has one. Do they all have elbow issues? The answer is really the story of Allen Iverson, an underdog player who went from a prison cell to international fame in just a few years. And through the story of him and his sleeve, you can see the whole history of basketball’s relationship with race, with respectability politics, and who gets to look like what on the court. A History of the United States in 100 Objects is a production of 99% Invisible and BBC Studios. Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes of 99% Invisible ad-free and a whole week early. Start a free trial now on Apple Podcasts or by visiting siriusxm.com/podcastsplus.  Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

During the last NBA season, I was sitting in my living room watching a random game on a random night with my son and wife. We do this all the time. She's sitting there grading papers. My son is doing his homework. And at some point during the game, my wife looks up at the TV and asks, why are so many of the players wearing that sleeve on their arm? I told her that those are compression sleeves. They're like a medical thing.

But then she's like, so all of them have medical issues, like elbow issues? And that's a simple question, kind of stopped me in my tracks. I started counting, and eight out of the ten players in the court had them on. At this point, I'm like neurotically counting. Whoever subs in, whoever's sitting on the bench, how many of these players are wearing the sleeve? And everyone's got one on. Look, what's going on with this? There is no way they all have elbow issues.

This is Ramteen Arablewe. He's a producer and reporter. You might know him from the NPR show, ThruLine. Is it a blood flow thing? Is it something about their shooting range? Turns out the sleeve isn't there to do anything, really. It's just a look. The sleeve is fashion.

And this fashion is also pretty new. If you go back and watch an NBA game from the 1990s, the era I grew up watching them, you won't see anyone with these sleeves on. Not one player. It seems like it came out of nowhere and now it's everywhere. So I looked into it. And what I found was that the story of the sleeves, is really the story of Alan Iverson,

an underdog player who went from a prison cell to international fame in just a few years. Iverson had a huge impact on the sport. In sort of the same way Michael Jordan changed how the game has played, Iverson changed the culture around basketball. And through the story of him and his sleeve, you can see the whole history of basketball's relationship with race, with respectability politics,

and who gets to look like? what on the court. From 99% Invisible and BBC studios, this is a history of the United States and 100 objects. I'm Roman Mars. Today, the basketball sleeve from reporter

Ramteen Arablui. This past season was a huge one for the NBA, and I'm not just saying that because I'm a Knicks fan. When I was sitting there watching all these players rocking their compression sleeves, so was everyone else. NBA viewership was at the highest

it's been in decades. Nationally televised games had celebrities sitting courtside. The whole thing looked glamorous and big and more expensive than ever. But it wasn't always like this. The 1970s were the era of tiny shorts,

the high socks and afros. The fashion was iconic. But not that many people were watching. Viewership numbers were really low. A lot of games weren't even shown live. were taped and then aired later, sometimes after 11.30 p.m. Fist fights broke out on the court regularly, something you rarely see today. The game was just extremely physical. And there was this

feeling, this impression many people had about the league, that the real problem with the NBA was that it was too black, and not just meaning black in demographics, but that they didn't play the right way. This is Teresa Rundsteadler. She's a former NBA champion. Cheerleader turned historian, and she wrote a book about this era of the NBA called Blackball. They were playing streetball, that they were using drugs, that they were uncontrollable off the court, that they were lazy, that they weren't team players. The NBA had been segregated until 1951, and the 1970s marked the first time the league was majority black. The media often blamed the black players for the problems with the game,

sometimes accusing them of rampant drug use. I did a quick search in one of the newspaper databases, typed in cocaine and NBA, and was shocked at the number of articles that immediately came up in the search. Now, there was a lot of drug use, especially cocaine, in a bunch of professional sports in the 1970s, no doubt. But many of these stories published about NBA players were based on room.

