In 2005, Hawaii’s John John Florence became the youngest surfer ever to enter the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing at age 13, which established him as the sport’s wunderkind. Florence is 31 now—older than many of his competitors on the World Surf League’s pro circuit. He’s also a new dad: Florence and his wife Lauryn CribbÌęwelcomed their first child, Darwin, in May. And Florence is also a veteran of the painful injuries that surfing dishes out. He’s broken his back, torn the ACL in both of his knees, cracked bones in his wrist, leg, and arm, and suffered too many sprains and strains to count.

But Florence is still one of the best wave riders on the planet, and earlier this year he won his third world championship. The accomplishment, when added to his hefty trophy case, makes him one of the most decorated competitive surfers ever.

We caught up with Florence to discuss the demanding regimen that keeps him atop a field of athletes that gets younger every year.

OUTSIDE: It’s been seven years since your last world championship win. What did it take for you to achieve that this year?
Florence: It was the best journey that I could have ever imagined. There were a lot of years where it seemed like I was on my best roll, and I was like, ‘this is my year to win another one,’ and then there’d be injury after injury. But I think that’s what made this one feel so special,Ìęall that work and sacrifice and everything that went into it.

Meditation was a really big part of my whole program this year. The first thing I do when I wake up each morning is a 20-minute meditation, and then usually later in the day, I do another meditation, more of a visualization of the lead-up to a competition heat. Visualizing what it looks like an hour before a heat, and then 30 minutes before a heat, and then five minutes—down to the moment it starts. For me, I don’t necessarily love visualizing specifics in my surfing, but more the way I feel.

I visualize how I feel when I surf my best, and how it feels when I’m really enjoying myself. It’s like this kind of relaxed confidence, and I put myself there over and over and over again, seeing everything from the water to the sun to putting my jersey on to the feeling of the sand. Thinking about all that and trying to build the most real picture you can. It’s crazy how well it works.

I definitely showed up to the world championships with more intention in what I was doing. I put a lot more preparation and energy into it, and then was able to really let go and feel good. That happens a lot during the year in certain heats or events, but it doesn’t happen in every heat.

That’s what I was worried about, was showing up that day, not being in the right headspace and really nervous or anxious and that’s when I don’t surf my best or perform my best. To have gotten myself to get there for that specific heat was special.

How does your training and injury prevention differ now fromÌęwhen you first started?
When I first started, I didn’t do any. Now I spend a lot more time on recovery and making sure my body and my mind in the right place. I learned a lot about how much my mind has an effect on my physicality. The times I’ve been injured have been when I’ve been anxious or not wanting to be there. So now I do a lot of work behind the scenes. Almost nonstop, actually.

I do a lot of meditation and mental stuff. And then on the physical side, I like to make my training fun. I do a lot of cardio and leg work, whether it’s cycling or riding a foil board, or just things that I like to do, like hiking in the mountains. And then I do a lot of this newer stuff called Dynamic Neuromuscular Stabilization. It’s smaller movement, more functional muscle activation.

That has made me feel pretty solid in my knees and my old injuries. I’ve gotten to work with a few people over the years: Chris Prosser, Tim Brown, and Drew Morcos at MOTUS Physical Therapy here in California. Learning from them and trying to create a program for myself that makes sense. These workouts impact everything in surfing, from quicker recoveries to less soreness. I’ve had two ACL surgeries back to back. Both knees, if you don’t do anything for them, can get stiff and sore. Now I don’t even think about it. I forget that they happened. I attribute that to a lot of the work I did behind the scenes.

For recovery, I do a lot of sauna and ice. At my house I have a little recovery center. I have a float tank too, which is cool for mental training. You can fill it with Epsom salt. I also have a hyperbaric chamber. I kind of go in and out of using them based on what I’m feeling like I need. So I have a lot of little knickknacks and things

This summer you again competed in the Olympics. How was the experience different from Tokyo?
It’s funny because the first year I went to Tokyo, I came to the realization that it feels like any other event. When you’re in the water and you’re surfing and you’re competing, it feels the same, almost.

