Is Surfing Hip?

Lisa Andersen Surfs Better Than You

Killer Cute

Kelly Slater is Just Warming Up

Rebel for Hire

I Believe I Can Fly

A Monster in Half Moon Bay

Mark Foo's Last Ride

Open Throttle

Laird Means Lord

Tahitian Scream

A Webcam for Every Wave

Last Call for Print Media

Taylor Steele Likes it Rough

Searching for the Perfect Phrase

Hollywood Tries Again

Thirty is the New Twenty

Andy Irons' Poetic Fury

The Beast and Beyond

A Dance with the Past

Foam is Dead, Long Live Foam

Nature Gets a Makeover

Surf in a Box

The End of History

The Ride of Your Life

While the internet arrived, collapsed, and recovered during the late 1990s and early '00s, traditional surf media did nothing but thrive. The surfing population exploded, and wave-riders everywhere wanted their mags, videos and DVDs—and their surf websites. This wasn't a zero-sum game, at least not yet. The pie simply got bigger for everybody.

Print was especially hot. Internationally, the number of surf magazine titles went from around 40 in 1990 to 75 in 2000, peaking at just over 100 in 2008—everything from freebie newspaper throwaways to expensive thick-stock glossies. Only a few survived beyond their fifth anniversary; most lasted a year or two, while dozens packed it in after just a handful of issues.

The older magazines swam in ad revenue, particularly 

, which remained the sport’s flagship title—although 

 had almost pulled even in terms of monthly circulation, at about 115,000, and was on track to eclipse its long-time rival in quality. In 1996, 

 began to produce its annual “Big Issue,” which had an expanded trim size and higher page count. For 

’s 40th anniversary in 1999, the Big Issue ran 340 pages. The 2007 Big Issue was a table-splitting 374 pages. Advertisers rushed to book space, and they sold well on the newsstand. But not everybody loved the jumbo-size magazines. Content-wise, Big Issues were no different than 

s regular issues. Bigger is better—that seemed to be the only point. It was the publishing version of driving a Hummer.

Surf-demographic targeting, or niche publishing, was the hot trend. It wasn't completely new. 

, a transient mid-'60s publication out of New York, identified its audience plainly enough, as did the 1985-launched 

 began as an eco-journal as much as a surf magazine. But starting in the early 1990s, it was almost impossible to find a magazine startup that 

 directed at a surfing subgenre. The first and most original was an elegant square-bound quarterly called 

 was designed mainly for the over-30 crowd, whose numbers were swelling by the year.

 were locked in mortal combat for the adolescent and young-adult reader, and doing whatever it took to up the hipness quotient—

, for instance, hired grunge-design pioneer David Carson as art director, and for two years the magazine had a hard, dark, distressed look. Pezman and his tiny 

 staff veered sharply in the other direction. Opening an issue of the 

 was like stepping into a hushed and well-appointed library. Everything you needed to know about the 

 was there on the cover. The image—usually a photo, sometimes a painting—was framed in a 

-style horizontal box on the middle of the page. The blurbs were short, formal, centered, and set in Times Roman. No exclamation points. No reader contest giveaways. The 

 was beautifully designed and photo-edited, and printed to an almost art-book quality standard.

It was also fairly relentless in its pursuit of surf-world gravitas—articles could stretch out to 10,000 words, and wry amusement was as far as things went in terms of humor. Pezman willfully ignored the contest scene, and the top pros in general, but the magazine otherwise ranged further afield than any other surf publication. Roughly half of every issue was devoted to historical topics—19th-century board design, landmark swell events, the origins of surf company logos, long features on surfing pioneers of every description. Some of the contemporary material was semi-experimental, as was the case with 1992’s “Finger Surfing,” a feature on Hawaiian surfer Brant Page, who made seven-inch foam-and-fiberglass replica boards, which he then “rode” with his middle and index fingers while crouched over a tiny stationary river wave. (Although, Page pointed out, the boards could also “be ridden on rugs, couches, beds, or your own body.”)

 ran just four ads per issue and had a $12.95 newsstand price—an unheard-of format and price at the time. The 

 ended its first year with a circulation of less than 8,000. But the Pezmans had put together a lean, efficient operation, their readership was instantly and deeply loyal, and the magazine was in the black from the moment it launched.

A handful of longboard magazines came and went during the 1990s. The Roxy Girl phenomenon ignited a pastel-hued explosion of women’s magazines, most of which were two-parts 

, with its earnest tone and Zenned-out mandala logotype, took aim at what editors believed were two overlapping constituencies, the hardcore surf traveler and the committed surfing environmentalist. In mid-2004, 

 became the first “green” surf mag, printing on unbleached recycled paper with soy-based inks.

