Keith Hufnagel Monster Children December 2020
Words by Robert Brink
It always begins with skateboarding.
And when Keith Hufnagel first entered public consciousness in the early ‘90s, it was an era synonymous with the technical and the progressive. He who flipped and spun his board the most, in the baggiest, brightest clothes—no matter how ridiculously unappealing it looked—won.
But Keith skated fast. He was quick-footed. He could ollie—high, with seemingly little effort. He was pure street and he had style; quite possibly one of the first pros of a generation to show us how to truly look graceful on a skateboard when all the sloppy bells and whistles of triple kickflips and switch stance pressure flips were stripped away.
But it was never for lack of ability.
‘In the early days,’ says Gino Iannucci, who met Huf in 1990, ‘Keith was always pushing the envelope with cutting-edge tricks. He was just a natural who looked really solid on a skateboard. Then he brought the East Coast to California and showed the West Coast what was up. That was an important thing, especially back in the day. He was a New Yorker in San Francisco.’
Huf rose to prominence with a relatively small arsenal of ‘basic’ tricks. When we think of Huf, we think of the ollie. We think of that push and the way his hands casually floated down by his sides, dangling slightly behind him, palms facing backwards. We think of lipslides and backside flips and 360 flips. We think of the frontside noseslide on the October 1993 cover of TransWorld SKATEboarding and the midtown Manhattan marble he did it on, subsequently named, and forever to be known as, ‘The Huf Ledge.’
Every skate spot in the world has a name, but very few are named after a pro skater.
Keith skated with simplicity, power and a restraint unlike most of the pros of the time—and gaining the skate world’s attention in such a manner was a near-impossible feat. Huf’s skateboarding was the by-product of good taste and class, and he maintained prominence and respect for the duration of his pro career with Real Skateboards (as well as Thunder and Spitfire) for more than a quarter of a century—which puts him in another unique category: Keith was one of very few, if not the only skater next to Steve Caballero to stay continuously with his sponsors for more than twenty-five years.
In addition to helping put Real on the map, Keith elevated DC Shoes to the top of the footwear heap as part of their legendary ‘second squad.’ He then migrated to DVS and did the same, earning himself a pro model shoe in the days when pro shoes mattered.
Unlike, say, the Chad Muskas, Jamie Thomas’ and Bam Margeras of the mid-to-late ‘90s, who exploded onto the scene, resulting in near-exhausting media blitzkriegs, Huf’s peak years as a pro and presence in magazines and videos was well-paced, humble and understated—never brazen; never overdone. Quality over quantity, with just enough to leave you wanting more.
That was because, like many of us, Keith’s skateboarding was reflective of his personality.
‘Keith was a quiet dude,’ says photographer and friend Giovanni Reda. ‘Some people, like me, have a big fuckin’ mouth and they’re yelling and screaming and carrying on and telling jokes, but when Keith finally had something to say, it was always fucking important.’
Most young skateboarders will never get sponsored. Less will go on to become pro. Even less than that will get a signature shoe, and fewer still will have a spot named after them or stay with their sponsors for twenty-five years or more.
As a skateboarder, Huf achieved dreams that millions never will. He did the impossible many times over—and that’s only half the journey.
So, imagine all of the above, but then, because your drive and dynamic personality thrive on challenge and you yearn for more than just skateboarding, you open a store in San Francisco named after yourself, with your then-wife and all the money you have in the bank. Selling all the coolest, rarest sneakers and even helping design some with other brands to be sold in your store.
Then, imagine by some miracle, it works. So, you open three more stores in the city, and another in Los Angeles, while maintaining a professional skateboarding career.
Then, imagine the HUF-branded clothing you’ve been making for your stores is so popular that it evolves into a full-fledged apparel brand.
Then, the opportunity arises to start a footwear brand with a team of some of the most talented and stylish skaters of the times and everything you built crosses over into mainstream culture, globally, without you losing a shred of respect from the über-critical and quick-to-dismiss-anyone-who-doesn’t-follow-the-rules skateboarding community.
Then, as this unfathomable empire continues to grow, you open multiple stores in Japan and one back home in New York.
Imagine you did all this before you turned forty.
And six years later, after a two-and-a-half-year battle with brain cancer finally has its way with you, a narrative beyond that of the magical, one-of-a-kind skateboarding and entrepreneurial legacy you left behind arises, as all the people who you touched begin to speak out and pay their respects—and that narrative is not about the big ollies or the weed socks or millions of dollars but, rather, the story of your character:
‘Keith had our backs,’ says artist Todd Francis. ‘He supported so many of us artists, photographers, musicians, creatives. He understood how challenging it is for us to make a living, and he looked out for a great many nutjobs like me, Porous Walker, Haroshi, Sean Cliver, Hanni El Khatib, Giovanni Reda and so many more. If Huf believed in your work, he would back you hard.’
‘Keith used his power and generosity, always, to lift others up. Unconditionally and with grace. That’s how I’ll remember him,’ says HUF brand copywriter, Cody Koester.
‘Keith made people better,’ says longtime friend Ray Mate’. ‘He was great at working with people and enhancing their creative flow. He genuinely helped lots of people and it all came back to him because Huf was kind.’
‘Keith wasn’t the best skater and people knew that,’ says former HUF pro Austyn Gillette. ‘But he was as good at what he did, and it was highly revered—never lacklustre. Keith always made time for you too, and that was important. He’d rather set up a day to meet than be like, “Hey, come into the office, I’m busy but I’ll see you for five minutes.”’
‘But the most inspiring thing,’ Austyn continues, ‘was seeing him make his own world and seeing the empire he created in only ten years. Huf built something special that supported a lot of people. He gave back to the industry that supported him and did it with a lot of integrity, but you could tell he had a lot of fun with it too. He created a world for other people. He left us with that cascading effect.’
‘When the books are written,’ says Jim Thiebaud, Vice President of Deluxe, ‘when people talk about who did it fucking rad, Keith’s name is going to be at the top of the list.’
‘When I met Keith,’ says Anne Freeman, Keith’s former business partner and ex-wife, ‘I instantly recognized a few things that were so different from anybody else I’d ever encountered in skateboarding. He had quiet strength. His presence commanded the room without ever having to speak. He was incredibly kind in an authentic, meaningful way. Keith would engage with anyone and he looked you in the eye when you spoke to him—he listened to what you had to say. That is rare and that touches people.’
‘Keith had a work ethic beyond anybody I’ve ever met,’ Freeman continues. ‘No job was beneath him. He did whatever needed to be done with humility and appreciation for the simple fact that he had the opportunity to do it. He packed more into a day than anyone. He’s an easy person to root for because you want the kindest people to achieve all the things they want in life, so he got that support. Everybody that Huf hired loved to work for him because he wasn’t a boss, he was a leader by showing how it’s done.’
‘You look at Keith and you’re looking at twenty lifetimes’ worth of experiences, achievements and goals that were exceeded beyond even his wildest dreams,’ Freeman adds. ‘Keith just met every single challenge by taking a deep breath and saying, “Okay, this can be done. How do I do it?”’
Skate for Dylan Monster Children June 2020
Words by Robert Brink
Photography by Ryan Allan
“I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life and Makenna experienced losing her brother—the closest person to her. Some people never recover from something like that, but seeing her shaking before we started and watching her cry at the end, knowing how special it was to her—the day felt so full.”
“The most I ever ran was 10 miles,” says Makenna, “and that was only three days before. For me, running is 75 percent mental, and I’d been told that if you can do 10 miles, you can do 13. So when Austyn asked me to be involved I was like, ‘Let’s do this.’ And I just went for it.”
The original plan was to invite the LA area skate community to join Austyn and Makenna on their May 26 (what would have been Dylan’s 32nd birthday) journey to raise awareness and funds for the Dylan Rieder Foundation. The nonprofit, created in Dylan’s honor by his friend Akram Abdel, benefits City of Hope hospital, where Dylan spent about a year and a half undergoing treatment for Leukemia before his untimely passing on October 12, 2016.
“I wanted to do something proactive after what Dylan went through,” says Austyn. “With every passing year, losing him affects me more and more. So what can we do on a special day like his birthday to help people avoid experiencing what he did? Because it’s a real fucking shame to lose a loved one to leukemia. We’re already out skating anyway, and I’ve used skating as a vehicle to make a living and do cool projects for years, so why not skate to help people?”
There was a glitch though—the COVID-19 pandemic and lockdown. So a day that would have drawn hundreds, if not a thousand or more skaters together to celebrate the life and legacy of Dylan Rieder, had to be carefully rethought with everyone’s safety in mind and reduced to a small crew to avoid encouraging a large gathering and possible transmission of the virus.
Since the public could no longer attend, the crew streamed their trek live on Instagram and Austyn’s brand, Former (which Dylan helped create along with pro surfers Craig Anderson and Dane Reynolds), made a limited run of shirts, adorned with a photo of Dylan shot by friend and photographer Ryan Allan, to raise money for the foundation. The shirts sold out online in eight minutes but donations given directly to the foundation, without the purchase of a tee, continued to roll in throughout the weekend.
“The photo of Dylan was taken in Sydney, Australia in 2012,” says Allan. “It was one of the first trips that Austyn came on with the Gravis crew and the first time I saw the dynamic of he and Dylan skating together. They were sort of competitive with one another—not vocally, but in their skating. Mini ramp sessions more impressive than I’d ever seen; games of S.K.A.T.E. were incredible. I remember thinking, ‘These guys have to skate together all the time so they both progress really fast.’ We chose this shot for the shirt because even though it’s just a photo of him rolling, there’s still style and power in it— things that Dylan’s skating represented.”
“A lot of days run flat and empty without certain people in your life,” explains Austyn. “I feel like this was the closest Makenna and I and her family have been to each other in years. The first day in a long time where I felt good all the way through. When Makenna arrived at the beach, I said, ‘Dylan is proud of you,’ and she started crying. We held each other’s hand and walked to the water. It felt like we had him here with us again.”
“Seeing Austyn and Makenna reach their goal was both heavy and inspiring,” says Allan. “The beach was everything to Dylan. He’d dragged us to so many on our travels over the years. The day felt right and I was lucky to see and document it.”
“Dylan had been in the hospital for years and all he wanted to do was go to the beach,” says Austyn. “Within the first few weeks of being out of remission, maybe eight months before he passed, we took him to Venice. We carried him out on our shoulders. When we put him down he sat there digging his feet in the sand and didn’t say a word. It was the last place outside of the hospital that we spent time together.”
As luck would have it, May 26 was one of the hottest days of 2020 to date, and aside from already feeling emotional, Makenna described being physically exhausted and dehydrated less than halfway through the run.
“I was struggling,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if I could finish honestly. Even the night before I was trying to talk myself out of it—the heat, the early morning, doing it in LA—all things outside of my comfort zone. But I had Dylan in mind the entire time. I watched him go through some of the craziest, most painful shit in the hospital. And it’s like, ‘Fuck, if he can go through that, I can do this for a few hours.’”
And with only two miles left, as Makenna was ready to give up, something unexpected happened.
“At that point I was walking; thinking I wasn’t going to finish, but this kid who found us skated up to me and said, ‘Can I finish it with you?’ [Makenna begins crying as she explains] And I nodded and he skated along with me. That was just the coolest thing. And when I got to the end, a bunch of skaters had shown up there as well. I gave Austyn the biggest hug and I cried. It was the first time I felt genuine happiness in a long while. I think Austyn felt that too. It was perfect. I think it was everything that Dylan would’ve wanted.”
Vans at 50:
An oral history of the iconic skateboarding brand and a case study in longevity. Oak Street July 2016
Words by Robert Brink
Photography by Ye Rin Mok
To last 50 years and be more culturally relevant than ever is unheard of for a skateboarding brand. But such is the case for Vans, which celebrated its 50th anniversary earlier this year.
Despite its humble beginnings as a made-to-order deck shoe created by Paul and Jim Van Doren in 1966, Vans is the skate world’s longest-running brand and one of the few in American history to become a culture within itself.
So how did the Van Doren Rubber Company go from selling a dozen pairs of shoes on March 16, 1966, in Anaheim, California, to surviving Chapter 11 bankruptcy, family fallouts, multiple acquisitions, going public, and five decades of trends? Some of the company’s most crucial figures break down how it became the iconic $2.2 billion brand it is today.
Listen to the customer
Steve Van Doren (VP of Events and Promotions and son of Vans founder Paul Van Doren): “We were just a tennis shoe company that my dad started in 1966. He knew he was going to have to do something special because he couldn’t afford advertising. It wasn’t my dad’s niche; he was a manufacturer his whole life. So he made the sole twice as thick as anything else out there. He used pure crepe rubber with no fillers. He used No. 10 duck canvas and nylon thread so the shoes would last longer. He didn’t know it was eventually going to be gripping a skateboard, but all those things, together with the construction, made for a better shoe. So if a mother came in and bought a pair for her kid and found out it lasted longer than other shoes, she’s going to keep coming back for more.”
