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Surf Culture |
 The Largest Surfing EncyclopediaA-Z: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Advertisement
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With the late '50s introduction of the beach movie phenomenon (Gidget, Beach Blanket Bingo, Ride the Wild Surf), the world at large took immediate notice of our pursuit, rocketing surf culture to the top of their exploitation agenda and crowding the lineups with legions of followers. Though surfers in these Malibu-centric flicks were generally portrayed by Hollywood ho-dads a la Fabian and Frankie Avalon, the films nonetheless offered a small albeit grit-free glimpse into our lifestyle, and, from clothing to lingo to music, people really liked what they saw.
Within months, an uptight America still reeling from World War II and the Cold War was letting down their proverbial hair, buying bikinis, migrating beachward for some carefree sand time and hip-shaking to Jan and Dean. Madison Avenue was quickly in on the act and made surfers the new James Deans, waterlogged rebels with muscular bodies and a penchant for putting fun forever before business. Expressions like "Hang Ten" and "Surf's Up" could be overheard in trendy Manhattan lounges and fashion rags embraced the surfer style -- tanned and sun-bleached. Things went even more ballistic when, in 1966, director Bruce Brown released the milestone Endless Summer, a documentary detailing the global surfari of two young surfers, Mike Hynson and Robert August. A crossover hit, the film's physical impact, both here and abroad, was massive and immediate. Lured by the romance and perpetual adolescence the lifestyle promised in Endless, vals, jocks and otherwise golfers migrated to the coast to go carefree and chase scantily clad ladies. Once empty surf spots clogged up with newcomers. The world turned its eye to California as much to emulate a casual dress style (barefoot and shirtless) as to appropriate the surfer modus operandi of living in the moment and looking no further ahead than the next low tide or bonfire bash. Naturally, enterprising shapers and clothiers cashed in on the craze, opening surf shops up and down the coast and selling off "signature model" sticks endorsed or crafted by well-known surfers such as Dewey Weber, Miki Dora and Greg Noll. All was in full swing by the mid-'60s, but for those at the core of the movement, life was not so rosy. A backlash against the increased commercialization of and professionalism within the sport -- spearheaded by guys like Dora -- had begun. When asked about this time to comment on his surfing career, Dora told Surfer, "What Career? My personal involvement died in the late '50s when the introverts were pushed out and the phony organized masses took over." Dora later added, "Outside pressures will never succeed in making me a lapdog for the entrenched controlling interests who have turned our once great individualistic sport into a mushy, soggy cartoon." Dora was a prophet of doom, but a prophet nonetheless. Surfing would not be immune to the dark days of Vietnam, and in the late '60s, after a long period of quality public image, the pursuit ducked alongside rock and roll into the counter-culture. Hair grew out and acid was dropped as fashion plates turned elsewhere for inspiration. Ironically, our darkest days in the national eye, when we were seen as drug-smugglers and continental drifters, were among the most progressive in terms of actual waveriding and shaping. The '70s saw professional surfing and pro surfers such as Mark Richards, Wayne Bartholomew and Gerry Lopez again flirt with the mainstream. Contests in Hawaii ran on NBC and the Lighting Bolt struck thigh high corduroys everywhere, but it would be nearly a decade later that surfing would fully penetrate the national psyche again as it had in the late '50s and early '60s. By midway through the Reagan-era, surfing was huge business. Firmly entrenched into the surf market, clothing companies such as Quiksilver, Gotcha and Stussy made a mega-impact on high fashion world as shops struggled to keep their shelves stocked with neon clam-diggers, splatter-print tank tops and shocking pink boardshorts with puffy paint. Pros like Tom Curren, Martin Potter and Tom Carroll secured mega-endorsement deals as the Association of Surfing Professionals (ASP) reached an all-time high in TV coverage, prize money and global exposure. Bodyboards brought millions more to the sea and overcrowding became the pressing issue it remains today. "Surf bars" with board-shaped tables opened in Manhattan and cartoon soda-pop characters rode animated waves of cola. Hollywood faltered as usual, dooming us all in 1982 with the otherwise brilliant val-culture epic Fast Times at Ridgemont High, in which a young Sean Penn played a bong-burnt, Vans-o-phile surfer in search of "tasty waves." "Dude," "gnarly," "radical" and "bitchin" were somehow our fault as well, a mistake we're still paying for. Collapse was inevitable and came in the early '90s as scores of hopeful surf clothing companies folded like so much laundry. Once again backlash ensued, away from commercialization and toward a more hard-core center. While stars like Kelly Slater have crossed over, our sport's relationship with big media and the collective mind-set is spotty these days save one massive, irreparable blemish. Curse-to-hell the bastard who first coined the damn term. Need a hint? You're doing it right now. -- Greg Heller, December 2000
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