Adidas BadBo 1.1: Bad Bunny, Turned Down Low

Adidas BadBo 1.1: Bad Bunny, Turned Down Low

For years, Bad Bunny's work with adidas meant reworking classics. The Forum Buckle Low. The Campus. The Response CL. The Gazelle. The Ballerina. Each one a familiar shape, bent to his taste.

The BadBo changed that. Unveiled at the start of 2026, right after the Grammys, the BadBo 1.0 was his first model designed from scratch. The first pairs came in a run of 1,994, the year he was born. Now it comes back lower, lighter in spirit and just as heavy in presence: the adidas BadBo 1.1 in Chalk White, Grey Two and Pink.

Bulk, on purpose

The first thing you notice is the weight of it. Not literally, but visually.

The BadBo doesn't try to disappear under a pair of trousers. Curved panels wrap around the foot, the sole runs thick and wavy, and every layer sits on top of the next. It has the volume of a basketball shoe with none of the height. Where most low-tops get slimmer, this one stays wide and confident.

The 1.1 keeps the 1.0's silhouette and midsole but rethinks the upper. A suede T-toe overlay nods to the Samba, the Gazelle and the Handball, the terrace classics adidas is built on. Dimpled mesh fills the three side windows. The collar sits lower, the heel panel is smaller, and pink mesh shows under a zig-zag-stitched tongue. On the heel, a small star from the Puerto Rican flag.

It's a chunky shoe made from careful details. Heritage underneath, attitude on top.

From a supermarket in Vega Baja to the Grammys

To understand the shoe, you have to understand the journey.

Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio grew up in Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, bagging groceries at a local supermarket and uploading songs to SoundCloud in his spare time. In 2016, "Diles" took off, and everything moved quickly from there.

X 100pre arrived in 2018. YHLQMDLG followed in early 2020, and later that year El Último Tour del Mundo became the first all-Spanish-language album to reach number one on the Billboard 200. Then came Un Verano Sin Ti (2022), Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana (2023) and Debí Tirar Más Fotos (2025), an album that looked back home to Puerto Rico and won Album of the Year at the 2026 Grammys, the first Spanish-language record ever to do so. A week later, he headlined the Super Bowl halftime show.

Closer to home for us: this summer, he played nine nights at the Riyadh Air Metropolitano in Madrid. The city wore his merch for weeks (we still have a few DtMF Madrid T-shirts).

Where the music meets the clothes

Bad Bunny's style has never been a side project. It has always moved with the music.

Painted nails, skirts, crop tops, pink dresses in a Jacquemus campaign. Long before it was comfortable, he treated clothes as a way to question what a Latin male artist was supposed to look like. Since then he has co-chaired the Met Gala (2024), fronted Calvin Klein (2025), appeared for Gucci and launched a full collection with Zara in 2026.

The pattern is the same as in his albums: take something familiar, make it personal, and don't ask permission. The BadBo does exactly that with a sneaker. It borrows from adidas heritage, then adds volume, curves and a flag star until it looks like no one else's.

Why we shot it in a music studio

When it came to shooting the BadBo 1.1, a white backdrop felt wrong.

This is a shoe that exists because of music. Every step of Bad Bunny's story, from SoundCloud uploads to stadiums, started in a room with a microphone and a mixing desk. So that's where we took it.

We shot the BadBo in a working music studio to keep it authentic. Cables on the floor, faders, headphones, acoustic foam on the walls. No props brought in to tell the story, just the space where songs actually get made. The chunky sole next to a pedal board, the pink mesh against worn-in equipment, the suede catching the low studio light.

It felt like the right place for it. Not a stage, not a showroom. The room before any of that happens.

Made where the music is made

The BadBo 1.1 is what happens when an artist stops borrowing shapes and starts building his own. It's bulky, a little loud and full of references, just like the records behind it.

The adidas BadBo 1.1 "Chalk White" is available now at Noirfonce, in store and online while sizes last. Explore more from adidas and adidas Clothing, or see what our community made with adidas denim at Noirfonce Paddock Day 2.

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Westside Gunn x Saucony Grid Jazz 9

There are a few artists who slowly build an entire universe around themselves and go beyond music. This is the case of Westside Gunn.  Over the last decade, he has transformed Griselda from an underground label in Buffalo into one of the most respected names in contemporary hip-hop, but reducing him to "rapper" has never really done him justice. Listen to one of his records, spend five minutes on his Instagram or walk through one of the exhibitions he's put together during Art Basel and it quickly becomes obvious that music is only one part of the equation. The references never stop. Professional wrestling, Basquiat, Japanese fashion, Luxury tailoring, records, Virgil Abloh,  Maison Margiela and of course... Buffalo. They all exist in the same conversation, and somehow it never feels forced. One of the things we've always admired about Westside Gunn is his ability to make people look (or listen, sometimes both) twice. His albums are full of references that don't necessarily reveal themselves on the first listen. The artwork surrounding every release is treated with the same care as the music itself, and over the years he has become just as known for commissioning painters, photographers and designers as he has for the records that accompany them. That's probably why this project with Saucony feels so natural. It doesn't feel like somebody was handed a silhouette and told to "make it artistic." It feels like another piece of Westside Gunn's world. The Grid Jazz 9 has always been one of Saucony's strongest archive silhouettes. Originally designed as a high-mileage running shoe, it has gradually found a second life outside performance, becoming one of those early-2000s models that feels just as relevant today as it did twenty years ago. Instead of stripping it back, Gunn does exactly the opposite: the entire upper becomes a canvas: pink, cream, brown and black all somehow manage to coexist without ever feeling chaotic. Like much of his work, the more time you spend looking at it, the more details begin to emerge. The packaging deserves just as much attention. Rather than another oversized collaborative box covered in logos, Saucony and Westside Gunn present the shoe inside what looks more like an object frame than a shoebox. Before you've even opened it, the message is already there. This isn't something that was designed to disappear into a stack of boxes in the wardrobe...It's something you're expected to keep. That attention to presentation says a lot about how Gunn approaches everything he creates. Whether it's an album, a vinyl pressing, an exhibition catalogue or now a sneaker, the object itself matters just as much as what's inside. There is a tendency today to separate culture into neat categories. Music over here. Fashion over there. Art somewhere else... Westside Gunn has spent years ignoring those boundaries. He's brought painters into rap, rappers into galleries, wrestling into luxury fashion and Buffalo into conversations usually dominated by New York, Paris or Milan. Somehow, it all makes sense because none of it feels calculated. They're simply the things that have shaped him. The Saucony collaboration reflects exactly that. Not because it's covered in artwork, but because it carries the same point of view that has defined everything else he's touched. The Grid Jazz 9 doesn't pretend to be minimal. It doesn't chase trends or rely on nostalgia alone. Instead, it feels like walking into someone's studio and seeing half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, books piled on tables and records playing quietly in the background. The shoe is simply another object in that room. And perhaps that's why it works so well.

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What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

Lees verder

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

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