Wearing a football shirt is an act of rebellion. It’s going against the grain of the drab, the ordinary, the formal. Wearing a club shirt, sometimes plastered with brand logos, or a national team shirt, sometimes one you don’t even support, is a way of expressing happiness through clothing. And football is all about joy. But this romanticized idea shatters when the market exploits nostalgia to build a business that seems to have no end.
In a World Cup year, the giants of sportswear have invested heavily to generate massive profits with a whole range of products. Adidas, for example, has publicly acknowledged that Mexico is one of its best clients worldwide. It’s the brand that has outfitted the Mexican national team since 2007. Its jersey designs often become cult objects for the most dedicated fans. For the 2026 World Cup, they’ve launched a retro-inspired strategy with a collection that’s an exact replica of the uniform the team wore in the 1986 World Cup. That jersey features Hugo Sánchez’s iconic number nine. And who wouldn’t want something reminiscent of Hugo these days?
The Mexican Football Federation launched its new identity before the 2022 World Cup, a crest that replaced the Aztec sun with a stylized eagle. The emblem sparked considerable debate, with fans missing the logo that referenced their pre-Hispanic culture. Adidas has capitalized on this feeling and released more jerseys and jackets featuring the old crests.
The first jerseys that Messi wore for the Argentine national team in a World Cup, those from 2006, have also been re-released. The U.S. company Nike took the opportunity to launch a line of goalkeeper jerseys with a 90s vibe and outlandish designs. For months now, they’ve also resumed production of the Total90 soccer cleats, a line that has become ubiquitous in leagues and neighborhood games throughout Mexico and Latin America. Other clothing brands unrelated to soccer, such as American Eagle, even spent their savings to sign the flamboyant Jorge Campos to create a clothing line for them.
The problem isn’t the quantity of retro clothing, nor the desire to buy it, it’s the price. “They’re expensive, they become a luxury item. It’s not the same to have a salary of 5,000 pesos a month and want to buy a retro Mexican national team jacket that costs 4,000. It’s not feasible. Ten years ago, jerseys were around 1,200 pesos,” says Alex Morci, one of the biggest soccer jersey collectors in Mexico. Today, the price of jerseys has doubled. And that’s without mentioning special edition items.
This trend has led some fans to seek alternatives. Websites offering replicas of soccer jerseys abound online, featuring very similar designs but made with different materials and, of course, a lower price. In Tepito, Latin America’s largest open-air market, soccer jerseys are always available, even months before their official release. According to some vendors, the merchandise comes from Asia. There, buying a retro Mexican national team jersey can cost half as much. It takes eight minimum wages to buy a Hugo Sánchez jersey and twelve for the most 80s-style jacket.
The problem of piracy has plagued Mexico for decades. Months before the start of the World Cup, authorities have seized tons of these products. “There was a time when I found an app selling clothes from China. I made a video to show people that you could find vintage jerseys. I’m a Manchester United fan; I always wanted some shirts, but it was impossible for me to find the originals. What I understood about collecting is: these reproductions aren’t collectibles because they don’t have social value, but they do have personal value. They only have value for me,” says Morci, 38, who has bought almost 200 jerseys.
The love for football never runs out, nor does the business.
Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition
