Walk into any sports bar in Northern Virginia or the Maryland suburbs and you’ll see them. They’re hanging on the walls, tucked into the corners of menus, and plastered across the back of vintage starter jackets. Images of the Redskins—the deep burgundy helmets, the profile of a Native American man with feathers, the golden yellow accents—haven't just disappeared because a name changed. They’re everywhere. It’s weird, honestly. You have a multi-billion dollar franchise that spent years trying to scrub its own history, yet the visual ghost of the old brand is more alive than the new one in many circles.
The images of the Redskins are complicated. For some, they represent Joe Gibbs, three Super Bowl rings, and the "Hogs" dominating the line of scrimmage. For others, those same graphics are a reminder of a racial slur that was institutionalized for nearly ninety years.
The Evolution of the Logo
If you look at the early history of the team, the visuals were a mess. George Preston Marshall, the team’s founder and a man with a deeply controversial record on integration, moved the team from Boston to D.C. in 1937. The initial images of the Redskins didn't even look like the logo we remember today. They used various iterations of Native American profiles, some more caricatured than others. By the 1960s, they actually used a spear on the helmet. It was sleek. It was simple. But the most iconic version—the circular logo with the hanging feathers—didn't arrive until 1972.
Walter "Blackie" Wetzel, a Blackfeet Nation leader and former president of the National Congress of American Indians, actually helped design that logo. He wanted it to be a source of pride. He brought photos from his home in Montana to show the team what real indigenous representation looked like. This is the nuance people usually miss. It wasn't just a corporate doodle; it had input from a Native American leader.
But things change.
Societal standards shift. What was seen as "honoring" in 1972 started looking a lot like "appropriation" or "caricature" by the 1990s and 2000s. The images of the Redskins became a legal battleground. The Trademark Trial and Appeal Board actually canceled the team's trademark registrations in 2014, though that was later overturned by the Supreme Court in a different case involving a band called The Slants. Basically, the law said the government couldn't refuse to register a trademark just because it might be offensive.
Why People Can't Let Go
You've probably seen the "Bring Back the Logo" petitions. They pop up every few months. Fans are attached to the memories, not necessarily the politics. When a father takes his son to his first game at RFK Stadium and they’re both wearing burgundy and gold, that logo becomes a family heirloom. It’s hard to tell someone that their childhood memory is "wrong."
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Yet, the imagery was inseparable from the name. You can't have one without the other. When FedEx, Nike, and PepsiCo threatened to pull their money in 2020, Dan Snyder—who famously said he’d never change the name—folded in days. Money talks. The images of the Redskins were stripped from the stadium, the practice facility, and the official website almost overnight.
It was a total visual vacuum.
For two years, they were just the "Washington Football Team." It was the ultimate generic brand. No logo. Just a number on a helmet. Some fans loved the minimalism. Others felt like the team's soul had been ripped out. When the "Commanders" branding finally launched in 2022, it was met with a collective shrug. The new "W" logo felt corporate. It felt safe. It didn't have the weight of 80 years of history behind it.
The Secondary Market and the "Forbidden" Gear
Here is what’s actually happening on the ground: the market for vintage images of the Redskins is exploding. If you go on eBay or Grailed, 1980s-era Redskins gear is selling for hundreds of dollars. There is a subculture of collectors who specifically hunt for the "illegal" logo. It’s become a form of counter-culture for some, and for others, it’s just about the aesthetic.
The colors. The burgundy and gold.
They are iconic.
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Even the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian has weighed in on this. They’ve held symposiums on the use of Native American mascots in sports. The consensus from many indigenous activists, like Amanda Blackhorse, is that these images—no matter how well-intentioned—turn a living people into a mascot. It "others" them. It makes them characters in a story they didn't write.
The Legal and Digital Scrubbing
Google "Redskins images" and you’ll see a mix of historical archives and modern news articles about the controversy. But if you look at the NFL’s official YouTube channel, they’ve gone back and changed the titles of old highlight reels. They often use "Washington" or "Washington Legends" now. They’re trying to rewrite the metadata.
It’s a massive undertaking. Think about every program, every ticket stub, every mural in the D.C. metro area. You can't just delete a century of visual culture.
The team's current ownership group, led by Josh Harris, has a weird tightrope to walk. They want to respect the history—the players like Darrell Green and Art Monk—without using the old imagery that corporate sponsors hate. They’ve started leaning into "Burgundy and Gold" as the primary identity. They talk about the "legacy" without saying the word. It’s a linguistic and visual dance.
What the Research Says
Psychologically, logos are powerful. A study published in the journal Psychological Science found that exposure to Native American mascots lowered the self-esteem of Native American youth. It didn't matter if the logo was "respectful" or a "chief." The mere act of being used as a mascot had a measurable negative impact.
Fans often argue that the logo was a "tribute." But a tribute that hurts the people it’s supposed to be honoring is a failed tribute. That’s the core of the argument that eventually won out.
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Practical Realities for Fans and Collectors
If you own old memorabilia, you’re in a bit of a grey area. Is it "wrong" to wear it? That’s a personal call. Most people in the D.C. area don't bat an eye at it because it’s so common. But if you’re looking to sell it, you should know that some platforms are stricter than others.
- Check the Tags: Original 70s and 80s gear (Sand-Knit, Champion, Starter) is much more valuable than the "repro" stuff made in the early 2000s.
- Context Matters: Wearing the logo to a game is one thing; using it in a commercial or business capacity is a trademark nightmare.
- Respect the Space: Understand that for many, those images of the Redskins are genuinely painful. You don't have to agree, but knowing the history—like the Wetzel family’s involvement—gives you a better leg to stand on in a conversation.
The Washington Commanders are here to stay, likely with another rebrand on the horizon if the fans keep complaining about the name. But the images of the Redskins will remain in the archives, in the attics of suburban homes, and in the history books of the NFL. You can’t kill a ghost, especially one that won three Super Bowls.
Moving forward, the best way to engage with this history is through a lens of preservation rather than promotion. Collect the history if it matters to you, but recognize why the world moved on. The transition from the old imagery to the new "W" isn't just a marketing pivot; it's a reflection of a culture that decided it was tired of the fight.
How to Handle Your Vintage Collection
If you're holding onto a stash of old-school gear and you're worried about its future value or social standing, here’s the move. Keep the pieces that have personal sentimental value. The 1991 Super Bowl sweatshirt your dad gave you? That’s a piece of your life. But if you’re a reseller, focus on the "Script" logos or the "Burgundy and Gold" text-heavy designs. They tend to be less polarizing and still capture that retro vibe that’s huge right now.
Understand that the "Redskins" name and the associated imagery are officially part of the "legacy" wing of the NFL. They aren't the present. They aren't the future. They are artifacts. Treating them as such—objects of historical interest rather than active symbols of a current team—is the most authentic way to bridge the gap between the franchise's past and its future.
Don't expect the controversy to die down completely. As long as those old photos are still being shared on social media, the debate will simmer. It’s part of the team's DNA now. You can’t have the glory of the 80s without acknowledging the complications of the brand that built it.