and innuendo. There was even an LA Times article that cited several anonymous sources in the NBA. Saying that 40 to 75% of basketball players in the NBA were using cocaine. But years later, many of those sources came out and said, Listen, we were misquoted in that article. We didn't even say that. But that narrative was already everywhere. The NBA was seen as dangerous and unhomless. wholesome. And then in 1977, something else happened, this time on the court, that would make things much worse. It was a regular season game between the L.A. Lakers and Houston Rockets. It was in

the third quarter. A scuffle broke out between two players underneath the basket, and it continued on as other players tried to break it up. A Lakers player named Kermit Washington, who was involved in the initial altercation, was standing at half court when He saw somebody coming out of the corner of his eye. It was Rudy Tomjanovich. Kermit saw Rudy Tomjanovich, a Rockets player, and thought he was coming after him. And he just punched and injured Rudy Tomjanovich very badly. One punch.

Washington hit Tomjanovich directly in the face. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He was hospitalized and underwent several surgeries. He was left with the gunned. permanent injuries and chronic pain. Kermit Washington's life would also change because the story became national news. Out of this came a huge outcry

calling for his punishment. He became persona non grata. His whole life kind of went into a spiral after that point. Tomjanovich is white and Washington is black. So this tragic incident just further cemented the idea being portrayed in the media that basketball was becoming this space

where you had essentially big black men who were criminals who were beating up white men on the court and then that became the kind of narrative that mainstream Americans

had for the NBA at that time. A narrative that fit perfectly into the larger issues happening in the U.S. in the late 1970s. There was terror in a lot of neighborhoods last night. Police have described the looters as animals. As the United States really entered into the worst of what they call the urban crisis.

Like a swarm of locust is the way one Harlem cop described the looters. Disinvestment from black neighborhoods. The South Bronx, 500 acres littered with devastated buildings and rubble. Increasing crime and white flight. to the suburbs. The Jews, the Irish, and the Italians began to move out. The South Bronx became a ghetto of the very poor who were mainly black and Puerto Rican. The NBA became a kind of microcosm of that larger social problem.

The NBA was in the dumps. But the league's fortunes would quickly shift in 1980. Two generational players, one white and one black, entered the league and took it by storm. They're given a magic. He's got Cooper on his right. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Outstanding afternoon. He looks like he could be headed for one of his big. They both stood 6'9, they were both incredibly skilled and fun to watch, and they were arched rivals.

For the NBA, it was like a miracle from the basketball gods. So you have these two men of different races who are on different coasts, who are battling. out. Let's start with Magic Johnson. He played for the Los Angeles Lakers. Who is this very effervescent personality. He has a huge smile and he's very charming. He's showtime. He represents Hollywood. But he's also got the vibe of a friendly neighbor. He's just very abluent, you know, fun to watch. Then there's Larry Bird. He's from rural Indiana, but plays for the Boston Celtics. who kind of epitomizes the Midwest, the kind of white Hoosier history of basketball.

He was lovingly called the Hick from French Lick. He rarely smiled. He talked a lot of trash on the court. And he came across as working class and serious, almost the complete opposite of Magic Johnson. And so it became Magic versus Bird, Black versus White, West Coast versus East Coast. the rivalry was the perfect sports storyline in the racially and class stratified United States and the NBA's new commissioner. David Stern.

He saw this narrative as a path to reach his radical vision for the NBA. He begins to think about the NBA as a kind of multinational corporation. A corporation that needed a makeover, a new image to move away from the struggles of the 1970s. He looked at the NBA as being more akin to Disney than the NFL. So the NBA made their focus games that featured magic versus bird. I think that one of the things that our sport does is it gives you our players unadorned. This is David Stern from an interview explaining his approach from marketing the NBA. They're not wearing a lot.

