Never before has one figure been so sartorially worshipped.
I went to my first surf party, last night, in a very long time. It was a celebration of Dion Agius’s very sleek new capsule collection at Globe and well attended. I had great conversations with Dion, of course (he has grown into such a fine young man), Joe G (who made a short film for the event. Joe is at the very top of his game), Jason Weatherly (Benji’s older brother and surf kingpin), Brendon Gibbens (wore white shirt, white jean combo in a sea of black on black. He was the only one who did not look like catering staff), Surfline‘s Editor-in-Chief Marcus Sanders (so smart. So old-school journalism even though the ship he captains plunges the depths of sexual depravity), Shea Perkins (one of the cutest in all surf), Peter Jasienski (left behind Hurley and the surf life for Adidas and the @lookatthisrussian life) and the best of the bunch Queen Lili Speed (serious Hawaiian royalty who has laaaand and is beyond beautiful).
And it was while I was having a great conversation with Eric Tomlinson (Globe’s surf marketing manager and maybe cuter than Shea Perkins) that I saw Craig Anderson across the way.
“Excuse me…” I said to Eric. He did not say anything back because I don’t think we were really having a great conversation. I think he was looking at girls while standing near me.
And I scooted off to say hello to my friend Craig Anderson. There he stood, a little pensively, gazing off into the near distance. There his pale skinny denim hugged stork-like legs. There his red stocking cap perched and there his hazelnut locks cascaded over his shoulders.
I approached from the side and gave a hearty hello. Craig turned around but it was not Craig. I did not know this until he opened his mouth and uttered a very American “Huh?”
“Oh I’m sorry…” I said to this non-Craig and felt bad. But not for long because I saw my friend Craig Anderson!
There he stood, shoulders hunched, slightly, back not straight. There his big brown eyes passively took in the scene. There his prepubescent mustache glistened in the pale light of a full moon.
I approached from the front, raising my arm to give a hearty hello. Craig flinched. He thought I was going to maybe hit him and I laughed and asked, “Why did you flinch? Did you think I was going to hit you?”
And out came another very American “Uh. No. Hahaha.”
This was not Craig either! And I spun around, dizzy. There were so many Craig Anderson’s in the crowd. I saw him here, there, in the corner, drinking moonshine, kicking at a pebble on the ground. It was like that famous scene in Spartacus when everyone raises a hand and says, “I am Spartacus!”
I left thinking, “That Craig Anderson sure does have a stranglehold on surf style” and went to Carl’s Jr. to get a Western Bacon Cheeseburger.