The Beautiful Move
I had a circus-crazy day. At one point, around noon, I was in the lobby of an extremely trendy hotel in West Hollywood with a circus theme, waiting to be let up to the rooftop for a meeting. Guy Ritchie was checking out after his two-week stay at the ivy-covered, carnival-themed hotel while I stood tapping my invisible watch, waiting to be let up. “Hurry up, Guy!”
I was meeting by the pool with a polarizing figure who likes surfing, and I felt the thrill of Hollywood and the verboten in my veins. And armpits. I was sweating a lot — like, through my shirt and for no reason. I smelled like medium roast coffee. It wasn't even that hot. In the past, that Hollywood thrill in my arteries has led to much letdown and many stained shirts, but today I felt its pull once again and happily tossed my keys to the valet with the swagger of an influencer with wet pits and headed to the rooftop pool ready to rent a red convertible, grab a room, and stay a while. Walk with me for a minute — this story isn't going where you think it is.
A few days ago, the WSL treated us to the professional surfing heat of the decade — well, at least if you're a fan of progressive, hi-fi surfing at three-foot Lowers. Filipe Toledo and Griffin Colapinto got sent out in glassy midday Lower Trestles in the round of 16 or something. Early in the comp. Hot damn, let's see it! And both dudes brought it. Filipe and Griffin did their thing all over those perfect little So-Cal waves, displaying all the subtle details that make them special, driving another wedge between the stylistic differences between California and Brazil.
Filipe showcased his extraordinary rotation capabilities and razor-blade-sharp rail work, while Griffin let his emotional flair and deep cuts on the face make the difference. If you want my opinion, that heat was gnarly and I really enjoyed every wave of it. You could tell both guys felt loose and ready to win or go down swinging (more of that, please!). I enjoyed it like I enjoyed Parko vs. Dane at Snapper circa 2010 or something — differentiating styles sending it in their own way. Choose your fighter.
Filipe wins the heat if you like your surfing to skip like a rock on a pond, and Griffin wins if you like to watch the kerplunk of a stone in a glassy lake. Both extremely satisfying. Both progressive. A heat for the ages really. I think Filipe wins if you look at the heat as a whole. Griffin wins if you're scoring top two. There — I made a call.
When I look back at this heat, though, I think about modern society. (Oh God, here we go!) I think about beauty. That heat was the equivalent of a brand-new Whole Foods/Erewhon shopping center in El Segundo. It was well-lit, progressive, fueling the future of technology, progression, and competition. But it lacked one thing. Despite its influence on conversation this week, it was missing what all "progressive" surfing needs: a classic. I'm talking about the most difficult and beautiful maneuver to complete — the real difference maker when spinning and carving leave us all equal. I’m of course talking about the backside straight air.
I think the backside straight air is our most aesthetically pleasing maneuver. When done right it is perfect. Let's talk if you disagree. Seriously, call me — I'll answer. It's difficult, rare, and beautiful. It is the gothic arch. The column. The most timeless piece of surfing architecture we have, and no one has attempted one in a heat for ages. And that's because they're nearly impossible to complete properly.
Back at the big-top hotel pool today, a helicopter hovered at about eye level on the roof for most of the meeting and made me sweat even more as I wondered what might be happening at ground level — such is the world we're living in. Bougainvillea draped the railing. The sun was radiant by the pool, and Instagram fame and sex flaunted themselves around the exclusive members of the pool. A different beauty. Progressive beauty. Cheap fame. Whole Foods shopping center. Erewhon.
I left the hotel easily, skipping the red convertible to Vegas idea, happy to grab my own keys, pay the exorbitant valet fee and return to my own kind of wonderful at home (martini, pizza, family, etc). I realize that what I had just witnessed is hot — sexy, even — but it's not everlasting. It's not bougainvillea against a Spanish tile roof you own. The temperature in Los Angeles at 11 a.m in June. Jacaranda in full bloom against a June Gloom sky. The craggy central California coast. The straight backside air.
Think about why we never see that air. It is timeless, progressive, and difficult. So let's do more of them! Our arms race of progressive surfing —spin to win, onshore = offshore, etc. has reached a breaking point. We are rotating ourselves too far underground. Progression sometimes must check itself. We must remember what's actually beautiful and difficult. And make sure our attempts at progress are not just monoculture advancements.
I left Hollywood today feeling anxious, like I needed to get this off my chest. I spoke about it at length around the pool with my Bond villain adjacent friend, and the only people who overheard me were the most-followed women on Instagram — the "hottest girls in the world" sprawled out waiting for margarita deliveries. Did they know the importance of the backside straight air? I’m worried they didn’t.
I need more people to hear what I’m saying. I need old-world money and beauty to hear. There is a difference between the carnival and Cirque du Soleil, and the straight backside air is the difference. Put it back in the big top. I see you clown show and raise you a real freak show. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up! Can someone please land a straight backside air in a heat? Perfect 10 and a Yeti every time. —Travis Ferré