They've got no helmets, no long-sleeve uniforms. And you can see the expressions on their faces. And that expression, I think, capsulizes their personality. He didn't want to just focus on the game itself. He wanted the players and their personalities to take center stage. This seems obvious now. But it was kind of revolutionary at the time. And our fans understand that we've got 300 great players,

but we've got 300 different personalities. David Stern's focus on individual personalities worked. By the early 1990s, the NBA had made huge strides in terms of audience and profits. Games were being televised live with huge viewership. Team owners and players were making millions of dollars. then David Sternion that he is me got to see that's how I dream to be

then David Stern and the NBA got lucky again with the ascension of arguably the greatest player to ever live Michael Jordan won six championships in the 1990s he became an absolute legend and he did that partly by carefully crafting a public image that was inspiring

and motivational He was seen simultaneously as mysterious and accessible, edgy yet inviting. But maybe most importantly of all, completely devoid of any political content. Michael Jordan is kind of like this blank slate upon which anyone can project whatever their values are. Jordan was a perfect canvas for advertisers. He could mold his image into whatever was needed for his,

own brand. It was reported that once Jordan told his teammates that he wouldn't endorse a Democratic Party politician in a Senate race because... Republicans buy sneakers too. He was also meticulous about how he looked. Jordan showed up to games and did postgame interviews in perfectly tailored designer suits. He always looked like a professional, like a businessman. Michael Jordan is CEO Jordan. This is from a TV ad called Michael Jordan, CEO. He literally changes from his bull's uniform into a suit in the ad and becomes a CEO. Of course it was tongue in cheek, but it also reflects reality.

Today, the Jordan brand is estimated to be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He was the perfect fit for what David Stern was trying to do with the NBA, a clean-cut, carefully crafted superstar for a family-friendly corporate league. Whereas, you know, in the previous generation, you know, if we're thinking of style icons from the 70s, we're thinking of somebody like, you know, Walt Clyde Frazier. Walt Frazier was a star guard for the New York Knicks in the 1970s. He's a Hall of Famer and considered one of the greatest players of all time. He's also a style icon. Somebody who was very much of that black New York culture with the fedore. with the fur, with the excess. You know, he was sort of like this figure

of black urban cool at that time. But by the time you get to Michael Jordan, it's kind of been neutered of all of that context. Michael Jordan was portrayed and marketed as the kind of black man that didn't offend, who was acceptable to everyone, who was helping to sell the NBA to the world and cultivate a reputation

that left the problems of the 19-7. 70s behind. And other players started to emulate Jordan. Suits and ties became the unofficial dress code for players who wanted to be taken seriously. But this perfect calibration of performance and respectability was about to get disrupted by a new, undersized player who entered the league in 1996. A player who was so good, many people thought he could become the heir apparent to Michael Jordan. A player they called... The answer. With the first pick in the 1996 NBA draft, the Philadelphia 76th is select Alan Iverson from Georgetown University.

But unlike Michael Jordan, Alan Iverson wasn't going to wear a suit. Coming up, Alan Iverson remakes the NBA and leaves behind a sleeve. Iverson looks to answer with three. Allen Iverson with 39 just won. And the crowd rising to their feet. Alan Iverson arrived in the NBA with a huge splash. He dominated right away, becoming an instant star in the face of his team, the Philadelphia 76ers. He won the Rookie of the Year Award.

He was aura personified. He just kept getting better each season. And I loved watching him play as a kid. He was an amazing score who could do anything on the court. Lynch picks it up. Here comes Iverson flying inside. How can someone so small fly so high? And he did it all at six feet tall, which was tiny in a league where most players were at least six inches taller.

He was somebody who was incredibly quick on the court. He could do his crossover dribble and make people fall while they were guarding him. Now he's got stocked and he breaks. But Alan Iverson's road to NBA stardom wasn't straightforward at all. He was born in Hampton Roads, Virginia in 1975, a poor, fairly segregated part of the state. Despite his small frame, he was one of the best football and basketball players in this state in high school. He seemed to be on a clear path to being a professional athlete until... He was involved in this ruckus that was happening.

I think it was at a bowling alley back in the early 90s. He was at a bowling alley where there was a huge fight in 1993. He was accused of hitting someone in the head with a chair and injuring them badly. He denied wrongdoing, but a Virginia court found him guilty of a felony charge and sentenced him to five years in prison. He was only 18 years old. He was this huge basketball star, but his future was very uncertain at that point. You know, when all that was taken away from me, I just tried to be as strong as I could.

