“There wasn’t a line of communication during [Jordan’s era]. When stylists really came into play [in the early 2000s], we explained, ‘These are the people who will look great in your clothes and sell them.'” (Jordan did employ the services of designers, tailors and branding managers but did not have a full-time stylist. He worked with stylists on photo shoots.)

Regardless of whose name was on the garment — be it his trusted tailor or a Milan-based designer, Jordan became a master of power suiting. So much so that he had Nike designer Tinker Hatfield, who designed many of his Air Jordan sneakers, make the Air Jordan “Concord” XI, which was released in 1995, more formal. The sneaker featured a patent trim, which mimicked a pair of spats. Wearing the sneakers with a suit would work just as well as wearing them with his uniform.

To afford my first pair of Air Jordans in the late 1990s, I’d pocket about $3.75 of the $5 my mother handed me for lunch money each day. For two months, I ate 50-cent Linden’s Butter Crunch Cookies and 75-cent soggy fries, the cheapest combo of eats in my high school cafeteria that would stave off hunger until I returned home for dinner. The Concords were about $120 in my size after taxes, and I knew my mother would never want to spend that much on gym shoes. As I opened the black-and-silver box, I recalled His Airness soaring above the court at the United Center with these patent-leather-trim wonders on his feet as he clinched his fourth ring in Game 6 of the 1996 NBA Finals. The sneaker brought a piece of Jordan’s talent, style and showmanship to my then-15-year-old self. Decades have passed and trends have changed, but the sneakers, the stats and his overall image still represent that greatness.

Jordan’s style innovation extended beyond suiting and sneakers. His bald head, which he shaved clean in 1989 after managing a receding hairline, was a thing of beauty. Others, like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, had done it. But no one owned the branding of bald head quite like MJ.

“Previous to Jordan, we saw players like Dominique Wilkins and Karl Malone rock fades,” Staple said. “Jordan’s baldy felt streamlined and efficient.”

“When Chris Webber did it in Michigan, that was a style choice,” Hall said. “For Michael, it was done out of necessity. And it gave him a branded look that was very safe and approachable to everyone.”

There was also the gold hoop earring that dangled from Jordan’s left earlobe. The jewel made its debut in the mid-’90s and lives on today. He had dropped the two chains in favor of an understated interpretation of bling. While athletes and celebrities were weighing themselves down with gold chains and diamond-encrusted watches, a stereotypical purchasing habit of the newly monied, Jordan opted for a delicate hoop. Again, it was clean and steered clear of the stereotype, making it easily digestible to mass audiences who might have seen anything more as gauche.

At the 1996 Hollywood premiere of “Space Jam,” Jordan wore a gray suit, the jacket grazing his knees as he walked. A collarless buttoned shirt lay flat underneath, and his pant leg spilled over onto his black shoes. Jordan’s head shined, and the hoop earring twinkled. This was a man who looked as if he could carry your team to glory and play one-on-one with Bugs Bunny. And surely, that was done with intention. None of it was left to chance.

Did the brunch boot help turn the myth into a man?

Jordan won at everything — basketball, branding and style. He was the standard because he fought to be so. And that fight can be a young man’s game. The heeled boots, the endless pockets on his cargo shorts and his Easter-ready golf ensembles triggered a yearning for the Jordan of yesteryear. Jordan comfortably moved on from being the standard of cool, and we weren’t prepared to accept that. Our childhood heroes have the right to evolve. We have to accept that they aren’t just symbols of our youthful ideals but fully formed humans.

Jordan is the GOAT of GOATs, but his success is no longer directly associated with his physical appearance. He has grown beyond that. The Jordan brand will be forever revered regardless of what the man himself wears on the sideline or anywhere else. He’s aware that he’s a meme and has publicly gotten in on the joke. He knows that you’ve crudely critiqued his dadcore wardrobe. But will you still buy his shoes? Stream the docuseries about his greatness? Of course you will. And he knows that too.

“MJ is comfortable in his skin and with the style that he’s in,” Hall said. “It would take a quick phone call to revamp himself to what would look cool in 2020. I don’t think he cares. I think he’s fine.”

Jordan flirted in the 1990s with the wide-leg pants and washed-out jeans that he’s partial to now. The trends changed; his taste didn’t. Like many of us, he likes what he likes and sticks with it. He’s entitled to peer over his iPad, as he did in the docuseries, to poke fun at Scott Burrell while wearing khaki shorts. There’s a Zen-like beauty to this level of self-acceptance.

“This is a part of his messaging: ‘I’m not going to change who I am because the times have changed, and you’re just going to accept it,'” Barnett said. “It’s a boss mood.”

“The Last Dance” serves as a reminder that Jordan expected nothing less than greatness from himself and his teammates. It solidified him as this godlike figure for a new generation of fans. The series also provided us the space to embrace the Jordan of then and now at the same time. It humanized him. It made our idol feel real. And he has earned the right to be here, dad jeans and all.