Breaking: Volcom just sold to Britney
Spears, Paris Hilton’s one-time favorite brand Juicy Couture!
By Chas Smith
Introducing the Juicy Couture Pipeline Pro!
It is a wonderful time to be alive and enjoying
the surf industry. Exciting developments happen every single day
and sometimes even multiple times a day. Yesterday, for example, we
learned that Harley-Davidson is the
official motorcycle of professional surfing and today we learn that
Volcom, the brand that pitted the Youth against Establishment, has
just been sold to Juicy Couture!
“Juicy Couture?” I hear you say with a squished up face, like
you don’t remember those velour tracksuits, like you don’t remember
Paris Hilton or her toy Chihuahua Tinkerbell.
You know Juicy Couture and let’s first go straight to the
press
release for details before we carry on any further.
Let’s get our facts straight (not as in “not gay” but as in
“clear”).
Authentic Brands Group (ABG) continues expanding its fashion
portfolio, adding to its collection of clothing properties with the
acquisition of lifestyle brand Volcom. Formerly owned by Gucci and
Saint Laurent parent Kering, ABG’s newest purchase sets the company
up to make moves in the skate, surf and snowboarding
markets.
Already the owners of Juicy Couture, Nautica, Aeropostale
and several celebrity namesakes (including Elvis Presley, Marilyn
Monroe and Shaquille O’Neal), ABG’s Volcom buy affords the company
access to Volcom’s massive retail presence, with nearly 100 stores
across the globe. “For nearly three decades, the Volcom family has
created one of the most iconic brands in the skate, surf and snow
markets,” affirmed ABG chairman and CEO Jamie Salter in a
statement. One of ABG’s goal with the acquisition is to promote
Volcom’s digital campaigns and influencer partnerships, with a
focus on expanding its millennial and Generation Z customer
base.
I love Gen Z and everything that is happening here but I am
curious how much Volcom sold for?
I am also curious as to when The Stone will release its first
velour tracksuit?
I am also curious if the Volcom Pipe Houses will now be called
the Juicy Couture Pipe Houses?
I am also curious if the Volcom Pipeline Pro will now be called
the Juicy Couture Pipeline Pro?
Many curiosities.
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Diversity: The World Surf League celebrates
South Africans, Australians and Americans in the booth!
By Chas Smith
A rainbow of flavors!
The recognition that diversity is important is
a such a wonderful part of our modern era. Finally, finally,
finally corporations, brands and media empires recognize the value
that people from different ethnic backgrounds bring to prominent
roles. We’re nowhere near where we should be but there has been a
clear awakening, or at least the beginnings of one, and the World
Surf League is there to ride the wave, as it were.
Beginning the 2019/20 tour over there in Australia, happening
right now (watch
here!) We have Strider Wasilewski, Rosy Hodge, Ron
“dog” Blakey, Joe Turpel, Martin “’89 World Champ” Potter, Pete
“Condor” Mel, and Luke Egan calling the action. A diverse admixture
of South African, Australian and United States American.
A rainbow of nationalities and it makes very much sense seeing
that a full 1/3 of the current tour is Brazilian and a full 3/3 of
next year’s tour is.
The fact that they are all white may pose some problem, however,
and might I be so forward as to suggest a solution?
I know who you are thinking. Rhonda
Harper from Black Girls Surf and it such a great idea
that I must praise your singular vision. She would bring a
wonderful point of view to the action and would play off any of the
principals nicely. The booth needs a dash of big, bold opinion.
Yes, it would be fantastic but might I also suggest Neco
Padaratz?
Tell me you don’t see it.
Tell me it doesn’t sing.
Maybe both?
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Kelly Slater, sharp, unpredictable, loses to
window-wiper backside turns repeated a dozen times.
Day Two, Quiksilver Pro: “Kelly Slater was
crucified in full public view and no one cared…”
By Longtom
Ruthless contest judges "fed Kelly to the
pigs…"
There’s nothing harder in this polarised world than to
get a handle on reality. I thought yesterday was a good
day, a bold move going to D-Bah against the grain of commercial
pressure, with a whole lot of entertaining surfing that was a
massive upgrade from the QS that had been incubating on the shores
of our sun baked continent for an eternity.