This is Alan Iverson in 2001 recounting that dark period in his life. And it was tough for me when I got locked up because people would never let it go away. Like it was in a paper for a month or two straight. You know, it was on TV every day. After four months in prison, Virginia's governor granted Iverson clemency, saying he had doubts about the facts of his case. He got a second chance. He was given a scholarship to play basketball at Georgetown University.

He became a star there and eventually was the first pick in the NBA draft. Yet the shadow of his jail sentence followed him into the league. But he didn't shrink away from it. The core of who he was didn't change. And he wanted to represent the people that he knew that, you know, were closest to him. So he was just very unapologetic in that way. Trackmasters. Check him out.

It's the new A5s. You gotta rock him. Leave and put a zone in the league to try to stop him. He's the answer and the problem. You don't want it with the way that boy. By 2000, Alan Iverson was a full-fledged NBA superstar. He got the nickname The Answer. As in the answer to anything in basketball.

It was Alan Iverson. The 76ers had been struggling. Alan Iverson was the answer. The future of the NBA without Michael Jordan was uncertain, Alan Iverson was the answer. He had a shoe deal. He was in commercials. His jerseys were constantly selling out. And it wasn't just because of his play on the court. His appeal to fans was also about the way he carried himself, his brash, confident attitude, his authenticity, and the way he looked. While Michael Jordan wore suits, he came to the games wearing a dewrag.

You know, he had the baggy jeans. He was wearing his Tims, wearing his cornrows. This was at a time where almost no players in the NBA were doing that. Most folks were like Michael Jordan. They shaved their heads or they kept, you know, they might have high tops or whatever. But it wasn't like a thing to wear your hair in such a quote-unquote black style. And then there were the tattoos. Iverson's arms were covered in them.

I mean, if you look back to the footage of Michael Jordan and others from the late 80s into the early 90s, maybe a few tattoos here and there, but not really on the level that Alan Iverson and his generation took it to. And this had an impact on the broader culture. Iverson helped to normalize tattoos for everyone. Because it used to be only a socialization. with people who went to prison or people who were in the military.

Irison wasn't trying to hide his past or to conform. He was saying, I'm proud of who I am, of where I come from. And this connected him with fans of all ages. He always looked like he was intentionally saying to all of his young fans, hey, I'm representing you. He just had a way about him where he, you know, had confidence in himself. This is Lenny Currier.

He was the Philadelphia 76ers trainer when Alan Iverson played there. He saw him almost every day. And he got to understand how intentional Iverson was about his look. He was meticulous. The shirt was halfway untucked. The pants might be droopy on his hips. It didn't look like he was meticulous. But let me tell you, he was.

Lenny says a friend of his, who was a high school teacher at that time, told him just how much of an impact, was having on his students. It was amazing how the kids, how they were just so enamored with Alan and wanted to look like him. So they wore the same kind of hairstyle. They wore their boots.

They wore, you know, everything that Alan was wearing, the kids at school wanted to wear. And people followed him. And he knew that. When everybody started looking like I looked, that's when I realized that I was a true.

This is Alan Iverson reflecting on his impact in an interview with Slam magazine in 2013. When I start seeing guys wear the du rag and hats and the jerseys and getting the corn rolls and then everybody flooding themselves with tattoos, stuff like that. You know, I sat back, man, that's cool. You know what I mean? Like everybody is trying to look like themselves but look like you. On the court, Alan Iverson played like he had nothing to live. lose. It was completely fearless. I don't know that I've ever seen an athlete. It was

more fearless than Alan. But that fearlessness came with a price, a price often paid by his body. The way he played, he invited the contact. He invited the danger that came with, you know, trying to go up against seven-footers. Needless to say, he spent a lot of time picking himself up off the floor. And I had to go out and pick him up a few times. myself. Lenny says Iverson always played through injuries, but during the 2000-2001 season, he started suffering with pain in his right elbow, his shooting arm. He had something called Bersitis. Well, bursitis, your joints have what are called bursa sacks, they're fluid-filled sacks that provide lubrication for the joint. Some of the joints, those bursa sacks are a little bit