Tony Alva (professional skateboarder, Skateboarding Hall of Fame inductee, original member of the Zephyr team, Vans-endorsed athlete for 40 years): “We just knew that we needed deck shoes. Vans started, and there was a shop on the corner of 19th and Wilshire in Los Angeles, two blocks away from my junior high school. It wasn’t intentional, but Vans were the best shoes for skateboarding. They were affordable and they lasted. And they would sell me one shoe at a time. If I wore out my right shoe from dragging my foot a lot, I would go over with a couple bucks and buy another shoe, which would keep me going for another week or two.
I was one of the guys that gave them input to start designing shoes for skateboarders, and they called it the Off The Wall series. We took the basic deck shoe but added a bit more padding and used two-tone colors because we were always wearing different colored shoes based on whatever we could get at the time. But what we were all about when it came to Vans was that gum rubber sole that grips a skateboard so good that you don’t want to reinvent it no matter what. The vulcanized rubber and either suede leather or canvas and that waffle sole—that’s all we ever wanted.
Then they went to making hi-tops, which was a completely new level of functionality. That was the ultimate shoe for us because it had that gum rubber sole, but the suede and the canvas combined with the hi-top guarding the ankle bones. That’s what we did—we gave Vans so much input that they started to evolve with skateboarding. It was one of the smartest things they could’ve ever done. And the reason they were able to do it is because Paul Van Doren and his sons were open to it. They were listening and they knew there was something about the skateboarding culture that was synonymous with Vans, and they rode it out. Here we are 50 years later and they’re still riding that wave, which is amazing because what it’s done for them is it’s given them growth through an organic evolution that no other company in the skateboarding industry has or could ever have.”
Steve Van Doren: “Tony worked with my dad and my uncle Jim. We realized that canvas was going to take a beating, so we started putting leather on the toe and the heel and added a padded collar so they had more support. From there, Tony would start suggesting, ‘Hey, we’re getting hit in the ankles with our skateboards when we’re in the pools.’ So we came up with the second shoe, which was the mid-top Old Skool. Then my dad saw how hard they would pull their laces to tighten them up and break the eyelets. Normal people don’t do that. So when we designed style No. 36, they left out the metal eyelets but put an extra layer of canvas so you didn’t have a chance of pulling an eyelet out and ruining the whole shoe. Soon we made an even higher-top shoe, the Sk8-Hi. We always listened to what skaters or kids told us. When kids were drawing checkerboard patterns on their shoes, we just followed their lead. Same thing with skating, they’d ask us, ‘Hey, can you do this? Can you do that?’ And we would.
Later, in 1988, when we made the first shoe for Steve Caballero, he found out eight months later that kids were cutting the top down to make the shoe lower. He came to us and said, ‘Hey, see how I duct taped these after I cut ’em? Maybe we can just make ’em a mid-top.’ And that’s how the Half Cab came about.”
Steve Caballero (professional skateboarder, Skateboarding Hall of Fame inductee, Vans-endorsed athlete for 28 years, creator of the longest-running signature shoe of all time, the Half Cab): “I attribute the success of the Half Cab to a combination of things: timing, capturing a moment, and Vans listening to what the skaters and I wanted. Steve Van Doren is really good at listening and making sure skaters are well taken care of.”
Stick to what you know
Vans doesn’t deny its mistakes, nor does it make excuses for its failures. The times it suffered were the times it tried to be something it wasn’t. The company made breakdancing shoes in the ’80s, for Christ’s sake. But there has always been an accountability, a sincerity, and an authenticity to Vans that clearly illustrates why it’s been here for half a century and is now more successful than ever. Not a lot of brands can say that. Nor can they say they swung back from the bottom all the way to the top, the way Vans has.
Steve Van Doren: “Vans was going great, the checkerboard shoe was flying, my uncle Jim was president, and he was doing a magnificent job, but he made the mistake of trying to be Nike. We had a running shoe. We had basketball, baseball, soccer, tennis, skydiving, and wrestling shoes. We even had breakdancing shoes. We were making really nice shoes, but my dad, who was a great manufacturer and businessperson, kept telling my uncle, ‘Hey, they’re costing us a fortune. We’re losing our butts.’ But my uncle wouldn’t listen because he guided Vans through the checkerboard era, and we were the hottest thing going. All the money we were making on checkerboard shoes, we spent on lasts, dyes, and materials for making athletic shoes. And they weren’t selling. People don’t know Vans for that. You got powerhouses like adidas, Nike, and Puma, and we were getting our butts kicked on the athletic shoes.
Then, from about 1994 to 1999, they [McCown De Leeuw & Co., the private equity firm that bought Vans in 1988] were making all kinds of skateboarding shoes. They were excited about all these new things happening in skate footwear and they were trying to follow the other shoe companies instead of lead, but that wasn’t us. They began manufacturing overseas for the first time and forgot all about vulcanized. They weren’t using our traditional looks or side stripe on the shoes. There were a hundred skate shoes on the wall of shops, and you couldn’t tell which ones were ours. I remember sitting in a meeting and telling everybody they were all full of shit.
‘These aren’t our shoes, guys! We used to make six million pairs of vulcanized shoes a year, and today we make less than a million!’ That was when we signed Geoff Rowley to come on board the skate team and help us get back to basics. Unfortunately, a couple times during the history of the company, I’ve had to call everybody out and tell them they were wrong. Thankfully, they listened. We released Geoff Rowley’s vulcanized shoe and started rebuilding Vans on classics and vulcanized, which is who we always were and what we always were.”
Geoff Rowley (professional skateboarder and Vans-endorsed athlete for 17 years): “I signed a contract with Vans and started to work with the design department on sketches for my first signature model. It was vulcanized, had the Vans side stripe and heel tab, had foxing stripe and the Vans original skateboard logo, and a primary color scheme. This was the opposite of everything Vans and the industry was pushing at the time, and it wasn’t easy to convince upper management that it was the right direction. This is when the fighting started, but the only person in the building that supported my design was Steve Van Doren. He believed in me, and I think he was quietly stoked that a skater had come in wanting to get back to his family’s roots.”
Create and support culture
Vans has invested in the communities it believes in by creating countless contest series, building world-class skateboarding facilities, and sponsoring events, films, and more. Its continued support of what matters has paid off in that its customers, ambassadors, and fans return the favor with fierce loyalty.
It’s what leads to things like Sean Penn hitting himself in the face with a Vans checkerboard sneaker in Fast Times at Ridgemont High or the longest-running concert series in America, the Vans Warped Tour, being recognized by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
The recent viral explosion of “Damn Daniel” and his appearance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show may have been an amazing accident, but Daniel wearing his white Vans in the first place certainly wasn’t. Neither was Kristen Stewart and her Vans footprints during the Twilight cast’s Hollywood Walk of Fame ceremony. It’s placement and fandom you just can’t buy.
Steve Van Doren: “If we want to stick around, we have to stick with our roots, which are skateboarding, snowboarding, surfing, and BMX. Fortunately, our parent company for the last 10 to 15 years, VF Corp., has been the bank. I don’t have to worry about money like I did in the early days. They’ve given me the tools. Instead of having a van, I’ve got motorhomes. I’m from Boston, so when I see Converse, who is in Boston, stepping it up in the skate game, I tell VF I want to build a skatepark that’ll be there for 20 years, because the kids there haven’t had a skatepark for 13. We just spent $3 million and put a skatepark in Huntington Beach because they didn’t have a skatepark either. Those are nice things that, thanks to our success, they’ve let us invest in. As well as continuing with the Vans Warped Tour, doing the Vans U.S. Open of Surfing, helping the Skateboarding Hall of Fame with their events, doing the Vans Pool Party for the last 11 years, and the new Vans Park Series, which is going to five countries and hopefully going to get park skating to the Olympics.
Five and a half years ago, we opened the House of Vans in New York and three years ago in London. In those two venues, kids come and get a place to skate. House of Vans is also host to lots of great music and events. It’s our clubhouse and we can do anything we want with it. All of the Vans events, except for the Vans Warped Tour, are free, and that’s just our feather in our cap so people know that we give a shit.
A lot of our skateboarders play music, and music is important to us. So Kevin Lyman and myself got together, and we started the Vans Warped Tour 22 years ago. Art is another thing. When we have skateboarding contests, we always try to have an art show because a lot of the skaters will travel, they’ll take some art with them, put it up, and sell it. They have a lot of different talents, and that’s how trends start.”
Taka Hayashi (artist and Vans Vault designer since 2004): “Vans is basic, clean, and timeless. Our classic models have simple paneling, which gives plenty of room to paint, draw, and tweak on a pattern. It’s a perfect 3D canvas to create on. As a little kid back in the early ’80s, it was a treat to go into a Vans store and go through stacks of fabric swatch books and customize your favorite shoe model. There were so many graphic prints, woven fabrics, suede, leather, and canvas to choose from. That was such an innovative concept at the time. I feel very honored to be a part of a brand that embraces art, music, fashion, and skateboarding. I really enjoy working with other artists and seeing what they come up with. They motivate me to keep pushing design and art to the next level. It’s a never-ending cycle.”
Appoint the right leader
When we talk about doing the right thing and ask how Vans has successfully cemented its place in our culture, all roads inevitably circle back to Steve Van Doren.
Geoff Rowley: “Steve has dedicated his life to Vans and goes above and beyond to support pro skaters and skateboarding hard goods brands worldwide. He is the single most important person in our whole industry, and we all owe a lot to him for his relentless support, hard work, and dedication to skateboarding.
Steve Caballero: “Steve’s one of the main reasons I’ve stuck with Vans so long, because of who he is as a person and how caring and supportive he is of his riders.”
Tony Alva: “He’s the ambassador of fun. He’s the guy who’s got our backs. He’s been the guy from day one. He enables us to make a living as professional skateboarders. Steve is like a big brother to all of us. He’s taken the money that he’s made and flexed it as a muscle for professional skateboarders. It’s a really positive muscle, and we can do great things with it.
Vans is the American dream story come true. It’s crazy that a little mom and pop family business that manufactured rubber in Anaheim with a small corner store is now a multi-billion-dollar company that makes shoes strictly for skateboarders. But since skateboarders are such trendsetters—always setting the pace for fashion, art, music, and all the things that kids are crazy about—the kids who don’t skate want to wear Vans too. It’s the same reason we wanted to wear them when we were kids. We wanted to wear them because the surfers wore them, and the surfers were the coolest guys in the neighborhood. They were the toughest, they got all the chicks, they were the hardest partiers, they were the dudes. Those were the guys we wanted to be like, and what did they wear? They wore Levi’s flares and they wore Vans.”
Steve Van Doren: “The skateboarders adopted us. I’ve been around the company since I was 10 years old—for 50 years. I’m very loyal to them because they gave us a reason to be, a reason besides just making sneakers.”
Weed, Skateboarding and the Olympics Monster Children, June 2019
Words: Robert Brink
Photos: Andrew James Peters
Design: Matt Rodriguez
It was only until a year or so ago, and going back a decade or more, that the usual band of skateboarding blowhards, and even the clueless types outside of skateboarding, could be heard saying (or seen typing) things like “Yeah, skateboarding will never be in the Olympics because no one will pass the drug tests!” Or, “Good luck getting anyone to give up weed to even get close to competing in the Olympics!”
Statements that come from the same knee jerk reaction-fueled foresight deficiency as say, celebrities claiming they will move out of the country if Donald Trump gets elected president.
And here we are, in 2019, with people like Lena Dunham, Amy Schumer, Snoop Dogg, Miley Cyrus, Samuel L. Jackson, Bryan Cranston, Barbra Streisand and Chelsea Handler still residing in the United States and the Olympic debut of skateboarding in Tokyo happening in just over a year—with qualifiers full of countless skateboarders, testing negative for THC and other narcotics, already underway.
There are three things that people should’ve learned from skateboarding’s six decades of existence by now:
1. Never say never.
2. Change, progress and evolution, are not only inevitable, they drive skateboarding.
3. Don’t ever underestimate the will of skateboarder.
The following interviews comprise a cross-section of six different perspectives on cannabis, skateboarding and the Olympics, and, as much as we wanted to appease the naysayers, we came up short.
Olympics: 1, Blowhards: 0
Dashawn Jordan, Professional Skateboarder:
So you’ve never really been into smoking weed?
I tried it when I was younger, but I haven't smoked in years. I prefer not to.
What sparked that decision for you?
I hate feeling like I'm not totally aware. I like to be sharp with everything I do. There's nothing I hate more than talking to someone who's really high, or even when I would be talking to somebody who was sober when I was high. In a weird way I felt disrespectful because I wasn’t able to give my undivided attention or show true emotion about what they're talking about—I just don’t like that cloud over my real feelings.
Being in the skate industry, you’re around people who smoke all the time. Are you opposed to it or the legalization of marijuana?
I mean, my mom smokes, so I’m I'm not against it. The only thing I hate is when it's abused. When somebody's like “I have to smoke to eat.” Or, “I have to smoke to sleep.” That's when it's annoying to me.