In general, though, the new magazines had a more conservative view of the sport than their predecessors from the late 1960s and early 1970s, when the sport was in full counterculture swoon. This was especially true in America, where the surfing population was not only bigger and older but wealthier; in 1995, the median household income of 

 readers was $50,250, compared with the nationwide average of $34,100, and the gap only widened in the years ahead. Publishers cleaned things up accordingly. Swear words that had once gotten past copyedit, even during the 1980s, were now deleted or primly masked with asterisks (“sh*t” or “s**t,” for example, depending on the editor’s level of daring during final corrections). All wink-and-nod references to pot smoking were long gone, replaced with finger-wagging columns like “Seven Reasons to Lay off the Weed.”

Reflecting the attitude of the surfing majority—and to further reduce the possibility of causing offense—American surf magazines mostly steered clear of politics. When the subject did come up, editors invariably scampered onto neutral ground. A 2004 

 article briefly outlining policy differences between presidential candidates George Bush and John Kerry concluded by saying that “the answers lie somewhere in the middle.” Veteran California surf journalist Sam George took neutrality a step further. “The boundaries of a surfer’s world are different than any political map,” he wrote, before advising his readers to “be apolitical and proud.” The environment was a different matter. Threatened surf breaks, beach access issues, oil spills—all were regularly covered in the surf press, and readers were constantly urged to take action. Surfrider remained far and away the biggest organization of its kind in the sport; by 2010, the group had 70 chapters in America, and international branches in France, Japan, Australia, Canada, and Brazil.

 was launched in 2004, partly in response to the surf media’s drift to the safe middle. Published out of Sydney, 

 appeared to have its own small-bore demographic intentions, just like the other newcomers—about one-third of 

’s content was devoted to fashion and lad-magazine features of mostly-undressed women. A dozen or so pages beyond the centerspread, readers had to flip the magazine upside-down and start over from the back cover, which had its own 

 logotype. But the content itself didn’t define 

. It was the editorial voice, which was nimble, louche, wickedly funny, and belonged mostly to editor and co-founder Derek Rielly, and a newcomer named Chas Smith.

 during the second half of the 1990s, Rielly had established himself as the sport’s foremost print-media wit. With 

, he gave full expression to his hybridized take on modern wave-riding, in which the sport is juxtaposed—at a careening rate of speed, with the reader left to guess at the intended level of irony—with sex, drugs, drinking, politics, violence, religion, literature, and, of course, fashion. Most of it was as smart as it was smartass. A short column titled “The Beginner’s Guide to Islam,” for example, was filled with Rielly zingers (“for a religious tract, the Koran lays down a pretty hip beat: be cool to others, donate 2.5% of your income to charity, fast once a year, and lay off the hookers and martinis”), but beneath the jokes was a depth of knowledge almost unheard of—or at least rarely presented—in surf media.

s website was even more eclectic. Along with surf features, the site provided links to all manner of literary, political, and pop culture ephemera: in mid-2008, it included a 

 review of David Sedaris’ new book, a downloadable short story by Ernest Hemmingway, and YouTube clips of Martin Luther King, Dean Martin, Barack Obama, and comedian Sarah Silverman. Viewers were greeted to the site with the notice: “If you want shallow journalism and gratuitous nudity, you've come to the right portal you creep.” 

 offered everything, first and foremost, as entertainment. The banter never stopped.

 viewed the nonsurfing world as both compelling and engaging—and given how proudly insular the surf media has always been, this notion in itself bordered on subversion. As the old catchphrase went: “Surfing is life, the rest is details.” Rielly and Smith and 

 had a different take. Make the details interesting enough to your readers, and you’d end up with a more interesting readership. This was a surf-media first.

Fortunes were reversed during the 2010s. The websites were de-glitched, delivered more, were up-to-the-minute, and of course were free. You could read (or watch) on your phone, your tablet, your computer. For a few years, print titles carried on, but in a kind of stunned manner, as publishers and editors tried, and mostly failed, to redefine the mission. 

shortly thereafter, went all-digital—but lost Derek Rielly and Chas Smith, who together founded a surfing website called BeachGrit. In 2019, New York-based magazine conglomerate American Media (owners of 

, and gutted the magazine both in terms of staff and print frequency. 

 and a few others held fast. But surf print, like vinyl LPs, had gone from essential to indulgence; a niche within a niche.

 was like stepping into a hushed, well-appointed library. Plenty of Times Roman-set text. No exclamation points. No reader contest giveaways. The 

Chapter: 8

The Ride of Your Life

Last Call for Print Media

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