Santiago Mejia is a sneaker reseller based in Lewisville, Texas. On his Instagram page—@dfwsneakerfan—you can see him at home, under what looks like a mountain of orange Nike shoe boxes: towering to the ceiling, sprawling up the staircase, piled to the point of nearly falling over. In one photo, he’s at an outlet store with a pair of shopping carts literally overflowing with discount sneakers; in another, one of his kids is working at a desk surrounded entirely by shoe boxes and a tottering pyramid of shoes.
If you’re interested in buying, you can browse these wares on Mejia’s eBay storefront. As of this writing, Mejia has 2348 different pairs of sneakers available to bid on. He has a few high-end shoes for sale, the sort you’d commonly associate with the go-go world of sneaker reselling: a couple pair of rare Dunks, a handful of coveted Jordans. But the largest portion of his stock is a little plainer—he sells everything from Nike Vapormaxes to Converse Chuck Taylor Gore-Tex boots, almost all of them listed for under $200 plus shipping. There are about 200 pairs of Air Force 1s in a smattering of common colorways, each running for a little under what they’d go for off the shelf at Foot Locker — about $90, on average, depending on the exact size and model. For the most part, Mejia—who has managed to turn his longtime sneaker fandom into a successful full-time job—makes his money reselling run-of-the-mill kicks.
The most high-profile sneaker resellers, such as Benjamin Kapelushnik, a.k.a. The Sneaker Don, tend to trade in the highest-end sneakers. These are the people who make it difficult, if not impossible, to buy a Jordan 1 High on release day, and who drive up the market value of Chunky Dunkys and Travis Scotts. Their business is snatching up the hottest, most illustrious sneakers and putting them in the hands of whatever buyers are willing to pay the (often outrageous) price. But less splashy, less headline-grabbing resellers such as Mejia, with their cut-rate Air Maxes and Air Forces, represent an increasingly large portion of the multi-billion dollar sneaker resale market. These guys aren’t bothering with thousand-dollar Chicago Highs or ultra-hot Air Diors. They’re engaged in a practice they call “brick flipping,” and it can be very, very profitable.
In resale lingo, “brick flipping” means buying and selling readily available sneakers at or under their cost at retail. (“Brick” comes from the sneaker world, where it’s used as a derogatory term for any shoe considered uncool—but in the resale market it’s not necessarily pejorative.) Bricks are contrasted with sneakers described as “hype”—shorthand for any shoe that resells for more than 50% over its original sticker price. Last month’s Jordan 1 High Hyper Royal, which has been selling for roughly 150% of its retail cost, is hype; a classic, ubiquitous white Air Force 1, of which guys like Mejia have hundreds, is a brick. The former is hard for even high-level resellers to get ahold of, but is virtually guaranteed to score huge profits. The latter is easy enough to find, and the margins slim, but is consistent and reliable.