So are you okay with people who use weed or CBD medicinally?
Oh yeah. I had a homie who works for a CBD company give me a bunch of stuff. And I was like, “You know, I can't really use it, but I'll give it to my grandma.” And you know I gave it to her and she used it and she said it actually helped her shoulder. It literally took away the pain. So when it's like that, do your thing. I'm not against it.
So from a competitive standpoint, if they do random testing at Street League in London next week, because it's an Olympic qualifier, you’re not stressed at all because you don't even smoke.
Yeah. I'm chilling. At X Games in Norway last year I did it the first time. The random drug test and stuff. I was like, “Dude, whatever you guys need me to do. I'm not tripping. I don't have anything in my piss!”
It sounds like you’ve had this mentality for a long time. It's not like you recently decided you wanted to be sharp for skating contests or anything.
It's been like that from day one for me. Like I said, I had enough time where I did it and it was like cool but it was never a time where it was like a religion to me and I just had to smoke.
If weed or THC weren’t prohibited in competition, would you be opposed if another skater who you were up against was using it? Do you feel that would give anybody an advantage over you in a competition?
It's a weird grey area. Some people may do it because they want to relax. Some dudes may do it because when they are high they skate the best. It’s crazy because you have somebody like me who is out there as the person they are, dealing with the stress and the pressure and everything at a sober, normal level, why should the other dude who has the same worries be able to smoke and relax?
I don't know if marijuana provides a ton of advantages. But if there is an advantage, that's definitely the one—the nerves and the performance anxiety. Because competition is, in part, about overcoming those nerves in my opinion.I skated contests when I was younger and nervousness was the most difficult part for me.
That's my main setback when I compete too—the nerves. That's the only thing that gets me. This year, that's the one thing I'm trying to work on—just mellowing out.
Oscar Loreto, Adaptive Skateboarder and Athlete Representative for USA Skateboarding, the National Governing Body for Skateboarding in the United States:
Tell us a little about your condition.
They say when I was in my mother's womb, the amniotic bands wrapped around my hands, fingers and feet, preventing development. So I was born without my left foot and without nine fingers. Medically, it’s considered a congenital birth defect, but there are other theories—whether it's just a fluke thing or something like my mom being given some kind of bad drug during pregnancy. There's really no concrete evidence regarding what caused it.
When did you start using a prosthetic?
Around two or three years old. There are photos of me as a young child just learning how to walk with it. Before that I just crawled everywhere.
When did you discover skateboarding and figure out you could make it work with your prosthetic?
I always saw my cousin skating at family parties and I thought it was cool. But it was like eighth or ninth grade that I really picked one up and figured out that I could do it. Eventually seeing Jon Comer was the first time I saw somebody skating with a prosthetic.
Have you been prescribed medications for your condition or pain management?
I didn't have the traditional phantom pains like amputees have. It wasn't really until I started doing sports and being active that I learned about pain meds.
Do you use marijuana or CBD medicinally at this point?
The first time I rolled my ankle was first time I tried it out. It definitely helped with that, then a collarbone break and a bunch of other injuries. Its just way more effective and soothing on the body compared to Vicodin or Oxycodone or whatever they would prescribe had I gone through a doctor or pharmacy.
I imagine you know a ton of adaptive athletes who benefit from medical marijuana?
Yeah. Especially athletes that have had amputation later in life … they definitely use marijuana as a form of pain medicine.
Have you come across anyone whose treatments have been affected or has suffered due to marijuana being illegal?
Oh yeah, for example, my friend Andrew. After his snowboard injury he had to move back to Florida with his mom and they hadn't passed their medicinal marijuana laws yet. He used that to combat his pain because the stuff that they were prescribing for him had negative side effects. He knew from being an amputee already, even prior to his more recent snowboard injury, that weed helped him. But I think he had to go a year or so living in Florida until the laws passed.
My friend Evan was using marijuana medically for a long time and he stopped cold turkey when he found out he had the opportunity to compete in the Paralympics.
These people are given these great opportunities and even if the marijuana helps them, they're gonna do what they need to do. And from talking with Evan, for example, that was really his priority—honoring that opportunity and proving that he can compete in the Olympics without taking anything. And I believe that most potential para-athletes would feel and act the same way.
What are your feelings as far as marijuana in the adaptive/para community being performance enhancing versus a medical necessity? And do you think there should be a difference between the athletes and the para-athletes as far as what is allowed medicinally?
No, I think it should equal across the board. Able-bodied athletes, for lack of a better term, experience some really gnarly and debilitating injuries and benefit from medicinal marijuana too.
As to whether or not it is performance enhancing, I'm kind of on the fence about that. I advocate for weed obviously, but if it’s not possible to get an exemption or if they don’t change the rules regarding marijuana and competition, then, like I mentioned earlier, I'm the type of person that will abide by the rules because the opportunity and the bigger picture are worth it. But at the same time I feel they should look at it on a case-by-case basis, or if they considered a compromise—allowing a smaller amount in your system. Like if they can meet halfway with the athletes, that'd be pretty cool.
Matt Miller, professional skateboarder and co-founder of Miller Healer:
Tell me about Miller Healer and why you started it.
A long-time family friend who is a CBD guru saw me falling a lot in one of my skate videos and asked me what I did for pain management. I have always been natural—no taking pills, not even Advil. Us skaters, we just deal with the pain a lot of the time. So she let me try some CBD stuff and I definitely felt a difference, just not as much as I thought I would because it was a lower dose. So, together we came up with an extra strength version for athletes that's super effective —tested by athletes but designed for everyone. And that's how we came up with the idea for Miller Healer. We have topical products, like a push up stick and pretty much the best CBD patch out. We have edible gummies and a tincture as well.
Are you into smoking?
I definitely smoked here and there but I only liked the medicinal benefits. I'm not against it but I prefer CBD because it's non-psychoactive and I just feel right after using it, and seeing the amount of people CBD helps is why I started this.
How about the risks for athletes using CBD during competition? There’s the potential for THC to be present and show up on a drug test, right?
Yeah, they call it the Green Rush right now. There are so many new companies coming up and sometimes you just don't know what's in the products. There are a lot of companies that don't get lab tests, or that say they have a certain things in their products and don’t. But there are a lot of reputable companies out there and we are one of them. We spent the last four and a half months doing research and development making sure everything's done correctly and legit.
I'm sure the Olympics have a higher caliber of drug test too, but on a standard test, CBD might never show up as marijuana. But as far as the Olympic testing is concerned, I would recommend the topicals because that's the safest. If I were in the Olympics I would never want to risk that. We make these eight-hour time-release patches and a salve stick that are super good.
Do you consider THC to be performance enhancing in a competition?
I don’t think it’s performance enhancing. If there is a medical condition that would prevent an athlete from competing at their best, then I believe it should be allowed. I wouldn't recommend consuming cannabis while actually competing anyway, due to the psychoactive components. That's why I think CBD would be the best choice for competition since it has all the benefits while being non-psychoactive.
Especially the Olympics, man! You gotta represent for the country and you can't have little bruise or pain or something weird take you out, you know? And it’s great for is anxiety. You just feel better, you get back to your homeostasis form and feel top notch.
It also seems like this Green Rush is providing a new option for skateboarders as their careers wind down. Since weed is something they have been passionate about and enjoyed, like skateboarding, now it’s an industry and they can start a brand in or work in it. We've seen so many guys not have anything for themselves after skateboarding stops paying the bills.
Totally. I had opportunities to start a skateboard company, a hat company, like all these other things, but I always wanted to do something that helped people. Once this came about, all the stars aligned. We are sponsors for epilepsy day at Disneyland and things like that. The different range of people that CBD helps is amazing. Like you said, it's my new passion just like skating is always my passion, but it's dope that I'm doing something I don't mind staying up all night and working on for my business, because it's passion.
Also, realistically, skaters know day-to-day pain probably more than anyone. I know what works and what only kind of works. As a skateboarder or a professional athlete in general, you have understand skateboarding and that kind of pain to test the products and really know if they are going to work or not.
You want the people creating the products to have a high level of experience and authenticity.
Exactly. With our salve stick, patches and topicals, I've done so much research and development with all my pro friends who've hurt themselves. Yesterday I was with Kyle Walker and he was using the patches on his heel bruise. There's really been nothing for heel bruises in the world of skating thus far, and that's just one thing we deal with. These patches are actually working and helping people heal quicker. I've had skate doctors rub my heels out for three weeks straight trying to get rid of my heel bruises and the result was just more pain. Now I put these patches on or use the topicals and my body has natural receptors to heal itself.
Chase Webb, professional skateboarder:
Do you think skateboarding helped push marijuana to the point of normalization and eventually becoming legal? Seems like skateboarding and hip-hop have had a tremendous impact in that respect.
I feel like with time, everything becomes socially accepted. Pretty much every skater smokes weed, so maybe that did help. I just feel like everyone smokes weed nowadays. It's like a cigarette.
You just won a gold medal in X Games Real Street. Is it weird to think that you may not have been able to compete in that, much less win, had X Games been an Olympic sanctioned qualifying event and you could get randomly tested?
Definitely. But I would have quit smoking weed be a part of it. Like, I love smoking weed, but I’m not so dependent on it. If I've got to do something that's going to help you make some money or further your career, fuck it—I'm going to quit smoking weed.
Next month I’ll be in the Dew Tour and they drug test for that because it’s an official Olympic qualifier now. So I haven't smoked weed in more than a week. I’m basically using this as an opportunity to do my best, even though I'm not necessarily the most contest-type dude.
Did you attend any of the anti-doping education meetings?
Yeah, dude, last year at Street League in London. I got there and they wouldn't allow us to skate the course until we took this anti-doping class. And I had no idea that was even happening. The Olympics people had this whole PowerPoint thing set up and I was like, “What's the fuck is going on? Are we going to get drug tested?” Because I was definitely smoking weed that day! [Laughs].
But they were just getting everyone ready for it because this year is all the qualifying events. It was pretty funny being in that anti-doping class. All these questions are getting asked, like, “Are you allowed to take mushrooms?” It was so funny, dude.
Was it helpful in the sense that it taught you what you needed to know in case you want to compete?
Yeah, definitely. I learned about a lot of stuff. Like, if you have asthma, you're not even allowed to use an inhaler. Dude, I was tripping on that. How come you can't use your inhaler to breathe? Is putting too much oxygen in your lungs going to help you skate longer? I don't have asthma, but I know people that do and they're constantly hitting that fucking inhaler. That’s their medicine, you know?
How much did you used to smoke on an average day?
Depends. I live in Murietta, dude. So I’m by myself a lot, going to the skatepark and maybe smoking a couple times a day. But when you go on a trip or you're with mad homies and people are rolling up constantly, you can be smoking 20 or 30 joints a day. When I'm with the homies or on a trip, we're smoking a lot, dude.
Does smoking help your skating at all? With pain or nerves or fear? Or is it just enjoyable?
It’s more enjoyment for me, like a habit. Even now, I haven’t smoked in more than a week and I'm still skating every day—skating rails just fine. I don't really see weed as a beneficial thing to me. Maybe sometimes it could calm you down or help with anxiety, but when you're scared to do something, you're still going to be scared. Weed won’t take that nervousness away from you at all. I definitely don't think weed helps me perform any better as far as skating. But everyone's different.
What do you get when you're ride for Weedmaps as far as packages and product? I know you guys go on some pretty rad tours.
We definitely get hooked up with weed. It's not like getting a monthly box of wheels or boards from your sponsors though. You get it as you need it. Like medicine. If you need your medicine you hit them up or you could go to a clinic or they'll have it delivered and take care of you. It's pretty fucking cool, dude. In fact, it's pretty fucking cool to be able to hook up your friends with weed too. I like looking up the homies.
So I assume you're going to try your best at these contests and if you qualify for the Olympics, then you're down for that.
Every contest I go into, I'm going to try. I'm not the most confident, but I give it my all and fucking try, dude. That's for sure.
A couple of years ago, so many people were talking shit on the Olympics and the drug testing specifically and now you have tons of skaters entering the contests, taking things seriously. Some people like Chris Joslin have even quit smoking altogether I heard.
You just have to take it as an opportunity. And if you're not down for it then you don't have to be. It's cool that people like Chris, who smoked mad weed, are seeing this an opportunity to quit and I back that to the fullest. That takes some courage and discipline.
Allister Schultz, former pro snowboarder and cultivator/co-founder of Phantom Farms:
You were a pro snowboarder when the sport was en route to the Olympics in 1998 and marijuana wasn’t even close to legal like it is today. What was the sentiment within the industry and the snowboarding community at the time?
I was 17 or 18, and all through the '90's, smoking cannabis was part of the culture of snowboarding. When I used to go on trips all over the world—filming the biggest movies of the year—we'd bring a mason jar of weed and a bong and we'd get high and go build jumps and have a good time. That's just the way it was.
