The subtext was clear: One had to earn the right to shop there.

“I walked in there and, even as a girl, I still felt intimidated: these were real skate kids,” said Vashtie Kola, a downtown music video director and party promoter, recalling her visits in the ’90s. Like the skate world in general, the store, she added, was “a place where authenticity is of extreme importance.”

“People can pick up on your scent,” she continued. “It’s a hard world to gain respect in.”

Then, as now, the merchandise was every bit as coded. Supreme channels various underground style currents: the punkiness of Dogtown-era skatewear, the macho utilitarianism of military gear, the brash colors of ’80s hip-hop — and merges them into a singular aesthetic.

Prices are hardly astronomical (jeans are about $130; hoodies, $170), but Supreme cultivates the same covetous frenzy that might greet a new $9,000 Hermès Birkin bag.

Limited runs help stoke demand. A corduroy shell jacket, a collaboration with North Face listed at $298, recently sold out in one minute online and appeared almost simultaneously on eBay for $700, according to Peter Panagakos, of Strictly Supreme, a members-only Web site where Supreme zealots trade rumors and merch. (Invitations to the site are themselves highly coveted.)

Collaborations with bien-pensant contemporary artists further enhance Supreme’s esoteric air. The current fall-winter collection, for example, includes an Army-style M-51 jacket, featuring artwork by the skateboarder and artist Mark Gonzales, for $298. Skate-deck collaborations with artists like Damien Hirst and Richard Prince may retail for less than $100, but are “collected like art,” Mr. O’Brien said.

The artist Nate Lowman remembers seeing a skate deck he designed — a bullet-hole motif — hanging at the Gagosian Gallery on Madison Avenue, next to editions by Christopher Wool and Jeff Koons. “They’re hanging there on the wall, for thousands of dollars,” he said, still laughing at the idea. He telephoned Mr. Jebbia, who wants to keep the boards in the hands of the kids, and he said that Mr. Jebbia cursed into the phone, saying, “I’m going to tell them to stop.”