more prominent and easier to, you know, damage, if you will, especially the elbow. So every time Iverson fearlessly drove to the basket and got knocked down by some seven-footer, he constantly had, you know, his elbow compromise, hitting the floor hard. Repeatedly causing trauma to the tissue. And if you've ever had this injury, you know, it sucks. It looks weird. It's just such an unusual swelling, and it's so inflamed. It's like it hurts to The normal way to fix elbow bursitis is to just rest it. Don't use it. It takes weeks, but eventually the swelling will resolve. But Alan Averson didn't have weeks. He was in the middle of a high-stakes season, a pivot point. After years of individual accolades, he was getting

criticism for never bringing his team to the finals. He had tension with his old-school coach. There were rumors the 76ers were considering trading him. Iverson couldn't sit. He needed something that would allow him to play with his injury. I think he was just looking for relief, and I was looking for a solution. Lenny needed an answer for the answer. And the entire season, and Iverson's reputation was resting on it.

No pressure. So first, Lenny thinks, we could try elbow pads. He never really wanted to wear padding. Think like your old gym teacher who coached volleyball. Big bulky pads, very uncool. He didn't really want to.

to do that. And honestly, Lenny didn't have that many options. Padding was the standard move. Yeah, I guess it was a little bit of a challenge. So then he tries something he'd never really considered putting on an elbow, compression stockinette. Yes, those things pregnant women or old folks put on to prevent blood clots. He thought, theoretically, it should help to compress and protect the elbow while not messing with range of motion. It would allow Alan Iverson to still be Alan Iverson. introduced the idea of putting that compression stocking on it one night, and it kind of sold him on it. So Lenny cut a custom size of the stocky net that would fit onto Iverson's arm.

It was all white, made of cotton, breathable. But it definitely looked homemade. He liked the feel of it. So on January 21, 2001, Alan Iverson played his first game wearing the jenky white compression stockinet on his arm. Here's Iverson. Against Mark Jackson. The double team comes. And he floats it in.

Alan Iverson's first bucket. Iverson came out on fire. All the way is good. Alan Iverson. He's two for two. And Lenny is watching this from the sidelines, locked in on Iverson's elbow. I was just thinking, I hope this works.

Iverson off the screen, got an open look. He's in his first three. Iverson hit his first few shots and then just kept making them. Three-pointer. Good. Now, once again, over the 40-point mark. He has 41 points. He liked the way it felt.

It was snug and it didn't, you know, interrupt his shot. Knifeing to the basket once again with 47 points. A big save and then a benefit of big. It was just, you know, the right product for him at that time. The 76ers ended up losing that game in overtime. But Iverson had one of the best games of his career, scoring 51 points, all while wearing a stocky net on his. arm.

You know, then he just, you know, began to wear it all the time every night and, you know, he would usually pull it off after a game and throw it into the crowd, you know, for some adoring fan. Iverson averaged 31 points a game, leading the league in scoring after putting on the sleeve. He won NBA MVP that season and for the first time took the 76ers all the way to the NBA finals. Even after his elbow Bresidus got better, he kept the sleeve on. And it became part of his iconic look.

It just clicked. I think he was just the right person to adorn that sleeve. I don't think we ever imagined it would become a fashion statement, if you will, and a fashion item. But at the same time, a small upstart sports apparel company called Under Armour was trying to create a market for functional sports gear, basically clothing items to make every person feel like a serious athlete. And they did imagine the sleeve. as a fashion item. The folks from Under Armour contacted us and said that they, you know, had a new product line they wanted to know if Alan would try it.

