Reflections from the Surf
Self doubt, sexism, and a surprising appreciation of chivalry
Once more I break the surface, clip-on hat dragging at my neck, hair plastered over my eyes, and snot streaming into my ears. I grapple my way back onto my board, one hand clutching at my bikini bottoms to avoid slippage and an even further loss of dignity. Sniffing aggressively, I blow my nose into my hand and let the contents trail away into the sea. How, I wonder, does no one else appear to have the same problem? Every time I enter and then reemerge from the ocean my nose releases more liquid than I could possibly have inside of me. Perhaps I have a disease.
Panting, I survey my territory. A wave is approaching. Clenching my jaw, I maneuver my board to face the shore and begin to paddle as hard as my arms know how. However just because there is a wave does not mean I will surf it. It crashes onto my head and drags me under. I’m in this watery tomb for enough time to lose all sense of “up”, my lungs fuming at me for choosing this oxygen deprived sport. Just as I resign myself to imminent death, I find air. Gasping, I heave myself back onto my board.
Noticing my plight, an exuberant Brazilian longboarder takes it upon himself to tell me which waves to catch. I find myself exaggerating my incompetence.
“This wave?” I ask uncertainly, as though I’ve never seen water before.
“Yes! Go for this one!” he cries. I paddle earnestly to no avail. The drowning saga plays out once more, but this time with the added bonus of an invested audience.
Such a scene is common when I surf. In an average hour and a half session I’ll catch 3 waves. Let’s say I ride each wave for around 5 seconds. Without the need to do any maths it’s starkly apparent there’s something afoot. How else am I spending this time?
Either waiting, panicking, or evading death.
The more I’ve attempted to infiltrate the surf scene the more I’ve noticed a few things:
1) How much I doubt my abilities, far more than any other sport I’ve tried my hand at.
2) How surfing’s history of sexism continues to play out in the micro and macro.
3) How I accept and even lean into gender roles in the water.
I believe all three things are connected by the idea of “belonging”. Namely, feeling like you don’t.
Surfing has rules. To take a wave you have to position yourself by the peak1 and paddle onto it. Typically many people wait in the same position to be in with the best chance of a ride. When the wave comes everyone races to the peak and the person closest has right of way. If you’re further down the wave trying to access it and someone’s already there, you cannot get on.
That’s called ‘dropping in’ on someone and in the surfing world this is considered a crime akin to murder.
Naturally this creates a lot of jostling for the right position. Surf spots get incredibly crowded, with 20-40 people - in famous spots numbers can reach 200 as one YouTuber reliably informs me - all fighting for the same wave.
If there are more surfers than there are waves, a tense energy brews as everyone’s desperate for their next ride. Instead of engaging in battle, I prefer to position myself far away from everyone else as I “don’t want to get in their way”. I start to feel like a nuisance. If I paddle for a wave I risk interrupting them whilst they go about their important business. Rather than assert my right to carry out my own important business, I become deferential. On the rare occasion it’s just me against the wave, I’ve been known to paddle so half-heartedly that it rolls on by, smooth face untarnished. Even in competition with no one, I lose.
Where does this self-imposed block come from? Three things, I reckon.
For one, surfing is dangerous. I’ve cut, scraped, and bruised every segment of my legs. I’ve smacked my head, bruised my nose, and stripped all the skin off of my stomach. The tips of some boards are pointed like daggers; get one of those in your temple and at least your death will be instantaneous. One woman I met received a fin to the face. It sliced into her with such force that it left her right nostril flapping away from the rest of her nose. And there’s the wildlife. Sharks are a famous threat and, as it turns out, so are crocodiles. On several occasions whilst in Sri Lanka the water had to be evacuated because the bastards had swum down the river and were chilling alongside the surfers.2
For two, surfing is hard. There are many uncontrollable variables. In fact, having given this thought minimal due diligence, I’d argue that it’s the sport with the most uncontrollable variables in the world3. The wind dictates the size of the swell. No swell, no surf. Wind strength and direction also determines how many and how clean - or in surfing lexicon ‘glassy’ - the waves are. The number of surfers in the water and their level dictates how many waves are available and create further peril as they become obstacles to be avoided. Once you’ve navigated all this, it’s down to you and the board you’ve chosen4; how you position yourself in the water and your technique.