As more money came into the sport, some people started taking it more seriously and acting more professional, almost like a serious jock attitude. People had trainers and agents. People started doing yoga and stuff like that and snowboarding transitioned away from how it was cool to be a rebel; cool to be punk; cool to be hardcore—because of the Olympics, and a lot of us pushed back on that. A lot of really good people who I chilled with boycotted the Olympics. Some of the top guys in halfpipe wouldn't do 'em. Not just because of the weed, but because of the way everything became. I shouldn't say “corporate”, but you know what mean.
But anyone now who tells you it wouldn’t be their dream to be in the Olympics and win a gold medal is lying, because it would change your life forever.
Everything you're saying is exactly what's happening in skateboarding now, 20 years later.
When the first Olympics finally came for snowboarding; Ross Rebagliati [Canada] failed a drug test and was stripped of his gold medal. There are growing pains, but eventually you come out the other side of it and it's accepted for what it is. Like, it's cool to be someone like Shaun White and it's also cool to be some guy on the opposite end of the spectrum out there partying with his buddies or being the emo, skinny pants-wearing rail guy.
Now that athletes can use and get the benefits from the CBD during competition, do you feel it isn’t a big deal that THC is prohibited? Or do you believe that all of it should be allowed?
CBD becoming acceptable for athletes to use for recovery and pain relief is a great place to start. But other terpenoids and phytocannabinoids that are not just CBD, for instance, THCZ or THCB, CBC and CBN—these are all phytocannabinoids that have medicinal benefits as well. They just haven't been studied enough to be socially accepted like CBD has, but I think it's gonna happen soon.
For example, pinene is a major terpenoid in cannabis—in sativas. You know when you walk through a pine forest and you feel good; your head gets clear? In Japan they call it shinrin-yoku, which means “forest bathing.” People think it helps the short-term memory.
These types of things are in the process of being proven and I would vote to have it all be legal for people to use. Instead of giving the guys who’ve had knee surgeries oxycodone to heal up, it shouldn't be illegal for them to use something that has high myrcene in it to manage the pain so they don't get hooked on pills. I think everyone's in agreement that pills have completely destroyed how people view recovery and have destroyed people’s lives.
People aren't doing this for a money grab; they are doing it because it truly does help people. And now that cannabis has become more legally and federally accepted in all these states, more research can be done, which is great for a cannabis company like us who believes in organic and living soil, which brings out higher terpene profiles and we can breed more strains that are medically designed to help certain ailments.
Do you think THC is performance enhancing or decreasing?
I think it could be perceived either way. It would have to be a case-by-case basis, per sport. In the case of racecar drivers driving around a track, I’d say no. But something like snowboarding where you're by yourself on a halfpipe and it only has an effect on you; I think it should be acceptable. It's not a steroid.
Tell me about your transition from pro snowboarder to the cannabis business.
This is my thirtieth season growing. I've been snowboarding for about 35 years. The two always went hand-in-hand because snowboarding is such an artistic expression. It’s not like a team sport. It’s more about your perception of the lines you draw and the tricks you wanna do and how you do 'em and the way you grab and cannabis brings out artistic-ness in people and artists use it in all kinds of ways for that purpose.
I was always a plant enthusiast. Before I got into cannabis I had gardens, my parents always had flower and vegetable gardens, they still do. So I kind of just got into it and when my snowboarding career kind of ended, I had more time to spend growing.
Then cannabis went medically legal in Oregon, so you were allowed to grow it legally with a certain plant count. That's kind of the beginning of the path to where I am today.
Do you see the cannabis industry as new and exciting option for skateboarders, snowboarders and surfers once their careers are winding down? It seems to be something many are really passionate about, like you were, but easier to get into now that legalization is more common.
It’s a great opportunity for skateboarders/snowboarders to venture into for a couple reasons. One is that most guys have been using the CBD and cannabis products their entire careers or lives. They have first-hand knowledge of the benefits—experts really—and can articulate the benefits perfectly and believably because they are, or were, professional athletes at the highest level. I’d believe the testimony of Tony Hawk or Matt Miller on the benefits of CBD so much more than say, Martha Stewart or Montel Williams.
Secondly, as an extreme sports athlete, there is no retirement plan for you when you’re sponsors feel you are not marketable and not worth paying anymore. They use your services and spit you out when the next ripping young kid comes along. We all know this. We all got there in that same fashion—it just usually happens so suddenly and most are left wondering what to do. So it is amazing when guys can parlay their careers into another career that they are passionate about. I think business minds and corporate people are realizing how creative and artistic and business savvy (cause more often then not we had to negotiate our own deals and manage ourselves) extreme athletes are, and see the great opportunity in partnering with them. I know many ex-pro athletes that have gone on to start and run all kinds of really successful businesses, the cannabis/CBD one is just a really attainable one where it’s been so intertwined with snowboarding, skateboarding, and surfing culture, it’s great to see our athletes be successful in it. We deserve it.
Josh Friedberg, ex-professional skateboarder and CEO of USA Skateboarding, the National Governing Body for Skateboarding in the United States:
You’ve been part of the long and winding road to getting skateboarding into the Olympics. Knowing skateboarding is a subculture that has unapologetically embraced marijuana for decades, one of the jokes and concerns about the Olympics was always “Skateboarding will never be in there because no one will stop smoking weed or pass the tests.” How was that addressed early on?
Initially, like any other sport, subculture or group of people on the planet, there are people that smoke weed and people that don't. Obviously in skateboarding it’s more accepted to be public about it. Because of that, a lot of the knee-jerk reaction from the media, some of the governing bodies and a lot of skateboarders was, “Oh well, this will never work because too many people smoke weed!”
As you integrate a culture-based sport with the structure of the Olympic Games, it's really about getting people up to speed in terms of things like the anti-doping process and the national governing body structure. We were less concerned about whether or not people would want to participate and primarily concerned with trying to educate skateboarders about the anti-doping tests and ensue that they were prepared. So we did everything we could to give skateboarders at least a year of anti-doping education before any of the testing started at the sanctioned skateboarding events.
Have you seen an evolution of perception since the early days of no one believing it could work?
Absolutely, and I think a lot of that is based on the skaters becoming educated about what it meant for weed to be prohibited in competition and not out of competition. Also, the fact that WADA (World Anti-Doping Agency) changed the acceptable limits for THC in the bloodstream—it increased significantly during their last code revision.
Were you surprised to see how many skaters were actually willing to participate, despite the fact that they may have been smokers? Some people are even quitting weed altogether, not just for the season.
I’m not surprised at all. When you're looking at a recreational drug like weed and then looking at what your career could be if you qualify to skate in the Olympic Games for your country, I don't think it's that tough of a choice at all.
To me, one of the best things about skateboarding is that people can make that choice. There's a strict competition career path and there's always been a chance become a professional skateboarder without ever entering a contest in your life. That diversity and freedom to pursue the path you want is one of the things that makes skateboarding great.
What about therapeutic use exemptions, even for say, Paralympic skaters down the line if it becomes an event in the Games?
My understanding is that therapeutic use exemptions typically aren’t offered for weed. And hopefully that'll change because with weed becoming legal in many states and countries, the thinking around what is or isn’t prohibited when it comes to weed continues to evolve and could completely change to make it less restrictive.
The thing about performance enhancing drugs in skateboarding, which is really what anti-doping is trying to prevent, is creating a level playing field so that one athlete doesn't have an advantage that the other. With a lot of sports, you're racing a clock or another human or you're lifting heavy weights—there are definitely sports where doping is an advantage and will continue to be a challenge to regulate. But in skateboarding, being stronger doesn't necessarily make you a better skateboarder and things like being judged on style, for example, make it less likely that skateboarding will have a performance-enhancing drug issue.
We're going to be a part of the Clean Athlete Program, as opposed to the Registered Testing Pool at USADA where the athletes have to give their whereabouts every day. In the Clean Athlete Program, skaters are still subject to the WADA code, but they'll have to give whereabouts twice a year, so it’s much less paperwork and will be way easier for our skateboarders to deal with.
As a skateboarder, what was it like seeing Cory Juneau be the first skater/athlete to be suspended for marijuana?
Cory's suspension was super disappointing mainly because the Brazilian anti-doping agency tested him at an unsanctioned event. There was no reason for that event to be tested. It didn't even make any sense. And they sprung it on him early in the education process, before many of those guys had a chance to even attend anti-doping meetings. So the fact that somebody tested positive for weed, before they had been educated, sort of proves our point. We were concerned with giving skaters a fair chance to understand what was going on and then for whatever reason, in Brazil, at this random event, they decided to drug test.
Even though he wasn’t a member of USA Skateboarding at the time, we actually spent some time trying to help Cory with that situation. It was just one of those things that never should've even happened and I hope that that's why his suspension didn’t have any actual impact on Olympic qualification.
With CBD being a non-issue and seeing those THC bloodstream levels increased, do you view this progression a possible pathway to marijuana one day being removed from the list of prohibited substances?
I hope that's the path, but I can't speak for WADA. It was a good sign that they at least raised the THC levels. The issue with weed and THC in general is that it leaves everyone's body different rates and you're not able to predict that. It's not like other drugs that are in and out of your system in a couple days. So, them recognizing that's the case and trying to find a solution is a good first step.
The issue with CBD is that it’s not FDA regulated. So, you don't ever know if there's THC in it or not, regardless of what the labels say. That's the problem with supplements—the industry isn't FDA regulated so they can literally put anything they want on the label and they can literally put anything they want in the supplement. So, I think figuring out how to regulate CBD in a way that allows people to continue to use it without adverse analytical findings is the right thing to do.
Iconoclast Jason Dill Is Returning Skateboarding to Its Obscenely Awesome Roots Playboy October 2016
Words: Rob Brink
In 2009, pro skateboarder Jason Dill had to call 911 on himself. He was throwing up blood all over his New York City apartment and suffering from a gastric hemorrhage. The Jameson, Vicodin and Percocet cocktails had finally taken their toll.
“I didn’t think I’d even survive,” says Dill, who now stars on the Netflix series Love. “When I’m on the set, I’m quiet as a mouse. I’m just so blown away and thankful I’m there. And the last thing I ever wanted was the responsibility of owning a company that people expect more from—because owning a company is a pain in the ass.”
In 2013, after kicking the pills and spending more time on his board, Dill ditched his longtime sponsor, Alien Workshop—one of the most popular skateboarding companies ever—and walked away from a partial-ownership offer to co-found board brand Fucking Awesome, an extension of his self-funded apparel side project.
In doing so, Dill dumped a bucket of ice on the once-countercultural world of skateboarding, which in the previous 17 years had devolved into a G-rated parody of itself to appease moms and malls, and woke it the fuck up. The exodus of Alien’s riders to Fucking Awesome was swift. It’s now one of the top-selling and most knocked-off companies in boards and streetwear, despite its provocative graphics, null social media presence and label that prevents mass retail saturation.
When Fucking Awesome launched as a skateboard brand in 2013, it wasn’t uncommon to hear industry folk say, “They’re never going to make it. They’ll never get into mall shops with that name.”
You see where their brains went immediately? That’s what’s wrong with the industry—all this bullshit people talk. I’m sorry because some of them are my friends, but with their two-and-a-half car garage and two and a half kids in their suburb of Portland, of course they’re not going to be like, “Let’s go nuts!” They’d lose their fucking jobs. Luckily, I’m not fighting to keep my two and a half kids in the latest expensive daycare. I don’t give a fuck. No family, no car and no mortgage payments means I just shoot this shit out of my fucking soul.
Die-hards have criticized the skateboarding industry for pandering to the mainstream so much and becoming so non-offensive that a word like “fucking” seems shocking. That’s what’s so scary. If it were 1993, no one would bat an eye. You disrupted the entire industry.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased that things were disrupted, because I am. I most certainly wasn’t aiming for Alien Workshop to almost go out of business, because after being with them for 15 years, quitting was emotionally insane. But going into skate shops these days, looking at the wall and seeing other board brands trying really hard is great, because none of them were trying this hard before and I know that’s a direct result of FA. Anyone who thinks that statement is over the top, go ahead and think that but you can also eat my butt, because it’s the truth. I see people bite us over and over again and it’s ridiculous because they don’t even realize everything they bite. That forces me to go make something else that’s out of their realm because I know they won’t think of it. And then they bite that, too.
When I visit skate shops like Uprise in Chicago, Seasons in Albany, Orchard in Boston or Exit in Philadelphia, owners tell me that I helped bring skate shops back. They feel FA brought the kids and excitement back because new kids started coming in only asking for FA. Shit like that is such a big compliment that I feel funny saying it back to you.
After you were hospitalized in 2009, you kind of disappeared from skateboarding. In your own mind, did you ever imagine owning a respected company like FA?
No. It’s totally fucking insane. That’s why when I’m on the set of Love I take it all in. I’m just so fucking blown away. I didn’t think I’d survive. I really didn’t. I never wanted my own company. Wanna know why? Because it’s a fucking pain in the ass! When people expect more, they expect it fucking tomorrow. If you came out with some shit yesterday, they wanna see the new shit next week. It’s just ridiculous day in and day out, but I suppose it’s like having a kid. I take care of it. I love it. I can’t let it go to a community college, you know? I gotta raise it right. [laughs]
Skateboarding is a trend-oriented sport. Things are hot for a year or three and then they’re not. We’ve all seen the shelf life some skate brands have.