But then, when I went to Tahiti, I underestimated everything that was around the event, and I guess I didn’t really prepare myself in the best way for that. On the tour, I have my team that I travel with, and I have a lot of control over how I set up my program in and around the event. Going into the Olympics, you’re going with Team USA, and they’re setting up everything, and there’s a whole new set of people that are there helping. It’s incredible support that they gave to us down there, but it’s just different. And the Olympics – the structure around the event – is also very different; it’s much, much more structured than we’re normally used to.

Those things that were around the event made me nervous once I was there for a week. I got a little anxious about it. As a whole for surfing, it was amazing to have the waves that they got, though – other than my result, personally, I was kind of bummed.

How has being a dad changed the way you surf for fun?
My normal surfing hasn’t changed that very much. But my feeling around competing has really changed. My wife and my son were down at the finals at Trestles [in Southern California]. It was such a tense environment down there. But when I would look at my son—he’s four months old, so he’s tiny—he’d smile. For me that changed it from life or death in the finals to ‘Okay, that’s a game. This is my life. He’s my life.’ It took the pressure off in a way and made it a little more clear for me to be able to take a step back. ‘Okay, I just got to go there and surf. I know how to surf, right?’ Rather than being a little bit lost and like, ‘Oh shit. This is intense.’

What advantage do younger surfers have on the old guard in competition, in the U.S. and overseas?
Everyone just gets better and better at surfing. There’s that. And then, I think the guys are starting to take it more seriously earlier on. So these guys are coming on to the tour and learning at such a quick pace how to compete and how to wrap their mind around the events, and whether they’re meditating or training or nutrition or whatever it is, everyone’s going like, 100 percent into it. When I first got on tour, there were probably a handful of people taking it super seriously, and now it almost seems like it’s everyone. It pushes me. It pushes the sport.

This year I went all-in with nutrition and chefs and bodywork. I told myself, ‘I’m going to do everything I can.’ And you have to now, because a lot of guys are doing that. Maybe it’s the pure drive of wanting to win. Everyone wants to win so badly now.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ìę

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Hawaiian surfer has long been lauded for her powerful style and relentless desire to push women’s surfing forward. When surfing made its 2021 Olympic debut in Tokyo, Moore also became the first women’s gold medalist. That same year, she went on to win her fifth world championship. The Olympic surfing event begins Saturday, July 27, and the gold medal rounds are slated to be held on Tuesday, July 30.

Moore, 31, will enter the 2024 Summer Olympics as both the defending champ and and a soon-to-be former pro. In January, she revealed her plans to retire following the event. The 2024 surf competition will be at °Ő±đČčłółÜ±èŽÇ’o, Tahiti’s renowned wave that breaks over a jagged reef and is known for its steep, high-speed takeoff, incredible power, and long, deep barrels. Mistakes there can have big consequences: the slightest misstep can mean getting dragged across the reef under an avalanche of crashing water.

The wave was added back to the women’s professional surf tour just three years ago, after a 15-year hiatus, boosting women’s profiles and experience at the treacherous spot. Moore joined the competition there in May at the Shiseido Tahiti Pro, where she finished fifth. Before she returns for her Olympic appearance, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű caught up with her to hear how she’s training for the big event, which surfers to watch for, and what she’s envisioning for her post-competitive life.

OUTSIDE: How did winning the Olympic gold medal in Tokyo change your life within surfing?Ìę
Competing in the Olympics and winning a gold medal opened up surfing to a broader audience, but I still feel like it’s the perfect amount of people knowing me—it’s not too overwhelming and my life hasn’t changed drastically. The coolest thing that’s happened—and wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t win gold—was being painted on the side of a building in Honolulu, my hometown.

It was surfing’s first time in the Olympics. I didn’t really know what to expect. I definitely felt like the scale of media was a lot bigger than competing on the normal surf league tour. People that don’t watch the Championship Tour and maybe don’t understand the sport, understand what the Olympics is and understand the gold medal. So I think being able to relate to people outside of just surfing changed. I definitely met more people from outside the sport that I wouldn’t normally think would ever watch surfing or know who I am. But in that same breath, I don’t know if it’s just the ebb and flow of how media works, but I’m very grateful that it’s not too much.