Elbow compression sleeves. They sent me, you know, a number of different, you know, pieces. And I wanted to ask Alan, me would you like to try these? And they built them really nicely. They were thick. So the sense of compression was still there. They also just looked sleek and cool, not like something Lenny had put together in the training room. That's what won him over. From then on, Iverson wore the underarmor sleeve in various

colors that matched his jersey. Then it became, you know, a commercial product sold in all the sporting goods stores and sold online, etc. Over the next few years, other NBA players started wearing the sleeve, even if they didn't have elbow bursitis. Basically, everyone was trying to emulate Iverson's entire look. He'd transcended sports and reached the mainstream. He'd already brought hip-hop culture from the streets to the NBA, now players were even wearing his medical gear. Iverson was at the pinnacle of his power, both on the court and off. But that moment came at the same time that criticism of him was starting to pile up. This is a song Iverson released. This is a song Iverson released.

as a rapper in 2000. He got a bunch of flack for it. You have someone who is a 76 who is a focal point in the black community in particular coming out saying these horrible, disgusting lyrics, and it can't be tolerated. There are racial slurs, attacks on women, and a threat to kill gay people.

The NBA powers that be, they would embrace a certain kind of hip-hop aesthetic, but they didn't want any of the criminal associations being, you know, in your face at a game. Alan Iverson was the embodiment of that version of hip-hop aesthetic. And this is a guy who already had a criminal history. And soon, Iverson's every move and word was suddenly a news story. Here's an example.

At an infamous press conference right before the 2002 season, he was asked about missing 76ers practices. As we sitting in here, I'm supposed to be the franchise player, and we're in here talking about practice. I mean, listen, we're talking about practice. This clip has basically become a meme, and I remember what a big deal it was at the time. It makes Iverson seem spoiled and entitled.

Why won't he just show up to practice? But if you have the context, it makes more sense. It's the season after he won the MVP, and he's the best player in the league. And now leading up to the next season, he's frustrated because he's being asked questions about practice, not about his performance.

I know I'm supposed to be there. I know I supposed to leave by example. I know that. I'm not shoving it aside, you know, like it don't mean anything. But we're talking about practice, man. What are we talking about? Even the reporters in the room

seem aware of how ridiculous the question is. We're talking about practice, man. We're talking about practice. Iverson had gotten a reputation as a bad boy, a thug. The shadow of his high school conviction followed him because he refused to conform. And that pissed off a lot of people. David Stern and the NBA were getting frustrated with all the negative attention, Alan Iverson, their MVP was bringing to the league.

He wasn't the professional corporate businessman type of player that they would. used to marketing. And they worried the league was developing a bad image. And right on cue in 2004, something happened at a game that seemed to confirm their fears. In 2004, in a game between the Detroit Pistons and Indiana Pacers, a fight broke out between players, and soon it spilled off the court and into the crowd. Players and fans were squaring up and throwing punches. It was bad. The ball was called the malice at the palace.

It became national news. Alan Iverson wasn't involved. He wasn't even there. And yet it seemed to confirm the narrative that the hip-hop culture he introduced into the league, the clothes, tattoos, the attitude, was really. ruining the NBA. You know, it almost follows the same playbook as the 1970s. Black criminality.

You know, here they are wearing cornrows. They're wearing their due regs. They look like they're straight out of a gang. NBA commissioner David Stern saw this as much of an image problem as anything else. And before the 2005 season, he instituted an official NBA business casual dress code. The list of things that were no longer allowed. It's basically everything that Alan Iverson ever wore to a game. Players could no longer wear sneakers.

Duregs. Sunglasses inside. Large chains. Baggy jeans. The Tims. Even T-shirts. It's all of the things that we... The average fan...

Thought was like the coolest thing ever for a basketball player to embody. And David Stern was sort of saying, nope, we're done with that. It was tough on me because I understood that it was a shot at me. This is Alan Arverson from an interview with Slam Magazine's founder from a year ago. People just wanted to look like themselves. You know what I mean? They wanted to wear what they wanted to wear a poster, what they thought they should wear because of the errors before us.