I’m now past my third year of FA. I’m proud of what we’ve done. If you are a company making stuff, you need to have it in the back of your head that, hey, I might have to kill this thing one day for the greater good so it doesn’t look like a bunch of bullshit. Imagine if Mark Gonzales got to end his skate company, Blind. How would we look at it today? Imagine if Mark had made some deal with Steve Rocco, the owner of his distributor early on, like, “I’ll totally do this, but when I think it’s time that this is done, I get to put out an ad that says, ‘It’s done. We killed it. It’s over. Thank you.’” I feel a lot of people think when you start a company, you just ride it until someone comes along and buys you. That’s not the fucking case here. I’d rather it die than look bad.
Killed at the peak.
Yeah, like Michael Jordan did, until he played baseball and came back and played for the fucking Wizards. It was like, c’mon, dude! I know I didn’t invent this way of thinking, but I feel it serves me best.
You also star on Judd Apatow’s hit Netflix series, Love. How did that come about?
About a year and a half ago I was in Los Angeles and saw my friend [TV writer] Lesley Arfin on the street. She was like, “Hey, I’m making this television show with my boyfriend and we think you’d be good in it.” I was at point when I really needed everything to be completely spot-on with FA—production and all that bullshit—so I was like, “I’m not really into it. That sounds crazy. I don’t think I have time.” She told me, “I knew you’d say that, but it’s Judd Apatow and it’s guaranteed two seasons for Netflix. Will you audition?”
And I fucking did. Before I knew it they were asking me to come to Sony Pictures and do a reading in front of Judd. I was so fucking nervous. It was wild because I’m not an actor.
The second season’s done now and I’m happy to be on it. Everyone was really nice. All of them knowing I wasn’t an actor coming into it was just super cool because I’d do a scene with a stand-up comedian and they’d be like, “Dude you’re doing good.” I’m like, “Really? All right. Good.”
Meet Austyn Gillette: Risk-taker With Style—On and Off the Board Playboy.com April 22, 2018
Words: Rob Brink
Photography: Curtis Buchanan
Despite being at the helm of one of the only apparel brands of note in skateboarding and surfing at the moment—a brand called Former—where everything, from pants to thermals to tees to board-shorts are all custom (there's even safety pins and nail polish), 26-year-old professional skateboarder Austyn Gillette wouldn't dare consider himself a designer or fashion aficionado.
Interviewing him about related intangibles like "style" and "inspiration" and "process" usually derails into ponderous banter and a roasting of the current state of affairs, which, I'd like to imagine, puts us somewhere in between the great writers and philosophers sipping coffee at Paris' Cafe de Flore in the 1920s and Beavis and Butthead. "Do you think boot cut is going to come back?" Austyn pontificates. "Isn't that just a nicer way of saying 'bell bottoms'?" I say.
"What about capris or something?" He continues. "I'm ready for it. I just want to see it. When is the landline phone going to be hot again? It's just inconvenient enough to be really fucking cool and retro." To know Austyn is to love his uncanny ability to observe the circus that is life happening all around him. Amused; never triggered; notoriously deadpan, Austyn is the constructively berating older brother that everyone (including the world of skateboarding) needs. He's what Ryan Gosling is to Steve Carell and his beloved New Balances in Crazy, Stupid, Love. "Everything's just going backwards right now. Like full-on '90s. I don't even know what people are doing out there," he continues.
"They're suffering for the trend," I reply. "Oh boy. That's exactly what they're doing. There's a lot of fucking bullshit and some half-assed skating going on. It hurts the fucking eyes and soul. Everybody's a fucking celebrity; everybody's trying to get some with their internet personas. Everybody's just blindly throwing shit out there—putting a little milk down on the stairs and seeing if any cats come lick it up. And just because Rihanna wore their dumb ass shirt, people are successful financially. All that matters is putting your shirt on a fucking rapper. I can't wait until the modern rap is fucking done. I really can’t.”
At the heart of this ranting, though, lies the desire to see people try harder and contribute to creating great, timeless things—to filter out the nonsense and elevate the whole. Austyn is a quality control person, and you can count on two hands the professional skateboarders and brands from the last 30 years known and respected for that. "I think all that really matters is being good at what you do and putting out good content. If people like your style and you influence them, and they influence you, then you're doing something right and it's honest and pure. I don't think people are delivering right now. They aren't pushing the envelope and I hope that that changes.”
Currently living in Los Angeles, the Orange County, California (Whittier, to be exact) native has been skateboarding since he was 8 years old, securing sponsorships and magazine coverage by age 9. As his career progressed and his skating matured, alongside his friends Dylan Rieder and Alex Olson (half-jokingly dubbed "Team Handsome" by the skate community), Gillette eventually came to be known as one of the most stylish and respected skaters of his generation, both on and off the board.
He's shunned blatant money grabs, flavor-of-the-month trends, NASCAR-esque logos and a wardrobe that looks like an Easter egg coloring kit exploded all over the cast of Seinfeld's closets. Instead, he prefers black or white basics—slim fit pants, tucked-in tees or wife beaters, dress shoes off the board and signature skate shoes that replicate them while on it. In essence, a man's man approach to dress over that of say, a mall skate shop employee or Odd Future festival-goer. "These days I love a '40s or '50s style, or even something like Peaky Blinders—that kind of early 1900s thing," Austyn explains. "Straight leg, wider pants and a clean shirt, stuff like that."
Far more important than the appeal and influence of Austyn's clothes, though, is that his natural ability on a skateboard rivals some of the top pros on the planet. These days, for most, opting out of chucking yourself down gargantuan rails or gaps and steering clear of the contest circuit is career suicide. But Austyn's technically proficient, yet surf-like approach to street skating embraces speed and finesse, with a trick selection that has always showcased skill and refined taste beyond his years. He skates fast; his push looks great; his flick is quick; his power understated. His landings possess just enough sketchiness to make them cooler than if they were perfect—carving from side to side or sometimes hopping his feet into the "correct" position after the fact. His arms and upper body continue spinning long after his legs are locked in place. His motions are fluid even though at first, they might seem like exaggerated flair.
Simply stated, Austyn is amazing to watch on a skateboard. He knows what looks good and has the talent, sophistication and restraint to execute it, alongside a keen sense of style to accentuate it. "I've always hung out with older people who have good taste," Austyn explains, "because of that, I wasn't so inspired by my contemporaries or skateboarders my age. I was always looking outward and I guess that's how FORMER is too.”
Conceptually born from the friendships forged on the "Team Average" surf trip to Australia for Monster Children back in 2012—with pro surfers Craig Anderson and Dane Reynolds (two of the most stylish and respected surfers out there today), and legendary professional skateboarder Dylan Rieder (who passed away in October 2016)—FORMER officially launched in March 2017 and is an anomaly in the sense that, as obvious as it seems, pro skaters and surfers rarely start brands together.
When I ask Austyn what he would like to see more of, he responds, "To tell you the truth. I would just like to see less. I would love somebody to say, 'No. There are too many of those out there. We actually can't make that.' You know how you have to go through the city for a liquor license or something like that? Where there's a cap and you've got to wait a year until they auction off somebody else's license? It should be like that." He continues, "but at the same time, I like that people are getting away with whatever, because I've always dealt with that—manipulating an article of clothing I find at a vintage shop and cutting the sleeves off or something like that, and people will ask me where I got it."
He notes that many of Former's pieces are "based off pieces purchased from vintage shops—things from back in the day—and then we put our little twist on it. And we'll ask men and women for feedback on what they like and don't like about it." Above all, there is an authenticity and passion behind each functional, timeless piece that he believes people can recognize. He continues, "Rather than doing what everybody else is doing, we're just doing what we want. It's a marriage of two completely different lifestyles filtered by experiences and friends who have good taste."
And that true place is the heart and soul of cultures like skateboarding and surfing. The desire to manifest a feeling inside of you into something tangible outside of you. To counter the inanity of popular culture and create what doesn't yet exist, if for no other reason than to have fun or inspire oneself and circle of friends—an ethos often appropriated but never duplicated, by mainstream fashion—the subject of decades-old animosity between the two worlds that only seems to be intensifying as more and more of skateboarding's influence, including plenty of stolen designs, seem to be popping up on runways, in advertising and on the racks of department stores all over the world—Thrasher's logo being the primary source of "inspiration" for many at the moment. "Skateboarding's always been pretty noisy," says Austyn.
"It's just a noisy, rebellious sport. I hate calling it a sport, though, but there's just something about it—you hear it, then you see the person doing it, and you don't know why it's so cool, but it just is. Everybody knows that. Skateboarding has a big presence and has been cool ever since it started. Bigger brands outside of skateboarding are drawn to it because it's rebellious. They're just buying into this thing we built now that it's already cool and accepted. There's nothing behind it other than that.
Never lacking in self awareness, Austyn jokingly concludes: "But it's just clothes at the end of the day and it's all pretty silly. We're not humanitarians. We're not doing anything special. Most people are so fucking oblivious to all the shit we are talking about anyway."
Pro Skateboarder Brian Anderson Opens Up to Playboy About His Groundbreaking Coming Out
Playboy.com October 4, 2016
Words: Rob Brink
In 1999, professional skateboarder Brian Anderson won the World Championship, followed by the most coveted accolade in skateboarding, Thrasher’s “Skater of the Year” award. Just a year prior, in 1998, Tim Von Werne’s soon-to-be professional skate career came to a screeching halt after his sponsor, Birdhouse Skateboards, killed an interview with Skateboarder magazine in which Von Werne revealed he’s gay.
The world of sports hasn’t traditionally been kind to gay athletes; skateboarding is no different. Anyone relying on a heterosexual, male-dominated, youth-driven activity for their livelihood has always had to carefully consider the impact that coming out could have on their career and personal life. In skateboarding specifically, nobody wanted to become the next Von Werne.
Anderson is big for a professional skateboarder, towering at six-foot-three. He’s covered in tattoos and skates with the eyes of an axe murderer and the elegance of a zenned-out surfer. You don’t want to get in Anderson’s way during a session, but you do want him at your side in a bar in case there’s a brawl. Throughout his career, Anderson has designed his own shoe for Nike and collaborated on boards with some of the most respected skate brands in history. He’s been an icon in the skate world for more than a decade. Last week, Anderson upended that world when he came out publicly in a Vice Sports documentary directed by Giovanni Reda.
Anderson knew he was gay since he was four years old, when he found himself attracted to Popeye’s enemy, Bluto. His friends in the skate industry didn’t know until he told them in the early 2000s and, although word spread through inner-circles, a tightknit group of insiders protected Brian’s secret, speaking about it only amongst themselves and behind closed doors.
When the news hit in late September, Anderson did more than break the internet. He transcended skateboarding and harnessed the web’s power to bring people together in support of someone who pulled off a career move greater than any trophy and gnarlier than any trick. With little to no backlash, you’d be hard-pressed to find another example of a time when there was so much compassion and unity in the skate community.
Anderson might not be the first pro to come out, but he is the first A-list World Champion and “Skater of the Year” winner to. It marks yet another watershed moment in the recent wave of mainstream sport athletes coming out, from Michael Sam to Jason Collins to David Denson. But unlike what Von Werne experienced, this time around the skate community is grown-up enough to embrace it. To celebrate this pivotal moment in socio-sexual progress, Playboy asked sports journalist Rob Brink to meet up with Anderson to talk about the aftermath of his important public announcement. One thing becomes clear during their conversation: if you are going to hate on Anderson for being gay, you are hating on one of the most beloved, talented and influential figures in the history of skate culture. You’re also an asshole.
In the documentary, you say that you originally hadn’t plan to come out until after retirement. What changed?
I’d already told so many people in the industry over the last 15 years. It was irritating being halfway out. To be honest, I just want to be able to post a picture of my boyfriend and me on the beach on Instagram. But it’s not just about social media—that’s not real life. I simply wanted to be able to walk down the street and give my boyfriend a kiss in public before he got on the subway and I went skateboarding. I want simple things like that.
Just for my soul, I had to get this out. When you hold it in for so long it really messes with your head. I would hate to leave this planet and not tell my story. I wanted to tell everyone so that some little kid in the middle of nowhere who is wondering what’s going on with his life gets to hear all these fantastic people say, “Screw it, we love Brian!” Now, anybody who wants to come talk to me can. If there’s some kid that wants to pull me aside and go, “I’m gay and I’m freaked out” and I will be like, “I’m here for you. Want to go talk about this?”
What reaction were you expecting prior to the release of the documentary?
I wasn’t expecting it to be this huge at all. I should make the point that this thing was supposed to come out a week earlier, but due to some technical difficulties, it was delayed. I was upset because I had watched and combed through the edit so many times and was finally not afraid anymore. I was texting Reda, “Just put it out!“ That being said, it was a magical blessing because the night before it came out, Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton debated. I got so many messages from people saying, “Last night was the worst, but to have something great come out in the world the morning after that madness was so refreshing.”
