More Skaters, Less Culture (Part 2)
My previous piece cracked open a question I couldn’t shake: What does “culture” really mean in skateboarding? The word often points to music, clothes, and art — expressions I see as satellites. But the foundation runs deeper. It lives in the independence, the mindset, the negative space, the transmission, and the tactics that give skateboarding its shape.
Culture as a Practice of Independence
The roots in surfing? Skater Dater (1965), the first skate film showing teenagers claiming the streets, documented the beginning of the break from it. That first wave (pun intended) ended quickly due to obvious equipment limitations. Then came the late 1970s and early 1980s. The gear and the tricks were in constant evolution, but skateparks shut down under liability pressure. What happened next is one of skateboarding’s best formative legends: 1) Skaters returned to the streets. 2) They created DIY ramps and zines. The unspoken motto was “the scene starts here and now.” Interestingly, skateboarding had to restart from scratch for the second consecutive time. From there, it was understood that skateboarding didn’t arrive as a ready-made community, but grew from a grassroots movement. First rule? “Do it for you, not for anybody else.” The second rule was “Anybody can join — but learn the unspoken set of rules.” Some Fight Club vibe.
This script has completely flipped. Not only are solo sessions a rare occurrence, but they are also multi-generational (a novelty), multi-activity (including scooter use and kids playing around), multi-gender, multi-level, and multi-style, with everybody gathered in cliques, having their own set of goals. The previous uniformity — everyone watching the same videos, reading the same magazines, and understanding the same references — has given way to a new chaos. Intrinsically, neither era is better or worse, except that where there was a sense of linear progression, now the ethos is “anything goes,” troubling for a sport. And yes, part of the language once included heckling friends for a shitty style or a weak ollie. Now it is frowned upon.
Culture as a Mental Framework
Historically, in the backdrop of these mostly solitary sessions, loomed another pillar: the ‘no rulebook, no coach but a lot of tries’ one. It’s the golden rule. As you progress, you discover that failure is omnipresent, but can you call “failure” a long, stressful learning process that builds character in a way never imagined before? It’s just a step in the learning curve. Yes, you will fall often and get hurt frequently, but getting back on your feet makes you a skateboarder and earns you respect. Learning involves patience and grit, and shows you that the most significant part of the battle is in your head.
Weave that truth into your understanding, and you start to grasp how your body works in space, sometimes with almost no reference point. Scientists have proven that this affects cognitive flexibility and promotes calmness in disorientating situations, proprioception (reflex building and adaptability), and mental visualization. You’re welcome!
For at least four decades, the beauty of skateboarding was that you learned by yourself, watching videos and studying sequences in magazines. It was an integral part of the process: you figure it out on your own. Maybe there was some bitching and whining along the way, and a lot of board smashing that no shop owner ever complained about.
Since the shadow of the Olympics rose, the number of parents seeking skate lessons for their kids has skyrocketed. You now have skate teachers literally holding kids’ hands as they step onto their boards, roll up a soft transition, and fakie down.
The impact of this on the benefits of learning on your own remains undetermined.
On the other hand, there is still a set of rules floating around, aka the unspoken rules. Snaking, trying a trick after someone else tried and failed, over-waxing, putting your belongings on a skateable obstacle, not waiting your turn, cutting another skater’s line, etc.
There is one unspoken pillar that hasn’t changed since the beginning, though: a more experienced skater will never make fun of a beginner trying a trick; the laughter you hear? They live rent-free in your head. More often than not, the best skaters will give a little extra tip while rolling around. When that happens, you know you’re in.
Culture as Negative Space
As Jason Jessee — a polarizing figure criticized for past words and actions — once put it, ‘Skateboarding, I love it so much I want it to die.’ History shows that when the number of skateboarders shrinks, it often reinvents itself and sparks a new pathway to success.
That’s what I call negative space: the parts of skateboarding that live outside the scores, where expression matters more than results, and the so-called dead times when it looks invisible yet quietly rebuilds itself.
Contests once made that negative space visible. With audiences made up mostly of skateboarders, you needed more than tricks — you needed personality and consistency. That created storylines fans loved obsessively (look at you, you are still loving it!). There was a clear, loud, and unique message in a long frontside grind across one wall, punctuated by a high, fast plant on the facing wall. It was unmistakable. A slower line of tricks performed on two 4-foot sheets of plywood, out of a 24-foot-wide ramp, told a different story altogether. Around the world, skaters could read this body language, trick choice, and rhythm as a kind of language. Fans weren’t obsessed with winners — they were tuned into expression.
Sign of the times? Modern contests, such as the X Games, have flattened that expression. The spectators — predominantly non-skateboarders — are here for the spectacular. Runs are judged primarily on the difficulty of the “trick-du-jour” and the number of falls, resulting in a polished yet homogeneous (almost boring) aesthetic.
Meanwhile, the other side of the spectrum — the uncoded, everyday practice far away from the spotlights — thrives around small curb crews, DIY sessions, and neighborhood spots. Choosing not to compete is, in itself, a powerful statement that has been proven to be just as rewarding in the long run. In that sense, the original practice of independence is back in full swing.
Culture as Transmission
This is my favorite topic. I love the etymology of a name, the genesis of the trick. Not only who did it first or who did it best, but also who did it differently and why. It’s one of the roots of the unspoken language. The vector conveying the practice. The engine motivating the journey. It gives skateboarding its nobility. Very much like the Japanese names for a kata. Same with the spot history. Who skated that bench or that curb first? Who and what made it iconic? How do the ABD and the NBD fit into the narrative? If you’re going to try a trick at a hubba and you know (as you should) that so-and-so has already filmed the trick, you’d better put down the camera until you add a twist to it. The parallel with classic history taught in school is evident. If you don’t know your history, you are doomed to a form of stagnation, flirting with manipulation and regression.