How does the Olympic surfing competition differ from a normal Championship Tour competition?
Surfing is usually a pretty independent sport. You have your coach or your little crew that travels with you and supports you. But what’s very different at the Olympics is I’m staying with some of the people that I consider my biggest competitors on the championship tour. You know, Caroline Marks, Caity Simmers, John John Florence, and Griffin Colapinto. We’re all staying on the same property and we’re a part of a team and we’re surfing for our country, which is special and different. And as much as it’s competitive, and obviously we all want a medal, it does feel like this is a celebration of our sport and the celebration of sports, and to be a part of that is really cool.

What’s your favorite and least favorite part of the Olympic wave, °Ő±đČčłółÜ±èŽÇ’o?
It’s such a special place in this world. It’s one of the very few places I’ve traveled to that’s fairly untouched, still. It’s nature at its finest, and everything’s raw and big and lush and beautiful. You can really feel the energy and the power of the land and the sea.

That wave, it carries, we call it mana—our power. It really feels like it has a personality and a mood and a mind of its own. It’s a wave that brings out a lot of emotion, it brings out a lot of characteristics in yourself: you have to face yourself at a wave like that, because it takes a lot of confidence, it takes a lot of commitment. It takes facing your fears and facing the things that scare you the most.

People say it’s a beauty and it’s a beast. It’s one of those waves that really deserves time and respect. For it all to come together, you really have to be at peace and in tune with yourself. You can’t hesitate. You have to trust yourself and your ability and your skill set and your preparation, and you have to trust in the wave what it’s going to do. You have to just surrender and let go, which is so much in life. So I’m really looking forward to competing there, as much as I’m scared, and very intimidated, let’s be honest. It’s probably one of the waves that I am fearful of the most and that intimidates me. But I’m looking forward to the challenge.

That was one of the things that played a part in my decision to depart from competing full-time this year; I wanted to spend more time at Tahiti. This is a part of my performance that I wanted to improve, and it’s been really meaningful to me. Just the process of okay, I’m going to put in the time and put all my eggs in one basket, and I’m really going to dedicate myself. Knowing myself and that these kinds of conditions – waves of consequence – is not the strongest point of my game, it definitely changed my approach. I just need to spend the most time as I possibly can there [at °Ő±đČčłółÜ±èŽÇ’o] to wrap my head around it, just spending time in the lineup and with the wave. Surfing the wave and learning the lineup, the different types of waves that come in on the reef.

And then when you’re not there, [it’s about] taking the time to meditate and journal on it and try to visualize myself picking the right wave and problem-solving when it’s time to problem—solve, or, you know, take a couple of deep breaths when that moment of anxiety comes up. But it’s crazy. There’s so many different types of waves. We don’t even know what the conditions are going to look like. There’s so much that’s out of my control. So for me, being open and adaptable to whatever comes my way is a big one, as well.

There’s so much that goes into it besides just surfing and the mental part. I talk to a psychologist, I train a few times a week – there’s a lot of little different pieces of the puzzle. And then it’s just important to have fun and find ways to distract yourself and rest and all that, too.Ìę

Which female surfers does °Ő±đČčłółÜ±èŽÇ’o favor?
The women who’ve really stepped it up just in the past few years are so exciting and really inspiring. Brisa Hennessy has had some good showings there the past couple years. Vahine Fierro, she’s a local, and I would say the biggest favorite going into this. Caity Simmers and Caroline Marks, my fellow Americans, are right up there with having a super consistent season already, and both are talented barrel riders. Then you have Molly Picklum, who’s a charger from Australia. I could go on to the whole list of everybody. Obviously, Tatiana Weston-Webb got an incredible wave in this last Tahiti Pro, and she’s a charger as well.

What role do you want surfing to play in your life after you no longer compete?
I’m still figuring that out, and I’m learning that’s OK. Most importantly, I just want my life to be filled with joy, with purpose, and surfing. Surfing will always be part of it, whether that’s in a contest jersey or not in one. But doing things that are meaningful and fill me with joy is what I want to continue to do, whether that’s work with my charitable foundation, or that’s creating performance content pieces that are inspiring other people to chase their passions; if it’s connecting through my social channels to share my story and my experiences and be vulnerable. It’s like “hey, it’s not always perfect.” It always doesn’t look a certain way. There’s no specific timeline or mold or thing that you’re supposed to fit into, and just encourage other people to live authentically and find things that fulfill them

Everyone’s like, how’s retirement? And I’m like, ‘Guys, I’m not retired. I’m just shifting gears and evolving.’ I’m in this transition of change but at the same time, I’ve been busy and had a lot of stuff going on this year, including the Olympics, which is important to me. So post-Olympics, I’m looking to give myself a little bit of time to just settle for a second and then reassess, like, what, where and how do I want to move forward?