How has life been since your public coming out a week ago?
My phone is like a volcano. I wake up at five in the morning and look at Instagram, which I never used to do. It’s all been positive; the support from all different kinds of people is amazing. I’m very happy and just busy trying to be a gangster and embrace it all with the little sleep I’m getting.
What was it like for you to watch footage of your friends talking about you?
I shed tears watching it. Having that kind of support is incredible because not everybody does. I’m fortunate in that I’m a six-foot-three tattooed, hairy guy with a masculine voice, so I haven’t experienced anything too crazy. I was able to slip under the radar and my heart goes out to the people who it is more difficult for. What I went through was awful, but if you live in a small town in middle America and you are effeminate, I can’t imagine what that must be like.
I’ve been in my fair share of skate tour vans and have heard the way people say “faggot!” and “that’s gay!” How difficult was it to keep your mouth shut when that happened?
At times it was tough. I was scared. I couldn’t call someone out so I just had to deal with it. The people around me who might have used those words, they weren’t mean people. They weren’t racist; they weren’t homophobic. I was always careful to surround myself with good people and they never hurt me too much in that way.
Early in my career, being with [skateboarder and owner of skate brand Toy Machine] Ed Templeton helped a lot. To be on his team you have to be open-minded because you’re dealing with him. As an artist, he has a lot of provocative photos of he and his wife having sex and stuff. The people he let into our world were pretty darn open-minded folks. I never really felt a lot of homophobia with them. I would hear it around me in other venues, at contests and stuff, and I was like, “Thank God I’m not in the van with them.”
It’s amazing how respectful and protective the skate industry was of you all these years. I once saw a Vice UK article outing you, which is scary. Did that create any urgency for you to come out?
That disgusted me. I don’t know who had the audacity to think it’s their right to publicly post something like that. Like, who are you? Do you understand what it’s like to be gay? Screw you. I’m a public figure to a degree, so of course people are going to talk, but for someone to tell your story before you’re ready to, that’s disrespectful. That person should be ashamed of him or herself.
There have also been incidents where people’s careers were damaged as the result of coming out, such as Tim Von Werne’s. Mark Nickels, a friend of mine, was a videographer for Osiris and allegedly lost his job because they found out he was gay.
I don’t want to name names, but I heard how Tim was, what you’d call “fired.” That totally disturbed me. It made me angry about whoever was involved in doing that to him. And fuck Osiris for doing that to [Nickels]. Put that in print. That’s disgusting. They should be ashamed of themselves.
Based on percentages, one has to assume there are more gay pro skaters. Do you think you’ve encouraged them to come out?
I only know one and I think he’s basically retired. In the future, I hope so, just so they can be themselves. After all this stuff is over, we need to not even talk about the fact that we’re gay. It’s a great point to make right now and I’m thrilled, but I’m looking forward to just being a skateboarder again. It’s going to be cool when this is over so we can say, “Okay, we all puked this up and shit it out of our systems. Now we can just live.”
What would you say to other people out there, especially skateboarders, who are scared to come out?
Be careful. We are fortunate that we live in a time where things are becoming more accepted, but somebody can still throw a fucking bottle at your head. There are a lot of close-minded people and if you’re on a bus holding your partner’s hand, there might be someone who’s going to freak out and want to hurt you. If you feel like your family has old-fashioned values that may result in negativity, or if you think your parents are going to freak out and disown you, then don’t come out. It sucks to say, but we all have to wait for the right time in our life. But then guess what? There are going to be a lot of new people you’ll meet that will become your new family. They are going to hold your hand and walk you through the rest of your life. They’re going to love and embrace you and help you go further and be happier. There are millions of people out there ready to help you.
Ryan Allan: Discoveries
By Rob Brink Concrete Photo Annual, 2013
“What kind of camera do you use?” is the most common question people ask when they see my photos or my gear—and I’m not even a REAL photographer, so I can only imagine how often photographers hear it.
It’s not necessarily a “bad” question, but more an odd one in the sense that every successful skateboarding photographer I know has the potential to, and will, share a vast wealth of knowledge and experience beyond the words “Canon” or “Nikon” to help you progress in the field of photography and the skateboarding industry.
Ryan Allan is one of those photographers.
“I answer gear questions all day long,” Ryan says. “And I’ll also reply, ‘Get better at networking.’ I swear its something I had to learn, because I’m a quiet introvert. Sometimes I’ll go to skate premieres and nobody will know I’m there and that’s what holds me back. I’ve seen people come up with next to no talent, but they’re really good at being the life of the party, and that shit goes miles. It’s both infuriating and hilarious. Like, ‘Wow, that dude is making it because he’s funny and buying people drinks.’
Did you ever see Walk the Line—the Johnny Cash movie with Joaquin Phoenix? Or the film “Pollack,” starring Ed Burns? Nearly any story about creative legends has that scene … the moment where the struggling artist realizes their place in it all. For Cash is was upon receiving hundreds of letters from prison inmates who were moved by his music. For Jackson Pollack is was accidentally spilling paint on a blank canvas in his shed and then continuing to haphazardly and purposely do so. And for almost anyone who’s “made it” in the arts, they have similar stories.
And trust me, experiencing that moment is far more exhilarating than finding out if your favorite photographer prefers film over digital.
“I can almost pinpoint it exactly,” says Allan, “I didn’t figure myself out until a Flip tour with French Fred. Hanging out with him, I realized that, for me, this has to be more about aesthetic and things looking rad and less about sports photography.
“I hit it off with Geoff Rowley shooting for Vans,” Ryan explains. “So then I went on a Flip tour and he was like ‘Come check out this stuff I have going on in the desert.’ He didn’t tell me much about it, but Fred was shooting a mini ramp thing with some Flip guys for Extremely Sorry. I’d known Fred for a while, but really spent a lot of time with him on this shoot and was watching him do a lot of time-lapse dolly stuff. Things that people are just doing now, he was doing way back then. They weren’t HD cameras, but they were HVX kind of things. He had a ladder and a dolly and was measuring the distance in sticks from trees as he was moving the camera manually—without an intervalometer. Just watching him, I was like, ‘This dude is so obsessed with creativity. It’s awesome!’ I got so sparked from him. The stuff he’s done for Cliché … if everything in skateboarding were like that I’d be so hyped.
“I’m sick of third-stair-from-the-bottom fisheye shots,” Allan continues. “I still have to do it, because I have a commitment to the skater to document them. I have to get them in the mags for both of us to make a living, so there’s this frustrating battle when I get to a spot. Like, ‘I could shoot this really weird and it might not get run, but so and so needs a cover.’ So you have to shoot it standard, and when I’m doing that I’m like, ‘Fuck! There’s some awesome shit going on with five dudes hanging by the van having a beer and I’m here sitting under a rail shooting this trick.’ And that’s more what I want to do now. I want to shoot the hang out. It resonates with me. Even as a kid, Jason Lee talking about Benihana’s in Video Days, for example … that’s the stuff I remember. The skaters are all having a good time. Kids don’t even see that in videos anymore. The personality doesn’t come through. Girl and Chocolate do a good job of showing that. A lot of brands ignore it. I’d love to be able to do that all the time but I also understand I have a job to do. I’m fully a spoiled brat now and I get pissy and bummed. That’s the inner artist in me, not the reporter that’s documenting the back smith down the 12 stair.”
And there’s a conflict in skateboarding (and beyond) that you, the reader, may not be so privy to. One far beyond that of the internal “artist” vs. “reporter” plight. And that’s the constant battle between the artists and the businessmen—art and creativity vs. “getting the job done” and selling product and ad space.
“I look back at old TransWorld mags with the “New York Minute” by Ted Newsome,” says Ryan. “Those little slices of New York life were things that I loved. Now it’s all gone. I look in mags these days and all that I see is the spot and I don’t get any sense of what the situation it really was. And that column being gone, sadly, was probably about ad space. Some president or person up top saying it’s not an interesting story or it's better to sell an ad or run a photo of a smith grand where you can see every sticker and logo on the board and what shoes the skater is wearing. I get burned out on that. I’ve worked for many companies. I’ve shot silhouette stuff and they’ll be like, ‘We can’t use that photo.’ But in my opinion it doesn’t matter. It isn’t bad that’s it’s a silhouette because it’s about the emotion. That’s what sells your product. They don’t need to keep putting more frickin’ logos in your face; that’s going to happen anyway and they don’t understand that a silhouette ad might actually stand out because it’s the only one anyone’s seen in a long time. That’s the constant battle I fight with myself all the time, but it’s also the world I’ve invited myself into.
“Luckily I get to shoot with people like Tom Karangelov, for example, who are down to do weird stuff and aren’t worried about whether goes in an mag or not. He gets it. I need more people like that. One of my personal favorites of him is in Laguna Beach at this handrail into a gnarly hill bomb. And I was holding my camera way above my head so you could see down the hill. I shot one and it was only his feet and board grinding down the rail … with his Zero socks on. I’m don’t feel you need to look through the camera for the position of a photo. So naturally I was so hyped when the photo ran in Color.
Ryan’s built relationships with some of the most photographically iconic skaters in the world … guys like Arto, Dylan, Rowley, Stefan and more—as well as newer, yet equally photogenic individuals like Tom Karangelov and Ben Nordberg. Similar to that of, say, Tim Burton, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, these relationships between Ryan and his subjects can literally be seen through years of magazine and web documentation—and they are symbiotic.
“Lets take Dylan, for example,” says Allan. “I was introduced to Gravis and met Dylan through Arto because I was shooting for Flip and followed Arto to whatever program he was a part of. But the way it really blossomed between Dylan and I was with this kickflip photo at a sculpture in Sydney. I shot it pretty weird … down below. I’d shot with him before but I played it really safe because I didn’t want to say, ‘Sorry Dylan I blew it.’ Back then he didn’t talk. And I fully thought he hated me. It turned out that he was living in a coma, but I didn’t have a read on him. But I won him over by easing him into these weirder photos. He’s really into things looking good and I knew that about him. We both like fashion magazines. We just started to feed off it all and I think it started to click for him. He knew I worked a certain way and I’d throw ideas out and he’d be like ‘Fuck yeah; we’re going to do that! People are going to think it’s gay, but lets do it.’ And that was kind of the beginning of the Dylan look that people recognize now.”
“Ryan’s photography is top-notch,” says Geoff Rowley. “He enjoys the moment and is a pleasure to be around. He’s calm, collected and motivated. He shoots classic shots that are timeless, technically crisp and with good variety. He is well versed in different photographic approaches, from studio product shots to portraits to available light black and whites. Whatever it is he can get the job done. He also isn't afraid to get on the road and explore. He’s an easily-pleased team player that adapts to his surroundings well.”
“Rowley is my number one guy,” says Allan. “He gets it. A lot of skaters are like, ‘I have this spot; it looks so cool; it’ll be so great for a photo.’ Then you get there and it looks like total shit. But when Geoff says it, you know it’s going to be amazing. He’s the first dude that I learned about relationships and understanding each other with. He knows spots and how they’re going to work. He recommends how to shoot things and I totally shoot them that way. He goes to great lengths, like getting mini ramps built in the woods. He understands that if it’s a mini ramp in a parking lot, you would film a part on it and everyone will hate you. But if it’s in the woods and you do some crazy voiceover with the footage, it makes it rad.”
So can a photographer indirectly and inadvertently learn from another photographer through a skater—the skater working as “medium” so to speak? Legendary skate photographer Daniel Harold Sturt spent a lot of time shooting Rowley; Rowley spent a lot of time shooting with Allan; Allan learns from Sturt …
“I grew up with Sturt photos,” says Allan. The Sturt / Hensley combination was amazing. Like, that’s me and Geoff. That’s what we want. A lot of people think that my container photo of Geoff is a Sturt photo. I didn’t even do anything Sturt-ish on it. And I feel honored when people think it’s a Sturt photo. I’m just like, ‘Fuck yeah!’ I always wanted to pick up elements of him. Arto used to send me all these little videos that Sturt made of himself longboarding and getting caught by cops. They were crazy. That’s kind of what you want—a tweaked brain. Look at the Markovich Carlsbad water gap photo that Sturt shot. It’s just Markovich’s knees down and you can see Sturt’s shadow using a half-lens fisheye, pre-Atiba. It’s just the craziest looking photo and there’s so much information about Sturt and photography in that photo. It’s so awesome. Sturt showed so much in that photo; that you can cut peoples heads off and it’ fine if it looks cool and that you can shoot on two different cameras and not have to hide anything.
