I had no idea that the hats flying over my head would one day be worth hundreds of dollars.
It was February 1995, and I was in the stands with the Northern Connecticut Squirt B team, having played a game on the Civic Center ice that afternoon. When Geoff Sanderson finished a natural hat-trick against the Canadiens, dozens of bright snapbacks sailed onto the ice as fans tossed them in celebration.
Today, a Hartford Whalers Logo Athletic Splash or Sports Specialties Script hat sells for hundreds of dollars. A US-made starter jacket might sell for more, and a single-stitch graphic t-shirt will start around fifty bucks.
The story of Whalers apparel, and its enduring appeal, is a case study in popular clothing. It brings together all the most attractive elements of casual style together like few other artifacts of our recent past.
It starts with the logo: The silhouette of a blue whale tale centered over a green “W,” with an “H” created in the negative space. The original Hartford Whalers logo is widely regarded as the finest sports logo of all time.
And it’s hip, too. Hartford Whalers apparel taps into the nostalgia that drives Target to sell Nirvana t-shirts and Greta Gerwig to direct a Barbie movie. But unlike Nirvana, who still get regular airplay, or Barbie, for which new dolls are released every year, the Hartford Whalers only exist on old video games and in the minds of those who remember them.
The timing couldn’t have been worse for me. In 1997 I was ten years old and just learning what it means to be a sports fan. But style-wise, it was a blessing: 1997 is at the tail end of American-manufacturing, and within a few years the internet would compress trend timelines while killing off local retail.
That means that any authentic Whalers merchandise coincides with a golden era of late 80s to mid 90s vintage: nylon jackets, snapback hats, graphic crewnecks, single-stitch t-shirts–you name it. And it probably came out of the team store or a local sporting goods store like Bob’s or Herb’s. The same can’t be said for other franchises.
But a bigger part of what makes Whalers merch so collectible is that, in the long run, there isn’t much of it: A small market team in business for 18 years doesn’t sell much compared, say, to the Red Sox or the Knicks.
Of course, they didn’t see to be missed much when they left. I wore a Whalers hat nearly everyday of my senior year of high school, but I was the only one doing it. Yankees and Celtics apparel was everywhere, but the Whalers? Everyone seemed to forget.
The Whalers trademark, however, expired sometime around 2010, and hats and t-shirts could once again be made. A nostalgic turn took hold. Now I see more Whalers stuff around Hartford now than I ever had before.
But these are most often reproductions, pieces made to recapture the past. The little details–the fabrics, manufacturing techniques, and, hey, the presence of the official NHL shield needed to license the garment of an active franchise–can’t be faked.
Reproductions and vintage, then, make use of the same famous negative space. But only the good stuff, the stuff was actually in the rink, fills it in with memories and experience.