My normal, everyday is probably how I will continue to live. I like to get up and go to the beach and go for a surf. I like to work out. I like to work on my Moore Aloha charitable foundation. Even today, in the lead-up to the Olympics, I’m still doing those things. Maybe I’m not preparing for the next event. But I’m still going to be filling my days with going to see my family or taking the dogs for a walk. I don’t know if much is going to change besides the fact that, yeah, maybe there is a little bit of a void that I need to figure out.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ìę

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Over the past year, competitive has become more inclusive of transgender athletes—a move that has placed Australian surfer ’s right to compete Ìęat the center of a global debate.

In December 2021, Surfing Australia—the national governing body for competitions and surf clubs—allowed transgender athletes to compete in the category that corresponds with their gender identity, as long as they follow a comprehensive set of rules. The move sparked a response from the two international bodies that oversee Olympic surfing qualifications: The International Surfing Association (ISA) and World Surf League (WSL). In November 2022, the ISA published its own rules for transgender inclusion, and in February, the WSL adopted similar criteria. Both rulebooks follow guidance from the International Olympic Committee, which says transgender athletes can compete in the women’s category as long as they adhere to testosterone requirements.

The new rules had a profound impact on Lowerson, who is believed to be the first and only out trans woman to compete in WSL events. Lowerson, 44, competes in longboard competitions.

“What it changed was, before I didn’t feel safe,” Lowerson told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “I didn’t feel like there was a support network. And then to see that there actually were influential people that were supportive and there was a network of safety being created. For me, that was, subconsciously, the thing that made me say, yes, I would compete.”

Lowerson has participated in a handful of competitive events since the ruling, most recently the WSL’s Manly Beach Classic longboard event, which will conclude on Friday, May 5.

The ISA’s rule change was spearheaded by Dr. Lee Rice, a San Diego-based family practice physician who specializes in wellness and sports science. Rice is the chairperson for the ISA’s medical commission, and told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű that he was aware of how other Olympic sports had created rules for including transgender athletes. While attending a 2022 panel discussion on the topic at the IOC headquarters, Rice decided to begin his own research into the topic, which eventually led to the new policy.

“We knew that we had to have some criteria developed because other nations now are starting to have competitions that will qualify people, theoretically, for [the 2024 summer Olympics], and they’ll want to know what our standard was,” Rice said. “We had to be fair to those countries so they were properly educated about what’s legitimate and what’s not available.”

According to the ISA, a transgender woman can compete in a women’s event by maintaining a testosterone level less than 5 nanomoles per liter of blood for 12 months, which requires . Rice said the new rule was born from conversations he had with a wide swath of scientists, sociologists, and athletes. The rules represent the ISA’s commitment to safety, fairness, and inclusion, he said. Built into the legislation is a mandate to reevaluate the decision as more data on transgender athletes becomes available.

The announcement, however, generated vocal opposition from some prominent surfers. Global surfing icon that the governing bodies should simply create a different division for transgender athletes. And surfer Bethany Hamilton, who over the past few years has competed in several elite-level WSL contests and was the subject of two films about her surviving a shark attack as a teenager, posted an saying she would boycott WSL events if the rules remained.

“I personally think that the best solution would be to create a different division so that all can have a fair opportunity to showcase their passion and talent,” Hamilton said. “But we are seeing instances of male-bodied dominance in women’s sports like running, swimming and others.”

Hamilton did not respond to °żłÜłÙČőŸ±»ć±đ’s request for comment. Her Instagram posts were picked up by dozens of media outlets, and sparked nearly 26,000 comments both in support of and against the rules from professional surfers, members of the surf industry, and fans. Her comments also came at a time when the rights of transgender citizens and their access to related medical care have increasingly become political and cultural flashpoints across the United States. And the pushback from Hamilton, Slater, and others has placed surfing within the ongoing global argument around transgender inclusion in elite sports.

