THE JOURNAL
Carmelo Anthony’s memories of New York are vivid in his mind. In the late 1980s, when the world was viewed from a waist-high vantage point, the city pulsed with an unpredictable rhythm. One day it was a wonder; the next, a challenge. “It was loud, it was unpredictable, it was survival,” he recalls. “Every corner was a test.”
By the summer of 1992, he was gone. A young kid from Brooklyn navigating Myrtle Avenue in Baltimore, growing into both a new city and a 6ft 5in frame. If New York was the primer, Baltimore was the crucible. “I like to say that’s the city that actually raised me,” he says. “Baltimore taught me how to navigate life, taught me about feelings, emotions and the mental.”
Today, Anthony walks those old Brooklyn blocks, but the cadence of his stride has changed. Survival has given way to reflection. He’s no longer looking over his shoulder, but through the window of time. “The city went from being the place I had to fight and make it out of to the place I returned to with a lot of honour,” he says.
It has been two years since he stepped away from a glorious professional career that spanned nearly two decades, but the word “retirement” feels entirely insufficient. The pace may be more forgiving – more time carved out for family – but Anthony is anything but idle.
There is 7PM In Brooklyn, the digital series and podcast he co-hosts with The Kid Mero, which has the feel of a barbershop catch-up. In April, he launched STAYME7O, a cannabis brand paired with its own agency, Grand National. Then comes the rest of the portfolio: a winery, VII(N) The Seventh Estate, which is less a vanity project than a legacy play; a cigar brand, VERSA VII; a universe of philanthropic efforts.
“I closed a basketball chapter that was almost 30 years long,” he says. “Everything else off the court is uphill. For me, it’s about being an entrepreneur, building and making an impact. It’s not just about selling a product; it’s about being intentional with what you’re doing and how you’re doing it. I feel like I’m just getting started.”
His pursuit of impact now has a new arena: the NBC Sports studio, where this month he will debut as a studio analyst. He speaks of the game not as something he merely played, but as something he inhabited. “I know what it feels like in those moments. Most people only see it on TV,” he says. “My role now is to bring that insight, that authenticity, and connect with fans in a way only someone who’s been there can. It’s not just analysing – it’s storytelling.”
But what do those crucial moments actually feel like? Thirty seconds on the clock, a one-point deficit, the roar of the crowd and split-second decisions. He, better than most, can sum up a lifetime of embracing pressure: “It is nerve-wracking – and that’s the beauty in it.”
Last month, Anthony was inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. His speech, that night, was a testament not to the destination, but to the distance travelled. “Tonight, I don’t just step into the Hall of Fame,” he said. “I carry with me the echoes of every voice that ever told me I couldn’t.” He spoke of a time when dreams were not of trophies, but of survival – a message for every kid in Red Hook, Myrtle Avenue or Puerto Rico that’s ever been told “that ain’t for you”.
“This Hall of Fame shut the door on a journey where I can say I really went through every step and every emotion,” he says. “Not everybody can say that they experienced every emotion that you could possibly experience when it comes to the game of basketball.”
To fully understand the legend of Carmelo Anthony is to rewind the tape to 2003. The NBA was in a state of flux. Michael Jordan had, for the final time, left the building and, with him, so had an infectious energy. Viewership was down and, outside of Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O’Neal, star power was waning. Into this walked fresh blood: LeBron James, Darko Miličić, Chris Bosh, Dwyane Wade and Anthony to name a few.
Before they could get up and shake any hands and save the game, they had to walk across the draft stage. That’s when they wore those now-infamous suits – boxy, big-shouldered garments that left enough room to grow into. In what’s considered one of the greatest draft classes in history, that was the only thing rivalling the players’ skills. Anthony’s choice: a six-button, dove-grey option fastened only at the top, worn over a pastel-yellow shirt and grey tie.
“Man, that grey suit was iconic,” Anthony says. “Even if it was two sizes too big – back then, that was the style.”If he was to be drafted today, the vision is just as precise: “It’d be cleaner, more tailored, timeless. A little luxury with some edge. Still Melo, but just… elevated.”
That same philosophy now defines his day-to-day style – which he sums up as “comfortable and chic” – and a sensibility that made his recent feature in Stone Island’s AW25 campaign feel like a natural collaboration. “I just love that functional kind of luxury,” he says about the brand. “It’s street, it’s clean, it’s timeless pieces.”
Given Anthony’s towering frame, Stone Island’s sizeable options sure help. Whether that comes by way of double denim, part of the brand’s new Denim Research capsule, or of its signature weatherproof jackets.
“For big and tall men, we all know their secret,” he says. “It’s the fit. So, when you’re able to navigate that and you find your brand, it’s like, ‘OK, this is who I’m with’.”
For AW25, Stone Island draws inspiration from Japan, both its neon-lit metropolises and the tranquillity of its natural habits. There’s a balance between heritage and innovation, industrial and handmade. The Ice Jacket, first introduced in 1989, is now reimagined in a thermo-sensitive fabric with a removable balaclava, while the denim capsule offers everything from Japanese selvedge to polypropylene denim, David Light Indigo-TC and micro corduroy.
Anthony says he was a Stone Island devotee long before the brand knew it – but it was its principles that drew him to it. “It’s more than fashion to me,” he says. “It’s a philosophy. It’s about detail, innovation, being timeless, being cool and fly. It’s about aligning with a brand that represents who I am now on a global scale – my intentionality, my purpose.”
Today, the draft ceremony and pre-game tunnel are veritable runways, an army of meticulously curated fits and lucrative brand deals. But Anthony’s memory is long enough to recall a radically different era. He was there when players like Allen Iverson, a pioneer of 2000s off-court style, were attacked rather than celebrated. He remembers the infamous 2005 NBA dress code, a series of harsh and targeted rules against the very items – jerseys, chains, baggy tees, durags – that defined a generation’s identity.
Flash forward two decades and ballers are front-row fixtures at fashion shows and fronting brand campaigns. Anthony savours the irony and the progress. “It’s interesting, being a part of the early days, where they didn’t want you to walk through the tunnel like that,” he says. “You had to deal with the backlash. But it’s amazing to see where it’s at now – players are walking runways before they even hit the basketball court. It’s how you express your identity, how you set the tone. Today, style is just as much a part of the culture as the game itself.”