“There’s so much craziness and awesomeness in his work. I’ve studied it for years. He made me realize that you don’t have to be up really close to see the action, but rather, step back and see the bigger picture. Think of the photo of Hensley doing the frontside ollie on the hat, if he shot that photo from the edge of the hat it would have been terrible and you’d never even experience what Matt was skating. Sturt is one of the best people that ever happened in skateboarding. You have to embrace the weirdos. These days, skateboarding hates out everything that is weird and different, yet we unconditionally love someone like the Gonz. It’s such a conflicting message. You have to love those people. There are a million generic, personality-less contest skaters. I love the Gonz and Ed Templeton and Jason Lee. The fact that Lenny Kirk went crazy and all religious is epic. It enhances the bigger picture. Ed talks about books and art and that helps with creativity. I’m lucky I’ve met all those people and grew up in a time in skateboarding when it was encouraged. It’s important to do that now. There are going to be all these kids who grow up at the skatepark and become like washed-up quarterbacks instead of learning a trade or art and all these other things that can help them beyond skateboarding down the line. They’ll blow their knee out and work in a factory because skateboarding didn’t bring them past that.
“Photographers are almost as popular as the skaters these days,” Allan continues. “Look at Atiba, he’s a celebrity in his own right and it’s cool. There are more and more kids realizing that there are careers and a fun life to be had in skateboarding in any capacity, not just being a pro. And I think photographers have the better deal because I’ve seen some pros get old and the world gets harsh really quick. Their bodies are destroyed and they have no skill sets. They’ve traveled the world and been catered to but when it goes away their world becomes a dark place. And I feel really bad. Sometimes I think I’ve got it easy. So all you kids out there who think that they want to become pro skaters, you might want to try something longer-lasting.”
The iPhone has quickly become the most popular camera in the world. Everyone has a camera in their pocket at all times and everyone’s a so-called “photographer,” or wants to be. Instagram has become a real-time skate magazine of sorts. Skate ads and photos in magazines have been shot on iPhones, and we’re not talking silly enjoi ads either, we’re talking actual tricks. But how does a true and professional photographer feel about this shift and how does it affect things going forward?
“It’s weird and has made me pull back a lot,” say Allan. “Because I see it so much now, I’ve avoided being the guy who has a camera around his back at all times. I think if you have good taste, know what you’re doing and are willing to sit back and not join the herd, but rather, more strategically decide what you want to do instead of just throwing it out into the sea, that’s when you will stand out.
“What you can do on an iPhone now is insane, and the whole thing has proven that anyone can shoot a generic photo and get it run in a magazine. Even the kid down the street has a 16-mm fisheye. Back when I started, a Canon fisheye lens was $800. If you had a fisheye in your city, you were the dude. Hopefully, people will eventually want a change, but I’m not worrying about that. For now I’m just doing my best to be really good at what I do and focusing on portraits and behind-the-scenes stuff.”
Most recently, Ryan got a gig as team manager (and photographer) for Asphalt Yacht Club. Like so many other creatives in our industry, Ryan knows it’s difficult—near impossible at times—to make a proper living without a full time job or multitasking.
“I’ve done this my whole career,” explains Allan. “I’ve always used another outlet to get to where I want to be. I started SBC because there were no places to sell my photos and because Appleyard was a rising star in Canada and we couldn’t get his photos published anywhere. America didn’t know about Mark yet, and Concrete was pretty west coast-heavy at the time. So I was like, ‘Okay, lets do something east coast promote Appleyard.’ From there, Mark got blew up and got me a graphic design job at Circa, so I moved down to California. I’d already done four years of design working for the mag, so I started designing T-shirts and Circa catalogs, then became their photographer.”
After Circa, Allan freelanced for various companies over the years … Gravis came next.
“It’s always been photography-based, but the pitch was always, ‘I can shoot all your photos, but I’m also a commercial photographer and can shoot product and save you guys a shit ton of money.’ In skateboarding that’s the clincher every time.
“AYC came about through Ben Nordberg, which is crazy because I pick on Ben all the time. He was like, ‘They’re looking for a team manager; you should talk to them.’ Team managing isn’t my favorite thing, but I did it at Gravis because they were my friends. AYC is real team managing for me—a lot of time on the phone and emailing. But I’ve got to do it, you know? My creative photos don’t make the bank. But it’s cool … the team is awesome and everyone is rad. I really want to help. It’s a gnarly uphill battle and a social experiment for me. Like, ‘Can I bring an aesthetic to this team that, on paper, looks crazy?’ Aesthetically it’s not my style, but I think I can do something with it. That’s what’s nice for me. I’m not stressing if this comes or goes. It’ll be interesting for sure …”
Post-Vans Propeller: Greg Hunt Talks Inspiration, Process & Critics
By Robert Brink
The Hundreds, June 2015
When Greg Hunt began filming on Vans Propeller, he was living in a one-bedroom apartment and single with “zero responsibilities.” Fast-forward almost six years and Greg has a wife, a baby and two dogs. Now that the dust has settled, he’s currently working on a special edition of Propeller for release in late 2015 and enjoying some much deserved down time. Curious as to what’s on his mind in a post-Propeller world; in the wake of the year’s biggest and most-anticipated skateboarding video, the press tour, as well as all the criticism that comes with it, I caught up with him for a little chat.
I’m hearing people say they enjoy the Propeller Raw Files more than the video itself. I experienced the same at Emerica when we released the Stay Gold B-Sides …
I was 17 when Rubbish Heap came out. It had no real soundtrack except random parts with Rodney Mullen and Jef Hartsel. I loved it and that’s why I did the Raw Files this way. But for people to say, “This is so much better than the video,” I don’t get that. Rowan’s part with that song and all the different angles—there’s an emotional thing built in when you watch. That doesn’t happen with raw footage. Raw footage is awesome and a great way to get all the extra stuff out there because people love it, but I’d take an edited video part over raw footage any day.
To me it’s an enhancer. Dollin’s raw stuff it blew me away, knowing what went into that part.
For sure. If anything, the feedback I get is, “Why wasn’t this in the video?” People might prefer it because it’s honest. It shows the real story of the slam and the make and that’s very telling of what these guys put into it. I wish I could’ve put a lot of that into the video, but you can’t. I could always do better, but you’re trying your best to include everything in the best possible way. Chima’s part had too much music, that’s why we added a little something at the end. I extended Daniel’s song just so I could fit more skating in there. It hard to condense four years of skateboarding into four minutes when you’re following the traditional formula for video parts.
I don’t think people realize how restraint plays just as important a role ...
Exactly. You can make a video that’s short and to the point and some people are gonna love it and others will feel like they were expecting more. If you make a video with longer parts and a lot of stuff in between, people are gonna say, “I just wanna see the skating!” You’re never gonna be able to make everybody happy; it’s just impossible. Some of my favorite moments in the video are only a couple seconds long. Like Anthony in front of the water main that explodes or Daniel standing on that mountain and the tram comes by.
It seems like you’ve done a ton of press for this video. Back in the day no one interviewed the filmmaker.
It’s weird that nowadays, so many people want to talk to the filmmakers. I understand that I’m the person steering the ship and ultimately responsible for all the final touches, but really I put myself in the back seat to what these guys want. And I’ve always been that way. I didn’t film everything. I didn’t conceptualize the video part; it’s them skateboarding. Half the time I wasn’t even there, or off just trying to find a good angle. When it’s all done, I’m working with the guys to put it together in a way that hopefully resonates with people. It’s trippy, but we’re in an era where people want to talk to you.
In addition to the expectations people have for the video to be amazing, it seems there’s a weird assumption that you, the creator, are trying to make an artistic statement, or should be.
I totally agree. People that really have a vision when they make a video—the way they want it to look and feel prior to even editing it, I think that’s amazing. When Fred Mortagne did éS Menikmati, that video was so different from anything anyone had ever seen. Looking back, that was a really artistically brave thing to do, especially for such a young kid who, at the time, didn’t really know anyone.
I didn’t have a creative group that was working on this; it was just me. I had a lot of things planned for in-between parts and the intro, but I simply didn’t have time. And when I started to see how it was coming together, I saw it was a very straightforward, no bullshit skateboarding video, for skateboarders. No narrative, nothing very conceptual, no acting. I thought, “You know what? This is actually pretty cool. Just straight up skating.” How can you not like Anthony Van Engelen or Rowan Zorilla or Daniel Lutheran or Gilbert Crockett? These guys are amazing to watch skate. I know that much.
I think people also don’t realize that the artist might actually have zero interest in pleasing anyone except the people involved in the project.
That’s exactly it. Some people take it too seriously. Really what it’s about is the skateboarding. And when I’m editing, I’m working primarily as a skateboarder. I feel like people look at these videos like it potentially could’ve been this or potentially could’ve been that. Of course it could, but it’s really about the skateboarding and this video, more than any that I’ve ever done, is what it is because of the guys in it. It’s their skateboarding. They were very involved in what went into the parts. I read one thing that said that Propeller wasn’t an honest representation of modern skateboarding. The guy who wrote that just doesn’t understand. He’s out of touch with modern skateboarding, because this is the most honest representation of these guys that I could have possibly made.
It’s just good skateboarding. I’m not saying it’s a masterpiece, but I would like to think, if you’re someone who loves skateboarding you’re going to sit through it at least once and enjoy a lot of it. If you, for some reason, can’t enjoy a lot of that video, then I don’t know what to tell you because I spent five years working on this thing and I still love watching Anthony’s and Rowan’s parts … because I’m a skateboarder.
What stands out as the most impressive or scary thing you saw go down?
Trujillo’s last trick was really impressive. That was fucking gnarly. I’ve skated with him enough to know that when I saw him up there, he was really freaked out. You can’t try it a bunch of times. It’s one of those things that once you commit to going down, you’re either gonna pull it or you’re gonna seriously fuck yourself up—really fuck yourself up.
Kyle Walker getting hit by a car too …
I was already editing at that point. But yeah, that was fucked up. I saw the footage and didn’t want to use it because it’s not even like, “Oooh.” It’s like, “Ugh!” When it happened, the guys texted me the footage off their camera screens and it seriously looks like he got killed. He’s running across the street, he’s lying on the ground, he’s screaming. Horrible. But I mean, fuck, Kyle tried his last trick in Atlanta for maybe two and a half hours. I don’t even know how his body made it through that. He tried it, couldn’t do it, sat down and was over it. Everyone was like, “Alright, you did it; you gave it your best.” And he was sitting there like, “You know what? Fuck it. I’m gonna try it again.” And I think that happened definitely once, if not twice before he landed it.
Have you ever backed somebody down because you were scared they’d get hurt?
I’ve never told anyone they should stop. There have definitely been times when I felt like, “This is a really bad idea.” These guys know their own limits. I don’t think anyone really wants to get killed. If anything, sometimes I’ll say, “Hey, man. Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now because it looks like if we do, we’re gonna go to jail. Let’s come back later or figure out some other way to do it.”
Back when you made the M83 “Echoes” video, you and I were talking about being Terrence Malick fans and such. How much do outside influences come into play as a skateboarding filmmaker?
The first year we were filming Propeller I was watching a lot of rock documentaries. This old Bowie documentary and a Rolling Stones documentary called Stones in Exile.
In my opinion, skateboarders are more like musicians than athletes. How they perform and how they create and promote skateboarding—how people love a certain skateboarder more than another. I love seeing a band recording in the studio and the moments where they’re not actually playing the music—sometimes more than when they are playing. I like seeing guys sitting in the rehearsal room on the couch talking shit, or even a guy alone sleeping in the corner of the studio. That, to me, is really revealing and really intriguing. That’s loosely what I went for in this video with a lot of the 16mm stuff.
How much of your work is inspired by things you see that you don’t like?
Almost all of it. That’s the approach I had when I skated, long before I started making videos. I would just look at what everyone was doing and try to do the opposite. Skateboarding can be frustrating because physically, you have so many limitations. Sometimes you just can’t do it. And it’s funny because now that I’m making these videos, I have other limitations: budgets, time and the ability to actually make something happen. I think when I’m watching or reading or just observing anything, something clicks in my brain like, “Well, I definitely never want to do that,” or, “That’s really cool; how can I do that, but differently?”
Being a skateboarder—at least the generation that I come from in skateboarding—the last thing you want to do is copy someone. When you’re at a spot and some guy is back tailing a ledge, you’re not gonna back tail the ledge. You want to do your own thing and I think that’s something that I definitely got from skateboarding and it bleeds into everything I do in life. I think that’s why skateboarders do a lot of really interesting things when they go on to do projects outside of skateboarding, or even within skateboarding.
As a filmmaker, is it advantageous that you were once a pro skater who’s filmed video parts?
I don’t think so. I skated in the mid-nineties in San Francisco. It was a lot different then. Most of these guys now trust me because of the videos I’ve done, not because of the skateboarding I’ve done. These guys, they are 18, 19, 20, and through making one video over five years, they change a lot. You realize the distractions, lack of motivation, and things that become hurdles for them. I definitely blew it in a lot of regards when I was young, so me acknowledging and using that to help people is what I use more than anything. Even if I don’t say it to someone directly, I might just say, “I know what this person’s going through; give him some space.”