In 2021 the for transgender inclusivity, but allowed various sports’ governing bodies to create the actual rules. This has led to a patchwork of legislation. World Athletics, the governing body for track and field, who underwent male pubertyÌęfrom participating. Cycling’s governing body, the UCI, to maintain a testosterone level of less than 2.5 nanomoles per liter of blood for 24 months in order to compete. Both sports have grappled with public pushback to their respective rulebooks for either being too lax or too restrictive.

Rice is well aware of the cultural and political context in which he and the ISA are working. But he’s also confident in the thoroughness of their research and discussion, which along with science experts also included athlete representatives.

“We want to be as inclusive as we can and we want to be as fair as we can,” said Rice. “Sometimes you can’t be 100 percent inclusive and also 100 percent fair. So you have to say, ‘Okay, what’s the most reasonable thing to do, all things considered?’”

For Lowerson, being thrust to the centerÌęof the debate has produced a wide range of emotions. While she said comments like Hamilton’s are disappointing, she also frequently gets messages from trans and nonbinary surfers who have been inspired by her story to continue with the sport.

“Growing up, not having an ambassador as such—a role model—that had led the way was a big reason for me not to take that first step [and transition] for so many years,” she said.

Lowerson says that she struggled with mental and physical health problems before deciding to transition at age 40. As a teenager, she began to feel that her body didn’t match her identity.

“I knew I was meant to be a girl,” she said. “‘Why is my body deceiving me?’ was the thing I used to say all the time.”

Over the years, she tried to transition a handful of times. At each juncture, she was stymied by psychologists, medical policies, and legal hurdles. Most of all, she feared losing the thing she loved most: competitive surfing. She’d started competing as a child, testing her mettle at the junior level before moving on to the WSL longboard tour, where she continued to compete as an adult.

Yet, contests also forced her to confront her struggle with identity. Of those early events, she said, “You’re going out to a heat and they’re calling the names out. I always hated my name because it reflected a male persona.”

“It would reflect in how I would compete,” she continued. “I would either go out and be mind-numb and not even catch waves. Or put really good scores on the board because I would have blocked it out. That was quite hard.”

But in 2020, she reached a breaking point, and says she tried to kill herself. “That was the catalyst for me to go, You either be you or you die. And I don’t want to die,” Lowerson said.

That year, she began a medical and social transition. In early 2021, Lowerson called Surfing Australia to inform them of her new name and offer to help teach them about trans issues. She didn’t plan to compete again, but hoped she could create a safe space for the next generation, for the type of woman that she could have been.

The organization, it turned out, was more than a few steps ahead. Months prior, officials had engaged an advocacy group called Pride in Sport to help guide them on how to be more informed about and inclusive of gender-diverse athletes. By the time Lowerson called, internal education had already begun.

“They were leaps and bounds ahead of where I thought they would have been,” Lowerson said. “To already have had training in how to use pronouns properly was really refreshing. Especially in light of how misogynistic the surf industry can be. It was amazing.”

For now, as the sole known trans competitor in professional surfing, Lowerson is a central figure in the coverage and discussion of trans inclusion in the sport. For some, like Hamilton, her presence presents a threat. For those advocating in favor of transgender rights, her presence reflects respect.

“We look at these attacks that are attempting to restrict the participation of transgender girls and women in sports as really an attack on trans girls’ and women’s humanity,” said Joanna Hoffman, the director of communications for Athlete Ally, an organization working to end homophobia and transphobia in athletics. “Everyone deserves to be who they are in all parts of their life and that should include sports.”

Hoffman thinks that testosterone levels are not the only determinant of athletic ability—a belief also held by some who oppose trans inclusion in women’s sports. But she sees training, access to coaching and gear, skill, and tactics as even more important.

“There are so many things that make someone a good athlete, and to reduce it to testosterone is also an insult to athletes who work really hard,” she said.

Lowerson, meanwhile, is savoring her unexpected return to the surf lineup. In March, she competed in the WSL’s Noosa Longboard Pro, where her run ended in the quarterfinals. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű of competition, she’s also been enjoying her role in expanding trans inclusion in surf. In March, she joined forces with otherÌę likeminded surfers and allies to create , a collective to support trans athletes.

As for the WSL and other surf organizations’ policies, Lowerson sees good intent—and works in progress. “I believe they’ve done a good job so far. Trans athletes are here and here to stay.”

