The demolition of Love Park in 2016 marked a significant shift in Philadelphia’s skateboarding scene. With iconic spots gone, many wondered if Philly’s skate culture would fade. However, the city’s resilient skaters simply relocated to Muni, giving rise to a new wave of talent. Leading this charge is Jahmir Brown, a Philly native whose skills, wisdom, and unique perspective are quickly making him a force in the industry.
Jahmir Brown portrait in NYC
Beyond his impressive repertoire of ambidextrous ledge tricks and remarkable pop, Jahmir has shown a maturity that belies his age. He’s faced crucial career decisions, emerging as a fresh face poised for a long and impactful career in skateboarding.
Skateboarding fashion trends often cycle between baggy and slim fits. Could you ever see yourself embracing slim-fit styles again?
Absolutely not! When I was 13, I wore skinny jeans, and they ripped every day. For me, skinny anything isn’t cool and never will be again. You can try to bring it back, but I’ll be rocking big sweatpants until I die. I know what I like. I might go a little slimmer, but never less than baggy.
Many Black skaters have talked about being ridiculed for participating in what was considered a “white boy sport.” Did you experience that growing up in Philly?
Definitely. Growing up in Southwest Philly before moving to West Philly was rough. People would try to jump me, or threaten me, just for skating. I had guns pointed at me, and people called me a “white boy,” telling me to get off the block. It was constant disruption of my passion. You’ve heard it all.
Has that changed for younger kids growing up in the city now?
It’s definitely changed. I think it’s because people like myself and other skaters have been persistent. Doing it every day downtown, people see it, alongside skateboarding’s rising popularity. It became obvious that there was a scene and people were thriving. They just didn’t want us doing it then. Now it’s respected to an extent. They see you can make money from it. They’ve seen Lil Wayne skate and thought it was cool. I’m better than that dude, but he’s cool people! [laughs]
Jahmir Brown switch backside noseblunt
Speaking of Lil Wayne, you met him at Love Park, right?
Yeah, it was around 3 am at Love Park in 2013 or 2014. We were skating late, and my homie Tony Davis said, “We just saw Wayne’s tour bus, he’s about to come skate with us!” We didn’t believe him. But, like 5-10 minutes later, here comes Wayne with two big security guards and his skateboard. He introduced himself and skated with us for a bit. I watched him do a crook on the top level ledge and I was like, “Damn, that’s tall!” He was so hyped to be there, it was fire. But then the homeless people started fanning out, and he got bummed and eventually left. It was crazy.
How does it feel being part of the last generation to skate Love Park before it was demolished?
It’s special to have called that place home. I met so many cool people there, many of whom are still my friends 10 years later. Kids growing up now won’t know what it was like. I remember the end, knowing that any day the fences could go up. It felt like we had time to just bullshit, and then one day it happened. We were like, “Fuck, it’s over.” It felt like watching your house burn down. It was the saddest thing ever.
Being born and raised in Philly, what’s your take on the changes happening in skating and the city in general?
Gentrification sucks, but what can you do? The architecture in the city has changed a lot. Most of our spots are gone, replaced by new ones that are often knobbed. The cheap food places are disappearing, and rent is getting expensive. Philly is starting to feel like a baby Brooklyn or Manhattan in certain areas. It’s definitely getting weird, but the change is slow enough that it’s hard to notice sometimes.
Where I live, it’s one classic row house then four modern houses, over and over again. The classic Philly style is really changing. The people are changing too, but the more people come here, the more they adapt to how Philly is. We force them to adapt because we’re not changing for outsiders. You came to our city.
I’m happy to see new faces skating. People are moving here specifically to skate with us at Muni, which is awesome. But if you see us, say hi. Don’t just stare from across the plaza. We’re regular people.
You transitioned quickly to Palace after leaving DGK. How did that happen?
I wasn’t even trying to get on the Palace team officially. I knew I was going to quit DGK and I just needed some boards. I was going to ride Palace boards either way. I hit up Chewy [Cannon] for some boards, and after a couple of weeks, Lev and Gareth [co-founders of Palace] said they didn’t want to just flow me boards, they wanted me on the team. It was a huge honor. It was crazy to hear those words over text, it meant so much. They had spent time in Philly, and I skated with them before. It felt natural. I’m really grateful to be where I’m at now. They take good care of me.
Jahmir Brown Philly step crook
It’s interesting that you and Jamal [Smith] have skated together in Philly for a decade, and now you’re both on this British company together.
Jamal was someone I looked up to as a kid. Not just because he skated in the city, but because my family respected him. They let me go to the skate shop because of him. They trusted him. Growing up, Jamal was on cable, on On-Demand. If you were a young skateboarder you might not have known about skate videos, you just knew about the sports section of On-Demand, with skate content buried in there. Seeing Jamal on there meant a lot to us.
Has skateboarding made you financially comfortable yet?
Financially, I’m comfortable as fuck. It’s crazy. I get paid to ride my skateboard. I don’t have to work a job. I made my dream come true. And it’s amazing. It feels so surreal. I pinch myself every day to make sure it’s real.
Have you been able to move out on your own?
I plan on moving out next year. I pay rent at home though. I’m not one of these suburban kids who gets to live at home for free. I’d rather pay my mom than another landlord. I moved out when I was 19, but that was from a day job, not skating. Then, I started traveling and getting sponsored. My mom suggested I move home to save money and be more secure while traveling. It was a benefit to be home during trips. Why waste money on high rent when I’m only home four or five months out of the year? Eventually, I want to buy multiple houses and get into real estate. Skateboarding might allow me to buy one, and that will help me buy four more down the line. Skateboarding has helped me think about other parts of my life, like real estate or starting a business. DC and my other sponsors have definitely helped me plan for the future.