You know, it was always suit and tie. And then once guys saw that I was doing that, it wasn't that they were copying me. It was like, oh, oh. you can't do this, you know what I mean? And guys just started dressing the way they wanted to dress. You know what I mean? But it was more on the hip-hop side, like to where it was baggy clothes and chains and earrings and watches.

And I guess David Stern was like, no. The dress code was seen as a direct response to the impact Alan Iverson had on the league. But Alan Iverson didn't always follow it. Neither did some of his teammates. They racked up thousands of dollars of fines for violence. And none of this helped Alan Arverson's reputation. He continued to be seen as a troublemaker. And that perception, as well as mounting injuries, hurt his place in the league. Just five years after his MVP season, he was traded to the Denver Nuggets.

He bounced around to two other teams, and by 2010, he was out of the NBA. The NBA had banned the clothes he wore, but the one thing they couldn't ban was the sleeve. It was a medical item, not fashion, but it soon became fashion. It became a representation of the way Iverson changed the game and the culture in the NBA. And it's the part of his brand that is still around. Watch an NBA game on any given night, and you'll see that half the players on the court are wearing elbow compression sleeves, that most of them don't even need for medical reasons.

And the market for elbow compression sleeves is now estimated to be over 500, million dollars. Companies extracted the one thing about Alan Iverson that wasn't overtly dangerous to the status quo and made a lot of money off it. But ultimately, what the sleeve symbolizes, to me at least, is Iverson's rebellion and how his ferocious sense of independence resonates even with players today who were just babies when he retired. There's so many players who style themselves, both in terms of how they play on the court and also off the court in the kind of legacy of Alan Iverson. Fast forward to now, I feel good about it because you see everybody else expressing themselves

the way they want to. They feel good when they come in to work. Iverson is right to be proud of the impact he had on his workplace. Before NBA games today, there's this tradition where people, Players are shown on TV walking into the stadium through a tunnel. Their fashion choices have turned this into a runway. Players sometimes show up wearing bright red overalls or an outrageously oversized pink sweater

that looks like it belongs on a runway in Milan or Paris. This tradition emerged as its own way of resisting the NBA dress code. Just like Alan Irisen, players fought back by being authentic, by being themselves. The dress code was you could wear jeans, just wear a pair of shoes and a shirt with a collar. But our players went over the top. This is David Stern from a 2019 interview

reflecting on the impacts of the dress code. Did you find it offensive that some people thought it was racist? Well, no, because race is always an issue. And the NBA, has always been on the edge of discussions of race. David Stern passed away in 2020. Many of the players that wear a compression sleeve today probably don't even know its history

or its connection to Alan Iverson. But every time they pull that sleeve up over their arm, they are carrying on a legacy, a legacy that reminds us of the ongoing tensions between race, respectability politics, and capitalism. It shows that black American culture cannot be controlled or regulated, that no matter how many rules the NBA put into place, self-expression found a way. Romteen Arablewe is a producer, reporter, sound designer, and composer. He is a co-founder

of the Peabody Award-winning show, Thruvine. Today, he's still making audio stories and finishing an immersive exhibit on the history of human vision that premieres in Las Vegas in September. A history of the United States and 100 Objects is a production of 99% Invisible and BBC studios. It's hosted and curated by me, Roman Mars. This episode was produced by Romteen Arablewee, who also composed music for this story. Our series producers are Priscilla Alabe, Brenna Daldorf, and Ellie Lightfoot. This series was edited by Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell, mixing by Iver Manly. Fact-checking by Amy Bracken. Our theme song is by Swan Real. From 99% Invisible, our executive producer is Kathy 2, From BBC Studios, our executive producers are Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell.

Our production coordinator is Shan Palais, and the production manager is Mabel Finnegan Wright. Artwork by Stefan Lawrence. 99% Invisible is part of the Serious XM podcast family, headquartered in Beautiful, uptown, Oakland, California. And BBC Studios is headquartered in Beautiful, White City, West London. If you want to get in touch or have an object for us to consider, Email us at 100 objects at 99PI.org.