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For Elizabeth Sneed, surfing was more of a calling than a recreational pursuit. An avid amateurÌęathlete, she fulfilled a lifelongÌędream in 2017 by packing up and moving from Phoenix to Honolulu. She quickly found a mentor at the Ohana Surf School and dove into daily lessons.

Not that learning was easy. Catching waves, standing up, and maneuvering require endurance, muscle memory, and ocean knowledge that can take years to acquire. In Sneed’s case, there was also something else: as a plus-size woman, she had never seen anyone who looked like her surfing, in either the water or media about the sport.

“There was never a place for me to be seen, or to feel like I was connected to this beautiful tradition,” she says.ÌęFirst, there was the imagery: posters plastered across the walls at her local surf shops featured young, lithe women—sometimes professional surfers but often models—in skimpy bikinis. The surf-related ads and media she found showed much of the same. Then there was the swimwear: plus-size bathing suits and bikinis are increasingly available, but most aren’t designed for athletic endeavors (read: bottoms that stay put, tops that support).

For the first few years of her surfing journey, Sneed wore bikini bottoms with ties at the hips and men’s rash guards (“I looked like a Raggedy Ann doll out there,” she quipped). And then there were the wetsuits: in addition to surfing, Sneed freedives, but she has yet to find a wetsuit that fits. During the winter, she muddles through, cold but determined.

At first, she accepted those barriers as the cost of her body type. But everything changed in April 2020, when she saw an image of plus-size fitness influencer Ìęposing with a surfboard. Sneed was at a low point in her life—she’d just lost her job and was going through a breakup—but the Instagram post sparked something. “At that moment I thought, I have never seen a plus-size woman surfing,” she said.

A month later, she launched the channel on Instagram. Sneed’s follower count quickly grew past 40,000, and brands and modeling agencies came calling. Now she’s launching a website, a retreat, and consulting services to help create a community and to advocate for other plus-size woman surfers. Every few months, she partners with the Ohana Surf School to host a Curvy Surfer Girl meetup and surf lesson, where women of all sizes can learn and practice in a supportive environment. And Sneed isn’t alone. Though the surf industry’s portrayal of female athletes has long focused on those who are thin, young, and white, a growing grassroots movement of women is challenging that idea. By creating their own spaces on social media, in the swimwear industry, and in the publishing business, they’re pushing the surf world to become more inclusive.

One of these women is artist and educator Brianna Ortega, who in 2017 launched , a magazine, podcast, Instagram account, and series of art installations that showcase women who don’t fit the industry’s surfer-girl archetype—including a Black professional longboarder; a whiteÌęsurfer in her sixties; and cold-water surfers whose hooded wetsuits, gloves, and booties cover their bodies from head to toe.

As a mixed-race woman, Ortega also long felt left out of surf culture. “I hear over and over from other women, ‘I didn’t think I was the type of person that’s allowed to surf, or who has the capacity to surf, because of my body type,’” she said. “When you’ve been marginalized from a system you have to make your own space.”

More recently, Australian graphic designer Thembi Hanify and American writer Mariah Ernst launched , a semiannual publication that celebrates diversity of all kinds in the water. And in Mexico, self-described curvy surfer Risa Mara Machuca just launched , a line of swimsuits that range in size from XS to 5X and are also available for custom orders.ÌęSmall independent companies such as Ìęand , a scuba-focused brand, have also popped up to meet the demand for size-inclusive suits.

To surf neophytes, images of diverse women’s bodies catching waves may seem like no big deal. Over the past decade, the body-positivity movement has made inroads into nearly every facet of American society. Gone are the days when consumers accepted muscular, rugged white men as the only representatives of everything from biking to fly-fishing, or skinny white women as the sole models for athleisure.

Yet in contrast to the myriad sports, brands, and media outlets that are actively embracing inclusivity, surfing has remained stubbornly stuck in the past. “Modern surfing, particularly in an industry that’s come primarily from California—and Australia’s played a key role in that too—idealizes a narrow idea of surfing and femininity,” says Holly Thorpe, a sociology professor at the University of Waikato in New Zealand who writes about the intersection of action sports, gender, and media.