You see your skateboarding as art and your career like a career in art. Do you find balance between self-expression and making a career out of it?
It’s hard. I see kids that are better than me and think they deserve it more. But, I put my heart and soul into this, and people like my work and my work ethic. They invest in me because I bring people together, both inside and outside of skateboarding.
When you have these qualities, people want to invest. If not, you have to figure out how to make yourself look and feel special. The more I’ve discovered myself, the more people have seen me, and the more they wanted to invest in me. It’s about finding your inner happiness and expressing that to others. When people see you as an individual, and you stand out in your own light, then maybe it’ll happen. But if not, you get to a point where you’re happy whether the money comes or not.
Do you think it’s easy for skate companies to take advantage of skaters?
Yes, some do. That’s why you have to surround yourself with good people. Good people won’t take advantage of you. They see your work ethic, and since skateboarding is an art, you shouldn’t be afraid to ask about your bread. You have to speak up at some point. It’s important to know your worth, which is the hardest thing to do. It’s not easy, but if you love it, you’ll do it regardless of the money. Just don’t let people take advantage of you, get what you’ve earned.
There’s a catch-22 in skating: if you don’t speak up you won’t get paid what you’re worth, but if you are vocal, you might be labeled as cocky. Have you experienced that?
People might misinterpret it as cockiness, but the difference between cockiness and someone being honest with themselves is when you know you put in the work. I know that I’m putting in the work. I’m the second person from my city to make it into the industry. If you think that’s cocky, that’s fine. At the end of the day, I was a broke kid who didn’t see anything happening for me before skating. I saw people getting hurt in Southwest Philly. To be where I’m at now, hell yeah, I have every reason to smile.
If someone wants to call me cocky, I don’t care because I know what I’ve been through. I’ve earned the right to say I’m a king. Call yourself a king. I’m not saying I’m the king because I rule over people. I say it because I earned this skateboard thing in my city. I’m putting in work. If I want to call myself a king to make myself feel special, I will. And sometimes that’s all you need. If it makes you smile, say that shit.
Jahmir Brown backside board slide
What kind of non-skate jobs have you had?
I hustled. I did random things. I don’t want to go into detail, but the streets are the streets. When I started getting free skate products, I sold boards and shoes. I went to thrift stores, bought clothes for $1 and sold them to other stores for $10 to eat when I didn’t have money. Postmates wasn’t around, so the social media food delivery thing wasn’t really an option for me then.
I worked at Nocturnal Skateshop five to seven days a week, sometimes from 12-8 pm and sometimes 11-9 pm. After work, I’d skate Love and Muni until 1 am learning tricks. I always pushed myself, and I knew what I wanted. I didn’t let anything stop me.
During the early months of the pandemic and the national uprisings for social justice, you were heavily involved in collecting and distributing free meals for the community in Philly. How did that come about?
I don’t even want to talk about the things I do in the city.
Why not?
Because it’s not cool. If you’re gonna do something, you’re gonna do it, you don’t need to talk about it.
But you already did it, you still do it, and I think it’s cool. So tell me about it.
My family and I like to give back to the less fortunate as much as we can. I live in a city where things are tough. I’ve been through hard times, and I know a lot of people who have too. We like to stick together. Now that I’m a bit more comfortable, I can give back a little more. I didn’t have much skating to do this spring and summer because of COVID, and I was home more often. I just saw more people who needed help and I was able to help them so I did what I could.
On recent skate trips, have you encountered anti-maskers, Trump supporters, or COVID deniers?
I was so scared on the Bronze trip. It was my first road trip with a company, not just friends. We went upstate to New York and then to State College, PA, with Jake Johnson. Everywhere we went was just Trump flags, no masks, Trump flags, no masks, everywhere. It was fucked, bro.
Dougie and I were the only Black people on the trip. I was older, so I felt like I needed to look out for him. I also didn’t have any older Black people looking out for me. So I told the guys, “Bro, don’t leave me. If I want to go to the store, I need you to come by my side. I don’t feel comfortable. There’s a lot of people getting hurt out here.”
I was nervous for my life, so I kept my mask on, sanitized, and stayed close to my white friends. Everyone looked after me, which made me feel safe.
Jahmir Brown backside board slide
What can you tell me about the K2 scene at Muni?
[Laughs] People still smoke K2, but not as much as before. You don’t smell it as much either, unless you’re on the train, and people are hotboxing that shit. Sometimes you get on, and have to get right back off or you’ll get a second hand high. That stuff is strong as fuck. Yeah, K2 is still around.
Have you ever tried it?
No, but I’ve been with someone who has. I was dating this girl years ago, and we bought some weed, or what we thought was weed. She rolled it, and hit it first. She didn’t feel good immediately. I was like, “What the fuck?” I was about to hit it, but she said, “Nah, it’s not cool,” so thankfully I didn’t. I nursed her back to health for hours, she was throwing up and everything. I felt bad. We threw it away.
That’s why you should only buy weed from people you trust. Even then, you can easily get caught up with something that isn’t weed. I’m just glad that I didn’t take that hit, and that I was there, and that it didn’t get worse.
Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been saying, “The team is the dream, the dream is the team.” Where did that come from, and how close does that feel right now?
It started at Love [Park]. It was a joke, to build ourselves up, and make us feel better about the nothingness we had. Nobody paid attention to Philly. Nobody cared about our scene. That was our way of making ourselves feel special. It gave us a sense of community and made us feel stronger than we were.
And now we’re way stronger than that. We’re way bigger than that. And in this industry we have a name for ourselves because of what we stood for together. The team has always been the dream and the dream has always been the team. Without this team, we wouldn’t be where we are now. We knew that if we stuck together we would make our dreams come true, and that’s exactly what the fuck we did.
***Interview by: Zach Harris
Photos by: Mike Heikkila
