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.
No?
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!
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The men's world tour can be roughy divided into two
camps: the Twunks, hairless muscle boys (Think: Gabriel Medina) and
Cubs like Conner Coffin, so young, but richly hirsute, large and in
charge! (And that pretty hijab? It's from Conner's new towel
company, Leus.)
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.
Clean!
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?
Yes!
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.