John John Florence back in the jersey, Slater on his testimonial
testing his legacy.
In other minds, insurrection was fomenting. I took the early
morning to take the temperature at my local where pro surfing is
consumed by a very knowledgeable cognoscenti. A freshly waxed
Sharpeye HT2.5 was incentive to take on sideshore rock runners, a
story for a different time.
The mood on the opening day was contra my own.
“Boring.”
“Sick of fucking watching Brazilians bunny hop and do air
reverses.”
“Couldn’t watch more than five minutes.”
“Slater is gone” etc etc.
Not a kind word to be said.
I argued that Medina was a beast and worthy champ but the
judgement was cast in stone: opening day was stillborn.
Got to the beach at D-Bah ten minutes before Slater’s heat
started. Blue water was pulling hard out of the Tweed, a squall to
the south-east trailed a rain cloud underneath it like a
shroud.
Kelly was on the beach. A small flock trailed him. Notably
small. For anyone who has seen full-blown Kelly-gasms before a
minor respectful crowd was bizarre. He stretched. The
double-jointed camel back was still there.
“Looks a bit stiff,” I said to the Maori security guard standing
beside me.
“What do you think?”
He tapped his temple and said, “It’s all up here, eh”
“I don’t know,” I said, “everyone gets too old eventually.
Doesn’t matter what you think about it.”
Kelly entered the water, the gathered crowd clapped quietly. A
middle-aged woman in a WSL cap sighed deeply and contentedly.
She got what she came for: proximity to Kelly. Absent were the
usual nubiles.
I can tell you from the beach the surf looked a lot better than
on broadcast. It was confusing to watch.
Fifteen hundred, maybe two thousand, if that is too conservative
lets call it three thousand people, were spread across the sand.
Taking transects and methodically walking among them I estimated
70-75% spoke Portugese, Spanish, Basque or another Germanic
language. The typical Australian surf fan was conspicuous by their
absence.
I saw the young Brazilian up by the wall take a wave. Where was
Kelly? He was down by himself at the middle peak, hundreds of
metres away from Owen and Chrisanto.
He caught a wave. No-one on the beach saw it. No one
responded.
It was wave three he did three big spicy turns and a high-speed
layback to finish.
I scribbled down “7 +”.
Polite applause rippled around the crowd. An aeon later judges
called it a 5.43.
Wow, I thought, they are feeding him to the pigs. How
disrespectful.
A big power gouge snap under the lip, a move only Kelly can do,
was given a 5.2.
Kelly was being crucified in full public view and no one cared.
How strange for him. How very, very strange. A man with his own
private fiefdom where a never-ending lineup of celebrities and
billionaires are willing to line up to kiss the ring and his career
is ending with a public humiliation on Duranbah beach in front of
an uncomprehending and uncaring crowd.
Forty seconds to go and on my ticket Kelly has won the heat. In
reality, he needs an 8.07., a score he once would have laughed at
but that now seems completely out of reach.
30 , 20, 10, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
The countdown seems significant, as all of them will this year
for the GOAT. If he lasts the year that is.
He ran up the beach and went straight to Rosie for the post-heat
presser. There was no live cross, Ronnie and Pete were gabbing to
longboard world champion Steven Sawyer while the GOAT was bleeding
out… a very bad look.
Kelly said he needed to be hungrier, but that isn’t the
problem.
The problem is much bigger, more intractable.
A year ago, he said he wasn’t content making up the numbers, he
wanted to be contending for a Title. The reality of a last-place
finish now removes that possibility entirely. Reality is overtaking
him in a way that never seemed possible, but is happening right in
front of our eyes.
His downfall in this manner diminishes us all.
Christie got through, that’s good news I guess.
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Steve Sherman’s Quiksilver Pro photo of the
day: “Brother and Daddy Dino!”
By Derek Rielly
"They get into these intense moments of
conversation…"
There is very little that separates the work of sporting
photographers. A slightly different angle here, a
different lens there.
Any sorta lifestyle shot is perfunctory, at best.
