Memo from the Surf Desk: Man Make Board

A lot of ingredients go into shaping a surfboard. Wood, foam, fiberglass. But most importantly, some stoke. The soul of a surfboard. Made by the hands of a man. Scraped and shaped in some small, well lit room. Or maybe an empty trailer parked in their driveway. It takes time, you know. Deciding which way to go. You have an idea of what you want. And what you want it to do. But no matter what, not one board behaves like another. Too much tail rocker. Just the right kind of rails. Narrow towards the nose. Every little alteration effects its performance. Gives it a personality. Some of your stoke.

And then came epoxy. Pop out pieces of shit, made in a mold. Soulless sticks. Not shaped but squirted - direct injection. They're vanilla to Bing's bubble gum. White rice to Almond's joy. I understand the appeal. They're fun and affordable. But they're anything but beautiful. There's no 10oz Volan or tinted resin. No glassed-on fins or five stringers. And you can't see the shaper's signature. The mark of a craftsman. Putting his name on something he's probably proud of. No. Instead you get a hollow hunk of expanded polystyrene, covered in epoxy resin. An ugly aesthetic and a sad signature. The mark of a man who's sold his soul. Sold his shape. So that GSI can sell more shit. More soulless surfboards.

Sincerely,

Duke Dangerpants