A previous rumor suggesting that Surfing magazine’s Instagram had been sold for $3.5 million has come under scrutiny and is now likely discredited. Jimmy Wilson, the great Surfing photo editor, responded just moments ago:
This is incorrect. They changed the @surfing account to @surferfilms (it had more followers than surfer by the way) and during the switch grabbed the @surfing handle before anyone else could take it. Lamest shit I’ve ever seen.
Questions remain. Will @surfing’s younger, larger ex-audience thrill at the slow-mo longboarding videos @surferfilms posts or will they revolt en masse, smashing expletives into iPhone screens on their way out? Will the new @surfing be allowed to grow or kept at 1 follower and private in order to make @surfer feel better about itself? Will @surferfilms delete all the images of Surfing‘s staff from the feed and all the images of progressive surfing? Will Surfer‘s staff look at the pictures of progressive surfing and wonder, “What’re these darn kids doing on their surfboards? Why do their surfboards have three fins in them?”
Most pressing, will Surfer officially change its tagline from “The Bible of the Sport” to “The Inertia of Print” next week or the week after that?
Instagram has become a necessary business tool in the belt of any successful man about town. He looks at girls, he looks at wipeouts, he posts a picture of himself at Coachella. If he is a surf media property he posts pictures of surfers at Coachella.
And how many followers do you have? Are you jealous of people you feel beneath you, socially, who have more? Surfer magazine’s Instagram has 1.2 million followers. Surfing magazine’s Instagram had near 1 million.
And by had I mean had because look at it today!
Of course you know that Surfing (RIP) folded but what happens to these followers? Do they die too?
No! They got sold for $3.5 million or that was the rumor floating through San Clemente’s mists late last night by a very knowledgable surf industry titan.
Is it true?
Hard to say. It would mean that each man, woman and child on Surfing’s feed was worth over 3 bucks. Lots lots more than calculator InstaWorth, which claims brands tend to pay $5-10 per thousand followers. This is, of course, as an advertising tool but probably sets the mark for value. Gizmodo suggests that celebrity accounts with 3 to 5 million followers can get around 75k per post. So if Surfing was selling posts for 25k per and doing 100 a year that might be good.
Or maybe Surfing sold its near million Facebook fans too? And creative director Pete Taras’ very handsome face? And editor-at-large Taylor Paul’s ability to surf Mavs? And photo editor Jimmicane’s stake in the Jacksonville Jaguars? And Todd Prodanovich’s noodle backbone?
Oh wait! Todd Prodanovich edits Surfer! His noodle backbone ain’t for sale!
Today marks the end of the 2017 Volcom Pro, a contest held in four very different shades of Pipeline. Let’s recap:
Day one: Northeasterly sand-bottomed double-ups, most of them unmakeable, but the type of waves that’d look incredible through photos. There were a few nice rides, but it was unworthy of wading through the pinches and close-outs to see something interesting.
Day two: Slightly less sand, somewhat better swell direction and size. This resulted in cleaner Backdoor tubes with Makua Rothman nailing the comp’s only perfect ten. A good day of competition, probably a C+ for Pipeline.
Day three: Death, taxes and Pipeline. Wait long enough, and you’ll meet all three of ‘em in tremendous fashion. With Volcom’s ten-day waiting period in mid-February, it was almost guaranteed that we’d get to see at least one day of epic surf. This was that day.
Six-to-ten foot silky smooth peaks were on tap for (some of) the world’s best, granting fantastic rides to John, Seth, Bruce, Makua, Miguel and more. Interestingly Slater, my passion pick for this event, crumbled in his first round. He was dealt a tough heat (Seth, Bruce, and Imaikalani Devault) and fell victim to a poor start followed by poor wave selection. A fistful of valiant efforts, but Slater’s magic dust was nowhere to be found. He’s probably gotta re-up on his deal with the devil.
Finals day: There was a lot of potential. Wonky in the morning like Pipe usually is, but a few rogue bombs gave me hope. Perhaps the sun and wind would help the waves congeal into uniform lines, pushing gaseous vessels in both directions. Instead the wind went onshore and the swell dropped and Adriano made the finals in similar conditions to his Pipe Masters victory. Go figure.
John lost in the semis despite looking significantly better than any ten guys in the field combined. His absolute control of the surfboard and willingness to lay it on rail through vertical, heaving walls is unparalleled. I think he might be the most talented surfer ever, but then I wasn’t around to see Jake Patterson in his prime. He also sutured his own ankle after a fin-collision on finals morning, which is pretty alpha.
The final was delicious medley of international talent. A multi-cultural buffet. A Hawaiian-Australian-Brazilian-American salad dressed with a rare offshore flow. Bruce was the fan-favorite, Adriano the statistical shoe-in, Griffin my pick and Soli Bailey the classic Aussie underdog. None of the commentators picked him to win, but sure enough Soli found every decent wave in the final, pushing him to victory over an impressive field. Cue the beers!
Conner Coffin seeks to restore balance to the universe!
And where do you fall? Which team are you on? Are you a twunk or a cub? Have you never heard of these categories before? Is your brow furrowed in confusion?
Let me explain!
A twunk is a hairless yet strong young man. A beau who goes into the shower thrice a week, turns on the hot water, lets it run over his body, softening skin and follicle and then runs a razor over that hair, over that water, with one of Gillette’s foaming creams preferably and removes the hair altogether.
Muscles rippling, reflecting the sun’s light with nothing to obstruct not even the tiniest strand.
A cub is a young man with fuzz covering his chesty bits. A swain who chuckles at the very idea of shaving anything but the hair from his strong, set jaw. Oh he is not a bear, or not yet. His fur isn’t bushy and wild. He doesn’t maybe agree with the idea of a back forest, of an impenetrable stomach jungle.
No, he is a cub and masculine and proud.
The twunks have been ruling for surfing’s last decade. Last two decades even. Kelly Slater used to be their benevolent champion but Gabriel Medina has stolen his scepter and rules with a preening hairless strut. No challenger even close. No challenger able to…
…except lo. Who is that riding a Channel Islands on the horizon? Is it… could it be… a cub? Is it possibly… Conner Coffin?
That is Conner Coffin with testosterone pumping through his veins sprouting a jacket that he will not shear because he is MAN hear him ROAR!
Conner Coffin is looking to vanquish the twunks’ hairless grasp on power and God bless him for it. It is high time that masculinity returned to professional surfing. High time that God’s own will was allowed to germinate.
Just months ago surf fin manufacturer FCS had it all. Victory after victory after victory on the World Surf League tour, money jangling in pockets from a 23 million dollar sale to StabStitch, the respect of the entire industry!
But oh how the Wheel of Fortuna turns! Oh how she spins from the happiest times to the darkest depressions!
John John Florence, riding a steed of Futures, lanced every FCS riding knight around, StabStitch unloaded FCS for pennies on the dollar as its stock crashed and the industry, the fickle industry, turned its nose up at the stink.
But how to stop the bleeding? How to climb back on top?
Maybe by releasing a tailpad that looks exactly exactly exactly like an Astrodeck tailpad?
Astrodeck is, after all, the most core company in all of surf. Founded and owned by the Fletchers, inventors of surf traction etc. So good that professional surfers purchase for full retail price and affix to their boards even if their sponsors make their own traction. Etc.
So how could it go wrong to release a tailpad that looks exactly exactly exactly like one of those? Like, exactly same color, shape, cut-outs, size… so exactly that no one, not the bastards on the World Surf League tour, not the bastards from StabStitch, none of the bastards in the industry will know that it is not an Astrodeck pad.