“It is the idea of the super-sexy surfer girl,” says Thorpe. “She’s a girl, not a woman. She’s young. She’s blond. She’s beautiful. And she has a white, tanned body. This is a very narrow mode of representation which has been repeated and repeated and repeated and reinforced for decades. That has a major impact in terms of women around the world who think surfing’s not for them.”

What makes the work of women like Sneed so significant, then, is that it’s establishing a counternarrative to that dominant archetype that sprang up in the mid-20th century, when surfing migrated from Hawaii to the continental U.S. and Australian shores. Some of surfing’s pioneers were , including Hawaiian royalty like 17th-century Princess Kaneamuna, whose surfboard was found in her burial cave and is the oldest one ever discovered. Hundreds of years later, another Hawaiian princess, Ka‘iulani, helped revive the sport on her home water and introduced it to England. Once the pastime left Hawaii, however, it was quickly co-opted by an emerging industry that was almost exclusively run by and for white males.

For ten years, Todd Prodanovich was an editor at Surfer magazine, the first and oldest of the media outlets to cover surf culture in the U.S., until it closed in fall 2020. Surfing has long had a body-obsessed culture, he says. The male-led surf industry exploited that obsession with hypersexualized ads and photo spreads; from the , there were the ubiquitous with close-up photos of women’s behinds in thong bikinis, ostensibly as a visual reference to their footwear. In surf films, there was a standard butt shot, usually of bikini-clad women lying facedown on a beach, or of women, seen from behind at a low angle, watching the men surf. The messaging was as unsubtle as it was inescapable. (Men, Prodanovich noted, aren’t exempt from the pressure to look lean and muscular either, though they aren’t sexualized in the same way.)

Another reason for surfing’s lag behind the times may simply be that, until recently, it could languish in the obscurity that comes with being a relatively tiny, navel-gazing subculture. According to the Outdoor Industry Association’s , while surfing is growing in popularity worldwide, the size of its market is a fraction of that of other outdoor sports like running, hiking, or fishing. Free of external scrutiny, it’s been able to remain an insular, highly circumscribed ecosystem—and the industry has embraced that insularity in its marketing.

It’s that dynamic that drove Sneed and other recreational surfers who didn’t see themselves represented in the surfing-industrial complex to launch their own media channels and brands. And big surf companies may be slowly starting to listen. In an email, Rip Curl CEO Brooke Farris notes that the company’s market research shows that consumers perceive it as “too pro surf” and “too perfect.”

“We love the pro-surfing aspect of the sport and sponsor many athletes of all ages from across the world,” she says. “In some respectsÌęthis has limited the growth of our customer base and audience. We’re perhaps still finding that balance between our vision to be regarded as the ‘ultimate surfing company’ to really tapping into the resurgence of broader female participation in surfing.”

That being the “ultimate surfing company” seemingly conflicts with broader participation underscores a longtime tension in what the surfing industry perceives to be its two demographics: the “core”—shorthand for young, white male enthusiasts for whom the industry was designed—and everyone else. The industry’s fear of alienating that so-called core has long kept it in the grip of the past.

So far, Rip Curl has launched a new interactive fit guide, which features a wider range of sizes, body types, and surfers, and an inclusivity campaign called “Summer looks good on you.” In October, the company’s swimsuit sizing expanded slightly, down to a U.S. XS (XXS in Australian sizing) and up to a U.S. XL (which is 2xL in Australia). Wetsuits, Farris said, require longer lead time, but the company will be expanding its range up to a U.S. 14 in February.ÌęFellow surf brand Roxy, meanwhile, released an ad featuring three generations of Hawaiian women surfing together, which was a first for a brand that’s geared toward teenage girls.

The industry still has a long way to go. For maximum inclusivity, Sneed said, a good range of sizes would be XXS to 5XL. That doesn’t just mean manufacturing the same products proportionally bigger, but accounting for the differences in women’s bodies: some women have bigger stomachs, wider hips, or thicker arms.

Despite the slower-than-ideal progress, Sneed is more optimistic than ever. The women building a movement on social media don’t have to wait for the major surf companies to act, she said.

“You’re seeing women mobilizing themselves,” she says. “We’re going to tell them what we need, what we want. And if we have to, we will manufacture it, make the images, and be our own champions.”

Editor’s Note: This article has been updated to clarify Todd Prodanovich’s job title.

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