Surfer; a Magazine and a Feeling

Back in the 4th grade, I used to cut up the pages of old Surfer magazines, which my father subscribed us to, and create collages to go on top of every notebook, folder, and binder that I had. I remember sitting on the stained, carpeted floor of my bedroom with glue and scissors in hand, flipping through the laminated pages for photos of my favorite surfers (Taj Burrow, Ry Craike, Andy Irons). After a little while, people began to comment on my collages. And for a brief time, I created and sold them to my classmates for about $1 each. While the money was nice, and the Slurpees that I bought with it even nicer, it was the time alone where I would get lost within the magazine that I cherish the most. 

Surfer was everything. It brought the out of reach, in reach. It was the connection point for myself, and millions of others, to the weird and wonderful world of surfing. Without Instagram, let alone the internet as we now know it, Surfer was the surfing media and it embodied a stoke that was contagious. So contagious, I might add, that my friends and I would leave a magazine in our parent’s cars to look through before paddling out for a surf of our own. 

When I look back at my childhood as a young surfer and think about the people, waves, and things that most influenced me– that got me excited about the ocean and wave riding– Surfer Magazine might be number one. The ads, the interviews, the free posters (!?!?), the portfolios, everything. I soaked it all in until I absolutely oozed surf culture (with sun-bleached hair and tanned skin to match). 

As I grew older, I watched as the surfing world changed around me. Money, which once flooded industry, was gone just as quick. Having survived the dot com boom, with a hardened and loyal base, it was still no match for the arrival of Instagram and the vloging aftershock of YouTube. Like footprints on the beach, magazines and other physical publications vanished before our eyes. The beloved surfers slowly disappeared too. Some, albeit valiantly, put up a fight, but today, few surfers have maintained the stardom that they once felt throughout the first decade of the 2000s. 

Still, Surfer Magazine prevailed. Loaded on the shelves of every coastal Airport and on the credit card statement of the burnt out and forgetful, Surfer Magazine hung around. Not only did the publication survive, it seemingly thrived. Quick to adapt to the changing society, Surfer created a strong Instagram and YouTube presence, boasting 2.2 million followers on IG and multiple video series’ like “Shed Sessions” and “Quivers.” In some ways it just seemed like Surfer Magazine was too big to fail. It had survived so much, and apparently with such ease, that I simply assumed that it could make it through anything. 

But as millions of Americans will tell you, the disaster that is COVID-19 has a way of throwing a wrench in things. On Friday night, less than a week ago, the story broke that the entirety of the Surfer staff was furloughed by their parent company, American Media, thus shutting down the legendary and 60 year old magazine. I, drunk at that time, didn’t really know how to react. I was stunned, shocked, confused. And as dramatic as this sounds, it honestly felt like I had lost a friend, or at bare minimum a respected mentor. For my entire life (and for my father’s entire life), Surfer Magazine had been there. It was the cornerstone of the industry– an anchor for surfers everywhere. And just like that, the line was cut and now we simply drift.  

It has been a struggle, this past week, to come to terms with such a loss within the surfing world. With the magazine gone (literally overnight), a vacuum has been created and I truly don’t know what could possibly fill it. The Surfers Journal is the last major physical publication remaining, but its literary and artistic lens leaves out the inseparable kooky and punk world that surfing loves. Stab Mag, a rapidly growing online magazine, now has a stronghold on organized surfing media. But I’m worried that their overly casual, badboy (I use “badboy” because it’s literally only dudes at the place) persona does a disservice to the romantic type, who enjoy a touch of elegance when reading about the ocean and waves and the people who ride them. Surfer Magazine did it all, earning and maintaining the respect of all surfers across the spectrum. 

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Yesterday, as I paddled out to a frigid but playful Ocean Beach, I couldn’t help but notice an extra weight on the water. Surfers sat hunched and quiet, picking waves every now and again, moving from one edge of the sandbar to another with just a few turns. Nobody brought it up, but we all felt the loss of the iconic magazine and it showed. That being said, there was an undeniable comfort in knowing that the loss was shared by a worldwide community of wave riders, only few of which have known a world without the magazine. And as I glided up and down a crumbling, waist-high left, I couldn’t help but feel that rush of excitement– that edge-of-bliss feeling that surely started Surfer Magazine in the first place. The legendary publication may be gone, but the core of surfing, the core that the magazine so avidly promoted, shared, and spread, would never really go away.