Also, you’re not just the filmer or director or producer; you’re a mentor …
And it’s tough because everyone is so different. It’s not a fucking wrestling team; it’s a skateboarding team. I’m not always successful, but I try to be sensitive to each person’s energy and needs. You want everyone to be stoked, not miserable.
I can’t take all the credit. When these guys are all together it takes on its own life and I’m sort of there trying to make sure everyone’s up and in the van and doing my best to steer the day in the right direction where we can get as much done as possible.
I sometimes have this fear that skateboarding will be my last stop. That skateboarding might not want me anymore as I age. Does that ever worry you?
I think that’s something that everyone thinks about, especially if you’re working in skateboarding as a filmer or photographer or writer or whatever—even a shoe designer. I like having other things to work on because it brings a little bit of balance to my life, but I know for a fact that if I completely remove myself from skateboarding there’s a huge part of me that’s missing. It’s been 30 years of my life. If anything, my phobia is working in skateboarding because I have to. I never want to resent skateboarding. I only want be involved in skateboarding because I love skateboarding. I never want to be in a position where I’m in skateboarding because I need the paycheck or because I’ve got nowhere else to go. That really freaks me out.
Chris Cole Talks Motivation 2, Therapy, and Life Under a Microscope
By Robert Brink
The Hundreds, June 2015
Chris Cole is one of the best skateboarders on the planet. He’s also taken more shit than most skaters on the planet—from his peers, from the skateboard community, from the Internet. In a culture where image and playing it “cool” are often more important than your actual ability on a skateboard, not many pro skaters have had to prove themselves to the extent that Cole has. To the point of second-hand embarrassment at times, Motivation 2: The Chris Cole Story pulls you into the center of his struggle.
Directed by Adam Lough, Motivation 2 (iTunes, June 23) is the story of an East Coast underdog who made his way to the top, battling self-discovery, industry politics and the void of a father he never knew along the way. The following is a conversation with a man who’s been put through the ringer and become one of the most comfortable-in-his-own-skin people I’ve ever met.
Your wife was telling me you did some brain mapping and it’s been determined you’re a superhero …
It’s called Neurotopia. I lack attention and a lot of different things but it turns out I have a super-fast reaction time in my brain and I have impulse control. Basically, my brain processes the information that comes through my eyes really, really quickly. And then my reaction as to what to do with that information is above par.
That’s obviously super advantageous, not only for learning tricks but also avoiding chaos and damage.
Yes. That’s actually a really important part of the whole thing. In Danny Way’s documentary, Travis Pastrana says that Danny’s not fearless; he’s just really good at assessing risk. And it’s so important.
Is it challenging being under the microscope for a year to film a documentary?
Yeah, you have to let somebody in pretty deeply. But the hardest part was really figuring out what needs to be told versus what is me trying to give you 100 percent of what happened. I’m very nostalgic and want to take you down each road and tell you why certain people and stories are so important to me. But you don’t need every story from my life; you just need the ones that matter.
What gets stirred up emotionally in the process?
The only thing that’s ever really a tough subject is talking about the fact that I didn’t have a father. And then watching my mother and my brother talk about it. I can talk about my life skating and the stories that go along with that—even tough stories, because that’s a path that I’ve chosen. But when you have to talk about feelings and things from when you were too young to control—that’s when it’s difficult.
How about knowing somebody’s out there interviewing your mom and brother discussing these difficult subjects?
I didn’t know that’s how it was gonna be. But when I saw the footage, what I did think about was that my mother and brother aren’t on camera much, or ever. So I was conscious of how hard it would be for them. I talked to everybody about that. They were like, “I don’t know if I did well.” And I’m like, “I’m sure you did fine.”
I feel like a project like this would bring me closer to my family. There’s stuff that comes out in these interviews that I wouldn’t necessarily bring up to them.
Totally. You don’t just walk up and say, “Tell me about this painful memory.” When I see their commentary and see them on camera, it brings a magnifying glass over the fact that I don’t live there and I’m losing valuable days I could be spending with my family. It makes me wish I were closer to them. But I love hearing their take on how things were.
As I get older, I’m reaching out to members of my family asking them about things, just through this process of trying to understand myself. Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis.
No, it makes sense. Skateboarding keeps us like Peter Pan for a very long time. We play; we go out with our friends; we have recess all the time. It’s not that you’re getting old; it’s just that now you’re maturing and inquisitive. You’re really not always sure who your parents are because their job isn’t to be your homeboy; their job is to prepare you for the world and prevent you from becoming an asshole. Certain parents take that job really seriously and leave themselves shrouded in mystery to get that job done.
In the time this documentary was being made, you won the Street League Championship in 2013, but you didn’t even make the finals in 2014. You quit Zero, which you co-owned, and did the free agent thing for a while. Then you got on Plan B. It seems you inadvertently added the task of a documentary during one of the busiest transitional stages of your life and career …
Yeah, and the funniest part is that none of that stuff is really in the film. It shows primarily what got me here rather than what I’m doing here. Because what got me here is what you can’t Google. You can’t find my sponsor-me tape anywhere, for example. And that’s where this documentary really comes in.
I’ve always admired that you’re the first to admit you aren’t “cool.” And some of this film almost painful to watch—the bad outfits, people making fun of you behind your back. At a point you said, “I’m still figuring out the script.” Does that lack of script come from your father being absent, to a degree?
Yes. You’re essentially learning from scratch. There are a billion things you miss out on when your dad is gone. For example, there’s the right way to measure and cut wood. The correct way to use tools or change oil in your car. How you carry yourself when speaking to other people—people of authority, people that are older. You miss all that shit.
Did you realize at the time you were riding for them, that Jamie Thomas and Rodney Mullen were both becoming very paternal for you?
I didn’t realize it actually. My wife pointed it out. It wasn’t a conscious thing. But tough decisions came up—times I had to disappoint them. With Rodney, I wanted to ride for Zero and I had to quit enjoi. It was really difficult to make that call. Then disappointing Jamie when I had to leave Fallen. Making those calls is like disappointing your dad.
People say, “Skateboarding saved my life.” Often times it literally got them off the streets or away from drugs. But for some, it’s because it gives you the family you didn’t have. I realize now that, aside from skateboarding, this bagel bakery I worked at for eight years was my family to a degree—my coming of age. They took me to my first bar. They taught me how to dress a wound when I cut half my finger off. They gave me a work ethic. They took me to my first strip club. Some of my co-workers there even died.
That’s super true. Like being on the road with people on a skate tour: the guy you always room with or the position you have in the van; the dude that rallies the troops at the skate spot to move on. Those roles, when you start young, they define who you are for a very long time until you choose the next role in your life.
In the film, Stevie Williams says you were “Weird but good—definitely weird.” Bam Margera and Jamie Thomas added similar commentary. Are you watching these interviews about the younger you and thinking, “Wow, maybe I was weirder than I thought!”
I’ve self-reflected and looked at it a whole bunch of different ways. I knew how they felt back then, but I never heard any of them ever say it. I thought it was rad that they finally came out and said it, because skateboarding used to be pretty goddamn rough around the edges. But now, since everyone’s all so connected and polished, people usually bite their tongues. So it was cool to hear them say, “This dude was kooking’ it.”
The film gets into the brutally honest sit-downs you got from Jamie Thomas. The unwritten “rules” of skateboarding, your wardrobe, you fishing for compliments—all these things are part of being a kid. You’re not trying to be arrogant; you’re just excited and trying to connect with people. At some point you cross this line from being an excited kid who’s trying to share yourself with your idols to being someone who’s a kook and talks too much. To me there’s something sad about that transition into adulthood and “professionalism.”
I didn’t really think about it that way, but yeah, that’s probably what hurt the most. Here I am just being me and I’m told, “Hey, you can be you, but be you behind closed doors with your close friends only.” That was terrible for me. At that age you’re a teenager; you’re an idiot but it’s a good thing because if you’re cool as a cucumber then, are you gonna be cool as a cucumber when you’re older? I feel like everybody goes through some crappy wacky phase in their teens. Like they need to do that in order to not be 25 and watching 8 Mile once a day, convinced that they’re gonna be the rapping scientist or something. I wanna make sure that kids know that it’s all right to be a dork.
How did that hazing from all the skaters back then not cripple you? Some of what happened to me still affects me to this day.
It’s still one of the most crippling things that we have as grown ups. It’s something that affects you as a human being in general, regardless of age. If you don’t have your defenses up and someone hurts you, it will still crush you as if you were a little kid. It’s definitely still affecting me for sure. It always will.
There’s nothing more true than the fact that most of the people who were the coolest in late grade school, high school and college are the most boring, average adults I’ve ever met in my life.
Or they’re in jail. All the cool football star dudes; all the baseball players; those super rad dudes that were getting invited to all the parties, they’re hitting the same spots in the same town they grew up in. The same bars, they’re going to the same Phillies game with the same homeboy that was their wingman in high school. The only thing that’s changed is that they’re fatter and they have a kid and they probably married one of the girls from high school that they weren’t dating at the time, but somehow linked up at with at the local bar. That’s what’s going down. And then the dude that was picked on for being smart, he’s got a solid scenario. He’s doing something cool.
But I’m not scared to go to a therapist. I sing that praise to everybody. A lot of dudes won’t do marriage counseling; they won’t do individual counseling; they won’t go see a therapist because in their mind that’s admitting you’re broken. Even a person who doesn’t need it at all still benefits from going to see a therapist.
The first time I walked into therapy, I had to coach myself through the door. By the end I felt completely relieved. It was the best hour of my life in a long time.
Totally. It’s like, you can play guitar. You can be self-taught. You can get good. But take guitar lessons and you’ll get there a lot faster. Therapy is your guitar lesson—your life lesson. When you leave, even if you can’t implement everything that was said to you, that knowledge went into your brain. And if you find it once or twice over time, that’s better than if you didn’t go.
What do you hope people watching the story of your life get out of it?
I want them to feel motivated to go out and live their dream. Everybody has a passion and the opportunity to change their lives. If you’re really great at math and you’re being groomed to be an accountant by your parents or whatever, but your real passion is tennis, you can be someone who plays tennis for a living. Maybe you won’t be a professional tennis player, but I want you to go for it because you can always fall back into a secondary dream. You could be a tennis instructor, for example, instead of just being like, “I guess I’ll just be an accountant.” Or you can be an accountant for the racquet company. You can work in the industry that you love. We need you.
I was sponsored but was never gonna be pro. So the next best thing was to be a writer in skateboarding …
And that’s the thing. I feel like for a lot of people, that’s not something that comes as normal; they don’t think of that. It’s basically like, “I’m not good enough to be a professional skater; I’m screwed.” And they just bail. And that’s not how it works. You could be a photographer; you could be a videographer; you could be a team manager. You travel the world with us, you get stamps on your passport with us and you’re in the van. You’re living that life. It’s a great life.
I’ve seen the stuff you guys have to deal with on the business end of things. Or watching you guys juggle the things at a big contest: press stuff, obligations. I’m like, “Why does he have to do this right before he jumps down a four-block?” Sometimes just sitting there shooting photos seems way better.
Dude, totally. We’re stressing out about our line, stressing out about a couple bad contests in a row. These sponsors expect a lot. It’s pretty crazy and people are like, “Oh stop complaining, the rest of us have it like this.” I get that all the time.
If somebody thinks that, they don’t understand that level of skating. Or haven’t skated at all. It’s hard to switch mindsets from being the celebrity skater guy to trying a trick down a gnarly fucking rail in front of an arena full of people.
That’s beautifully stated because that is the biggest issue in my entire life. It’s not juggling like, “I don’t have any time” as much as it’s juggling going from this brain to that brain and it’s a different dude each time. When I’m planning my contest run you can’t hit me with, “Hey can you look at this credit card statement, make sure that everything’s charged by you?”
I watch you guys switching back and forth at these events. I just can’t believe it because I know you’re worrying about your legs locking up, but you don’t want to turn a kid down for an autograph or a person for an interview.
Well, it’s funny because it’s the “mo’ money mo’ problems” thing. The bigger your sponsors get and the better you’re compensated, the more obligations you have. When all these kids are like, “I wanna make it to Street League one day! I wanna be like this dude and be sponsored by that company.” You might wanna be careful what you wish for because I’ll tell you what—Mikey Taylor or P-Rod or myself—we’re doing a lot more than the average Joe. We wear a whole bunch of different hats all the time.
Actually, I’m gonna go on a tirade right now:
When the “core” dudes try to clown, and I’m sure you’ve fucking heard it—it’s a defense mechanism—they say stuff like, “It’s just skateboarding, man.” Implying that you’re taking it too seriously.
A. You’re telling me what skateboarding is? Get the fuck out of my face. And B, Street League is a contest with a lot of money on the line and this is actually what I do for a living. This is my job. I love the hell out of skating; I love it more than anyone. But it’s not “Just skating, maaaaan.” That’s throwing what I love and what I’ve dedicated my life to, into some hobby that you kind of fuck around with. They love to throw that one around.
I know plenty of those people. I feel like that comes from a place of, I don’t know if “jealousy” is the word?
It’s a good word.