Move For The City

Meet up at Eddie’s Cafe for coffee first. Then hit the DMV, wiggle on down to Market St. Straight downtown. Yep, every Saturday morning. Oh, remember when I used to live in that spot right there on the corner? So many of us had a room there at one point or another.

From the backseat of our boss’s car, headed to an FTC contest, three of us simultaneously looked at each other, half-smirking, half-dumbfounded. Eavesdropping on a block-by-block recount of one of the most influential eras in San Francisco skateboarding, shot back and forth as nothing more than casual chit-chat between two lifelong friends.

Fuck it, sorry Jim—I have no shame, name drops away, it was Jim Thiebaud and Tommy Guerrero, reminiscing on the years they lived in the Lower Haight/Divisadero zone of SF. Including the early days of starting the company that all of us in the back seat now worked for.

Skate nerdery and fanning out aside, it was the connection to the city that stuck with me.

That stage in their lives, and what they went on to build through their brands, ads, videos, and stories directly influenced all of us in the backseat to move to San Francisco.

Granted, none of us were famous skateboard pioneers, and SF had experienced twenty-plus years of gentrification since, leading to our far cushier lives. Still, it was hard not to laugh hearing that the spots they skated, their routines, and apartment arrangements were similar to ours: living in that zone, skating DMV religiously, and lurking at the coffee shop more often than not.

Subconsciously drawn to a city by the urge to be a part of something. Long before we knew what that something was, it pulled us there, taunting us to see if reality could live up to the dream cityscape they painted so well.

The stay-where-you’re-from-and-build-the-scene mentality is admirable and necessary. You can’t have one without the other, but I just can’t shake it. There’s something mythical about skate migration, like following Peter Pan to Neverland without looking back. Letting an average parking lot, ledge, or plaza and the communities they spawn dictate where you want to be.  

In the case of the DMV, we’re talking about a parking lot with a shitty curb and a banked ledge.

Absurd, pointless, perfect. Skateboarding.

Move across the country—across the world, based on some clips you saw in a video growing up.

You won’t regret it.