Surfing is very lucky to have Steve Sherman, a skater and surfer
from southern California. His photography is a kind of subdued
magic, controlled and exquisite, the kind of things you get from a
good movie.
More than any other surf photographer, Sherman has a sense of
living history.
Over the course of the Quiksilver Pro, we’ll run a different
shot of Sherm’s each day.
One, ’cause no one does it like Sherm and, two, ’cause our
brother runs off his own cash express and if we can peel a note or
two off to keep him hitting the shutter, well, ain’t that just a
good thing.
Today, Kolohe Andino aka Brother and his Daddy Dino at
D-Bah.
“You can see when Dino and Kolohe get in conversations, how
Kolohe takes it all in,” says Sherm. “He listens to his father…a
lot. Intently. More than the average son. And that’s impressive.
They get into these moments of intense conversation really quickly.
They talk about everything: the way he was surfing,. what’s going
on in surfing, this board, that board and what the fuck Kelly is
doing. But…everyone…does that!”
It’s a relationship that’s gotten softer over the years.
“When he was younger he started rebelling but, now, I rarely see
any tension between them. If Dino is saying something Kolohe is
listening. I think he realises his Dad still has a lot to offer
him.”
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Cherry blossom season at the Bu.
Surfer sliced to hell by leashless
surfboard at Malibu!
By Derek Rielly
Owner of leashless board cries and says, "Fuck that
guy! I hate him!"
Today’s project is surf injuries. Earlier,
you thrilled to the SUP pilot, whose face now resembles a treasure
map, and, now, a Topanga surfer who was drawn a third armpit by a
leashless surfboard at Malibu.
Will Milner, 47, is an artist who calls First Point, Malibu,
home. When he’s not in his art studio in West Adams he shapes
boards, mostly hulls.
Let’s hear his story.
I was enjoying a small early south swell pulse two sundays
ago at the Bu. The lineup was kind of jammed, first sign of summer…
the surf was inconsequential, waist maybe chest, good but no big
deal.
Anyway, I had been noticing this girl burning people most of
the morning… not to mention incessantly running to the nose…
I had avoided her pretty much until she lost her board. This
all happened really quickly… The girl once again burning a
dude on a a set wave, she ran to the nose, arched her back, her
board got hung up and tossed with the momentum of the breaking
wave, tail first.
I kind of scolded her for a minute and she yelled to me and her
boyfriend sitting next to her, “Fuck that guy, I hate him” and ran
away to the parking lot crying.
I attempted to roll to avoid it hitting my head, but the
tail/fin slammed and snagged my whole right side… her board, the
dude’s board and my board to the beach… I knew I had been basically
stabbed, I could feel cold water in the wound… Swimming in I told
the girl her board slammed me and it’s not good… she started
crying… on the beach, more of the same.
Holding her stomach and crying. I didn’t see her get hit,
but idk. I kind of scolded her for a minute and she yelled to me
and her boyfriend sitting next to her, “Fuck that guy, I hate him”
and ran away to the parking lot crying.
So I asked the boyfriend where they were from, didn’t get
too much info… needing to take care of my wound, the lifeguard,
Carter, super cool and nice, helped me out, I couldn’t see the
gash, he looked surprised maybe shocked, , so I knew it was
probably bad… he offered to call an ambulance.
Fortunately my girlfriend was with me… and drove me to the
emerge care in Malibu… they wouldn’t see me because my insurance
company website was down, drove to the one in Calabasas, two-hour
wait. I insisted that the nurse at least check it out… she obliged
and said it was bad and maybe the muscle is torn and sent us to the
ER in West Hills… 20 staples.
I don’t know the protocol on this, but if I had lost my
board and wounded someone, I definitely would offer to help etc..
the girl was a brat.
Maybe her ego was bruised, embarrassed? And didn’t want to
admit she was wrong?
It’s a good story, yes?
Two questions: Would you cry and say, ‘Fuck that guy, I hate
him’ if you’d carved out a new piece of real estate on another
surfer?
And what sorta country sends a wounded man back on the street
because “the insurance company website was down”?
