As skateboarders, we often romanticize professional skateboarding as an authentic and unfiltered expression. However, a closer examination reveals that it might be more constructed and curated than we’d like to believe.
The very elements we celebrate – video parts, pro skater personas, and brand identities – are often meticulously crafted and strategically presented. The question then arises: does professional skateboarding truly reflect the uninhibited freedom and playful spirit we associate with the activity itself, or is it more akin to a carefully orchestrated spectacle, much like professional wrestling?
Could it be that professional skateboarding shares surprising similarities with professional wrestling? And if so, can we gain valuable insights by exploring the connections between these two seemingly disparate worlds?
A skateboarder doing a trick on a ramp, with a wrestling ring in the background, subtly merging the two worlds.
It’s important to note that this analysis focuses on “professional skateboarding”—the documented and commercialized performances produced by pro-level skateboarders for our consumption. We are not discussing “skateboarding” in its broader sense, which is a complex and multifaceted activity.
A wrestler performing a dramatic move, highlighting the theatrical aspect of professional wrestling.
Skate-ertainment: Blurring the Lines
Both skateboarders and wrestlers have long existed on the periphery of mainstream sports, often rejecting the label while captivating audiences with their athleticism and showmanship. While debates rage on whether skateboarding is a sport, art form, or profound expression of individuality, one thing is undeniable: both professional skateboarding and professional wrestling are forms of entertainment.
Vince McMahon, the CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), coined the term “sports entertainment” to encompass wrestling’s physicality while sidestepping stringent regulations imposed on traditional sports. This term aptly applies to skateboarding as well.
While wrestling demands athleticism, its primary function is spectacle. Athletic prowess serves to enhance the illusion, ensuring that gravity-defying moves appear impactful and believable.
“Once a skater develops their fundamental physical abilities, they must also put them on display under all kinds of circumstances and pressures in order to maintain a pro career.”
Similarly, pro skaters constantly perform for fans and spectators through videos, photos, contests, and demos. The advent of Instagram has further blurred the lines, transforming their daily lives and skate sessions into extensions of this performer-fan relationship. This creates both opportunities and pressure to perform on their boards whenever and wherever possible, all for our viewing pleasure.
Elite athleticism isn’t always a prerequisite for executing technical tricks in skateboarding. However, once a skater hones their physical skills, they must consistently showcase them under pressure to sustain a professional career. If they fail to entertain with their athletic feats, their relevance fades.
Consider the spectacle of a best trick contest. It mirrors the chaotic energy of a royal rumble cage match, with skaters pushing their limits to land the most impressive tricks. We anticipate seeing seasoned pros like Shecks land a massive kickflip, while knowing that others will inevitably face spectacular wipeouts, mirroring the dramatic highs and lows of a wrestling match.
The success of event promoters lies in their ability to shift our focus away from the manufactured nature of these shows, which exist to promote performers and brands, and instead present them as authentic and connected to the everyday skateboarding experience.
Reality vs. “Really Real”: The Illusion of Skate Videos
Live skate performances, like wrestling, captivate us in the moment. We eagerly tune in to witness incredible feats, even when the event is explicitly marketing products to us.
Skate videos, on the other hand, aim to transcend reality by offering an idealized and enhanced version of skateboarding.
Consider Jerry Hsu’s part in Enjoi’s Bag of Suck. His line in Australia, featuring a nollie back heel down a three stair, followed by a switch 180 and a back 360, is perfectly synchronized with the music.
Jerry Hsu performing a trick in his Bag of Suck part, showcasing the synchronized style of skate videos.
This choreographed performance creates the illusion of raw street skating, fostering a deeper connection between viewers and the skater.
In reality, a skater would rarely execute such a flawlessly timed and technically demanding line while navigating a city. However, we yearn for Jerry’s performance to reflect our own skating experiences, leading us to envision ourselves alongside him, battling obstacles to achieve the perfect run.
Videos offer an idealized vision of street skating, showcasing its potential when talent and fortune are unlimited, rather than depicting the reality of our own skating sessions. Professionally made skate videos are essentially amplified, steroid-injected versions of street skating.
“Professionally made skate videos are really just jacked-up steroidal versions of street skating.”
The relentless pursuit of perfect skate footage can sometimes drive pro skateboarders to questionable acts.