And for three, as with all sports, success comes down to mindset. The mindset that I lack here is competitive drive. Conversely, the mindset I’ve mastered is crippling self doubt and an uncertainty over my own abilities due to the fact that surfing is very scary and everyone else is better than me.5
I believe one of the reasons surfing is a male dominated sport is because a large segment of males feel comfortable around competitive aggression. Whereas a large segment of women do not. Warning: simplistic gendered assumptions incoming. Unrelenting self belief and an incredible ability to feel total belonging in any environment means many are able to just *go* for it. I watch on in awe, from an appropriately safe distance, as 10 men paddle against each other to reach the peak. One wins. The others sit back. The next wave comes. The process repeats. Except on this occasion a mistimed take-off sends a board flying into the air. It hits a fellow surfer on the head. The ‘thwack’ is so loud even I hear it from my position way out at sea. Business continues as usual; they appear to hold on loosely to the sanctity of life. Occasionally, such incidents turn brutal. A fellow hostel go-er told me how he got punched in the head because he accidentally stole someone’s wave.6
The default belief of some men is that they are incredibly capable and always right. I’ve met men in the waves who’ve never deigned to have a lesson, flinging themselves around like the ocean was made to serve them. Recently I watched a man paddle in vain for a wave. He was miles from the peak, too far back on his board, and had no chance of success. After missing he comes over to me and grabs the tail of my board. “Next time. Please” he says threateningly, pushing my board away. I realised he thought I was in his way and that I was the reason he missed. It must be nice to be able to see someone else as the problem rather than your own ineptitude. I gave him a death stare. I sincerely hope there is a next time and during that next time his head finds itself compressed against my board.
In Brazil my friend and I were trying to rent boards. The owner was vehement; “I don’t rent my boards unless you take a lesson first.” He continued with a spiel about the quality of his boards and “trust”. As much as I love a lesson, these ones were $50 per person; a hefty price tag in the best of times let alone when you’re on an unpaid sabbatical. A minor negotiation ensues.
“OK. He can rent the board” he says eventually, nodding to my friend. “You have the lesson.”
Immediately my internal discrimination alarm rings. “Why did you say *I* need to have the lesson?” I ask indignantly “Is it because I’m a woman?”
He ignores me. I ask again. My friend tells me to forget it and agrees for us to both take lessons. Largely, I believe, so that I will shut up.
Unfortunately the dude’s assumption was correct. I am considerably worse at surfing. But, as always, it’s the principle. This could be marked down as nothing more than an insignificant exchange, but inadvertently it fuels the suspicion I have that, much like a plus one at the work Christmas do, I am not wanted at the party.
Surfing has a legacy of sexism. When the Christian’s first rocked up to Hawaii7 in the 17th century, both men and women were freely riding the waves. In the nude. The prudes took affront. Shocked at being able to see - whisper it quietly - female breasts they put an end to this slutty behaviour and banned females from the surf. Objectifying and controlling women’s bodies in one go.
Two themes which continued in competitive surfing. There are many accounts of misogyny during the 90s and 00s when women were establishing themselves in the game. You can read what these professionals endured here or here, should you so wish. Huge advances have since been made, thanks to the campaigning of countless athletes fed up at having their talents dismissed.8
All of which makes me reflect; is my self doubt in part driven by the fact that I’ve internalised a belief that women don’t belong in the waves?9 Do I give way to men because I subconsciously believe that they are better and have a greater claim over the peak than I do? Fortunately I’ve not been the direct recipient of overt aggression however I’ve had a few micro run-ins with surfing #sexism over the last four years. These micro acts - plus an awareness of how female surfers are portrayed - may well play a role in igniting my discomfort in the water. Rationally I couldn't agree less with my subconscious self, but sadly that’s not how the subconscious works.
Of all the places I’ve surfed, it’s in Sri Lanka that I’ve seen the most amount of women in the waves. I’ve watched many impeccable female surfers dominate in the lineup, without a hint of the self doubt I possess. I’ve also seen women sitting on their boards out back, having a long-ass chat, completely disinterested in the incoming sets.10 Both groups enjoying the sport albeit in different ways. There’s a camaraderie. Lots of cheering when someone does well. It lends itself to a relaxed, joyful atmosphere.
Fantastic. Except for one glaring gap. Despite spending 2.5months in Sri Lanka I’ve seen only two local women in the waves. Where are my local lady surfers at?
In the last five or so years a number of local all female surf groups have been set up and some impressive pioneers are reinventing what it means to be a Sri Lankan woman in the waves. In a country where a large number of women can’t swim, progress is sadly slow. In rural Sri Lanka, a regressive view of women creates an almost insurmountable roadblock to female wave access. Surfing is the preserve of men. Women belong in the home, not the ocean. Bikinis are not appropriate.11 Paddling out to the break exposes women to other men, something that’s not socially accepted post puberty, and Western ideals, which are seen as corruptive. All of which forces the female surf groups to meet in secret to avoid being marginalised by the wider, disapproving community. Plus, to advance at surfing takes significant time and financial commitment. Two factors that are out of reach of many Sri Lankan women.
The story of Sri Lankan women and surfing is reflected across other sports. Studies show the role that participation in sport has on the development of leadership and cognitive skills. How it builds confidence and comfort working in teams. It doesn’t take a great leap, therefore, to connect the scarcity of females participating in sport with the scarcity of women in the workforce.
