"Growing up in Greenwich, Connecticut, California and Hawaii seemed like unreal, magical places that only existed on the other side of the TV screen or in the surf and skate mags which I read over and over until they fell apart. I’d mail out sticker requests to every brand in them and be euphoric when a few weeks later an envelope would arrive with a bunch of stickers that I could plaster my board deck with, slap on the back of stop signs and stick on the door to my room, but I still basically felt like a poseur. These guys were ripping at Trestles and Backdoor or sailing off half-pipes in Venice while we worked on our ollies and ground down our rails in the parking lot of the local grocery store. I even listened to their bands, Black Flag, Surf Punks, Circle Jerks, Germs, all these bands making what sounded like risky music, I’d draw their logos in my notebooks and imagine what they looked like (had to be mohawks and doc martens I guessed). But at The Brunswick School, where I spent a chunk of my elementary and middle school, my bluchers, cords and tweed blazers were as far apart from that scene as the actual distance between CT and CA. So I obsessed and did my best long distance imitation, but it wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I finally made it to Southern California.
From my tiny liberal arts college in New Hampshire, I was transported to the University of Santa Barbara where I felt every inch of that distance when I noticed everyone was wearing flip flops and riding around on bikes, sorry, cruisers, or skateboards in wetsuits with their boards tucked under their arms, so close I could touch it, but I didn’t even own flip flops (just their dorky cousin, Tevas) let alone a wetsuit. We were only there for 10 weeks, but at least now it was real, I could prove it.
So whether you’re pro-grade, a grom, a kook, a wannabe or a don’t-wannabee, we hope you’ll join us, follow along and grow up with us, we’re just getting going. Find more stoke."