In the DVS video Skate More, Steve Berra constructed and camouflaged skate obstacles within street environments. While his part appears normal at first glance, closer inspection reveals the unnatural perfection of each spot and the hollow sound of his landings on the disguised wooden manny pads.
In wrestling, “kayfabe” refers to the unspoken agreement among wrestlers and promoters to uphold the illusion and storyline that audiences embrace. Breaking kayfabe betrays not only the individual wrestler but also the entire wrestling universe.
The infamous “Curtain Call” incident, where wrestlers broke character after a high-stakes match, serves as a cautionary tale about the importance of maintaining the pact with fans.
Steve Berra’s Skate More part represented a betrayal of “skatefabe,” a transgression that lingered throughout his career. However, it also highlights the crucial role of storytelling in creating compelling skate videos, demonstrating how narrative can sometimes overshadow the tricks themselves.
Regardless of whether we witness Berra evading security guards or negotiating with property owners, we need to believe in the possibility of these obstacles to fully appreciate his part. However, this unwavering demand for “realness” can be somewhat unrealistic.
Skate videos already present an idealized and entertaining version of skateboarding. If we become overly critical and lose sight of the entertainment value, what is the point of watching them in the first place?
Baby Faces and Heel Flips: Skateboarding Archetypes
Pro wrestling matches typically feature a “babyface” (or “face”), a crowd favorite, pitted against a villainous “heel.” The classic example is “Stone Cold” Steve Austin’s battle against the Undertaker at Summerslam 1998.
Richie Jackson, a.k.a. “The Featch,” embodies the pro skateboarder heel. His outlandish attire and mischievous persona set him apart from the mainstream. The Featch isn’t afraid to gloat, take potshots, and stir up controversy, even when wrong, all to remain in the spotlight.
Heels in wrestling resort to any means necessary to win, mirroring Jackson’s unconventional tricks in spaces typically reserved for more traditional skating. Even Jackson’s wrestling-esque name references his prominence as the “feature” in videos.
“Although the drama within skating tends to be much less apparent than in wrestling, it’s still there, and we still love it.”
Babyfaces, characterized by humility and sincerity, also exist in skateboarding. Think of Nora Vasconcellos or Andrew Reynolds. They prioritize clean, stylish skating and strive to be likable without being boastful.
The face/heel dynamic extends to Street League, X Games, and even casual games of S.K.A.T.E., as skaters vie for NBD claims.
We watch these events not only for the impressive skating but also to see crowd favorites triumph over rivals with more tasteful and graceful moves. While the drama may be less overt than in wrestling, it is still present and captivating.
Consider the Davis Gap. Its imposing size makes it a formidable heel. When babyface Andrew Reynolds conquers the gap with his signature kickflip, we witness good triumphing over evil, mirroring the catharsis of watching Steve Austin deliver a Stone Cold Stunner to the Undertaker.
Andrew Reynolds performing a kickflip over the Davis Gap, exemplifying the "good versus evil" narrative in skateboarding.
Times Up, Brother: Evolving Attitudes
Pro wrestling historically showcased overt displays of misogyny, homophobia, racism, and xenophobia. Hulk Hogan’s Wrestlemania match against the Iranian-born Iron Sheik, laden with cultural and social baggage, served as propaganda for white American supremacy. This contrasts sharply with today’s Daniel Bryan, a vegan and PETA activist.
While women in wrestling were often relegated to stereotypical roles, this is changing as female wrestlers prove to be more compelling than their male counterparts. For the first time in history, Wrestlemania’s main event was an all-women’s match.
Similarly, skateboarding, while often touting its diversity, has faced its own cultural and political shortcomings.
Are We Really So Different? The Value of Perspective
Why draw these parallels between skateboarding and wrestling? Why risk alienating readers by suggesting that skating is anything less than entirely unique?
Recognizing the dramatic spectacle inherent in professional skateboarding allows us to distinguish between the marketed image and the authentic experience that drew us to the activity in the first place.
Focusing on imitating the performance of our favorite skaters can prevent us from simply enjoying the act of skateboarding for its own sake.
Skateboarding, in its purest form, is meaningless play. Don’t let the professional performance of skateboarding dictate whether your tricks “count” or not. After all, nobody is keeping score.