There was a trend to give a trick a specific name if you knew you invented it: Madonna, Jolly Mamba, No Comply, Sex Change, Saran Wrap, Hurricane — the list goes on. It brought a specificity like no other to skateboarding. Then came a trend where video games, specifically the TH game, replaced previously accepted trick names for aesthetic purposes. That opened the door to people using “Frontside Indy Air” in place of a Frontside Air (my personal pet peeve).
Culture as Tools & Tactics
No footballer, tennis player, basketball player, or swimmer will drive around to find new spots. None will have their heart beat faster than if they had found a new, previously unridden spot. Skateboarders will.
Skateboarders have developed a special set of analytical skills that allow them to scan through these situations in a split second: weighing the potential danger of the place, the challenging crustiness of the sidewalk, and the timeframe to come back, with variables including light, “bustability,” and more. Being aware of your environment is a form of constant translation — seeing obstacles not as limits but as raw material.
They factor in falling and recovery as part of the process, and fold in the demands of documentation — fisheye, DV cam, long lines — because the way skating is seen is inseparable from the way it is done.
The core of skateboarding culture lies in its ethic, creativity, resilience, and reinterpretation of the everyday. It’s more than what surrounds the board — it’s everything about the ride, before, during, and after. Art, music, and fashion are amazing satellites, but would they even exist if the core were any different? And how will they evolve now?
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Sticking to it with the leftovers of some infrastructure, if lucky. They stuck for no other reason than to keep on learning the tricks they had seen before, and take them to different grounds. The next step was to build their own transition if they couldn’t skate the bulldozed skatepark anymore. That’s how ramps were born out of necessity. So, there it is, the strongest root in skateboarding is to build your own scene. In a parking lot to emulate surfing during a flat spell, then in ditches, abandoned pools, and then building ramps. Starting small and growing. Like an apprentice entrepreneur.
Creating your scene entailed a heavy dose of solitary time, which, coincidentally, is also the prerequisite condition to every type of creative endeavor. Creation emerges from boredom and the burning desire to express ideas.
We build friendships through struggles, frustration, and pain. Success is only the icing on the cake. In the 90s, we built friendships in the streets. Skating or running away from security guards. Playing cat and mouse under the scrutinizing, hateful look of bystanders, business owners, and such. Now skateparks are opening everywhere. The thrill of being part of a band coexists with the potentiality of harvesting an ersatz of the Olympic fame.
You still have to find the group you belong to. It might take a minute or a few weeks, but eventually you do because it’s one of the best things in skateboarding, regardless of the decade you started in. As Freddie De Soto said in a talk last week, “It’s a community. I have friends who never let me down since I met them in the 70s, and I keep on meeting new friends now: through skateboarding.”
“What is interesting in skateboarding is not its popularity peaks but its repetitive deaths. “
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The culture of skateboarding isn’t just its art, fashion, or music. Those are visible outputs, but they orbit around deeper cores. Here’s how to break it down if you want to explore this in your writing:
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🔧 1. Culture as a Practice of Independence
• Scene-building: The true culture lies in the way skateboarders have always built something out of nothing—DIY ramps, zines, crews, brands.
• Self-teaching: No rulebook, no coach. Learning tricks through persistence and failure is cultural in itself.
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🧠 2. Culture as a Mental Framework
• Line choice = worldview: How you interpret a spot is a mindset. Two skaters, same curb—two realities.
• Obsession and repetition: The hours you spend trying one trick say more than a playlist ever could.
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🕳 3. Culture as Negative Space
• What it rejects is just as telling:
• Mainstream authority.
• Easy categorization (sport vs art vs crime).
• Linear success stories.
• Predictable aesthetics.
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🧭 4. Culture as Transmission
• Trick lineage is cultural: who did it first, who did it best, who did it differently.
• Spot history is cultural: who skated that bench first? Who made it iconic?
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⚙️ 5. Culture as Tools & Tactics
• How you fall (and get up).
• How you spot terrain: turning a bank, pole, or crusty sidewalk into a playground.
• How you document: fisheye, DV cams, filmed lines—all tell a story about how skating sees itself.
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Art, music, and fashion are extensions. But the core of skateboarding culture is found in its ethic, creativity, resilience, and reinterpretation of the everyday.
You could even say:
“Skateboarding culture isn’t what surrounds the board — it’s how you ride it, where, and why you don’t quit when it hurts.”
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Mindset & Growth:
- It's not about how fast you progress - it's about how long you last.
- Failure isn't the opposite of skateboarding - it's the foundation.
- No one is judging you as hard as you judge yourself.
Pain & Perseverance:
- Pain is part of the process, but fear is what prevents us from doing it. Do it scared.
- You'll get hurt more from hesitation than commitment.
- Taking a slam doesn't make you weak - getting back up makes you a skater.
The Deeper Game:
- Skating is more mental than physical - most battles are in your head.
- You'll learn more about life from a skateboard than from school.
- You're not just learning tricks - you're learning patience, grit, and flow.
Style, Culture, Self-Discovery:
- Style is something you grow into - not something you copy.
- You don't need to fit in. Skateboarding was built for outsiders.
- Skateboarding won't always feel like fun - but it'll always feel like freedom.
The Unexpected Truths:
- The board becomes your therapist, your canvas, and your escape.
- Progress isn't just landing something new - it's showing up on the days you don't want to.
- Skating won't fix your problems but it will remind you who you are.