The number of which is shockingly low, at 33%. For context the global average of women in the workforce is 47%. Many Sri Lankan women are kept out of work as they’re busy running the home and receive little to no benefits (maternity & paternity leave, childcare access etc) to lighten the load. Of those that do work, they’re largely in service industries or agriculture. In agriculture they’re mainly employed as labourers such as Tea Pluckers, rather than as managers. Indeed, on a tour around a tea factory we asked if there were machines to help strip the tea plants of their precious leaves. “The tea tastes sweeter when it’s been plucked by a lady’s hands” came the excruciating response.
Increasing female participation in sport will never be a panacea to creating gender parity in a society, yet it would probably help.
The “how” will involve a systemic approach, it always does. Female-only spaces are a big part of the answer, as they create a sanctuary, something that’s particularly important in places where the perception of women is conservative. But it’s not practical to red tape off a wave and designate it to those who identify as female.
It raises the question - who really owns the waves, brah?12 Tourists travel from across the globe to surf Sri Lanka’s famous breaks. In doing so they inadvertently dominate a portion of the country’s natural world, rendering it off limits for 52% of the population. Staking a claim to something - whether or not it’s intentional - is particularly contentious in a country that has already been relentlessly exploited for its natural resources. Three forces - Portuguese, Dutch, and British - have come and gone in the last 500 years, leaving behind a nation that’s struggling to keep its finances - and its people - afloat.
A friendly Sri Lankan boy beckons to me.
“This is your wave,” he tells me.
Tentatively enthusiastic I start the wave catching process. He gives my board a push. The wave moves towards shore. I am not on it.
“You need to paddle faster”, my self-imposed surf coach tells me.
“You need to be closer to the peak.”
“Paddle off at an angle.”
“Stand up quicker.”
Etc. etc. Refrains I hear frequently from men in the water.
All valuable advice yet 99% of the time the advice is unsolicited, dished out by a stranger. I also already know the advice as I’ve spent a tragic amount of money on a tragic amount of lessons and watched countless YouTube instructional videos. It’s a shame there’s such a vast gap between knowing what to do and putting it into practice.
Is there a dynamic at play of male rescuing a female in minor distress? Namely, a watery revival of chivalry? It feels like it. And, at odds with what I thought to be true about myself, I love it.
Typically I pride myself on being viciously independent but in these moments I find myself leaning into the role of distressed damsel. Why? Perhaps it’s because after 4 years in the waves I still feel like a newcomer to the scene - I don’t feel like I can be assertive because I have nothing to assert. Perhaps it’s because it guarantees me a safer passage - there’s a comfort in knowing that should anything go wrong, someone is there to help. Or perhaps it’s a genius hack - with the guidance of my surfing sherpas I manage to catch more waves than I would in my own average session. A blend of all, I’m sure. I’m aware that in doing this I’m helping to create a gendered narrative. All the world’s a stage, and all men and women merely players in it, as they say.
As an ardent feminist it’s my duty to consider whether unsolicited advice can be categorised as “mansplaining”. To mansplain “mansplaining”, it’s when a man takes it upon himself - without being asked - to educate women on things they believe they are more skilled at, such as how to breastfeed.
In some ways the advice fits the description.
Yet I don’t believe it is.13
The intent isn’t to “patronise”.14 Instead there is a glorious generosity on display, one that’s encouraging someone to gain confidence in an all-too-often confidence-quashing sport.
Surfing at its core is a solitary sport. Yes, you’re in the ocean with many others but when the starting gun goes it all comes down to you. Free offerings of advice go a long way to counter the sensation that it’s every person for themselves. If they didn’t want you on the waves they’d be pushing you off of them.15 By offering supportive counsel these men are opening a friendly dialogue and creating an atmosphere of people looking out for each other and enjoying the sport for what it offers.
An atmosphere that’s incredibly welcomed when the ocean is doing its very best to claim you as one of its own.
Tellingly, the best waves I’ve ever caught are memorable because they were witnessed. In Brazil I caught one off to the left. The ride was long and I. Was. Flying. Once I’d completed the precarious paddle out back, a man on an impressively short board paddled past.
“Good wave!” he said.
“Gracias” I whimpered and pulled my bikini pants out of my bum.
From nowhere another surfer dude appeared.
“Nice wave!” he shouted.
I beamed.
I believe that is what they call making it. At this moment I was part of the gang, not desperately bobbing around on the edge of it.
The point where the wave breaks, with the greatest force.
River crocodiles may be blind in salt water but their teeth are no less sharp.
Maybe something like base jumping could contend…It’s certainly more dangerous but your variables are only wind, your little suit, and big things in your way. It’s an interesting thought starter at the very least.
From long, short, fish, gun and 1-4 fins: the choice is yours.
At least I am winning at something.
“New fear unlocked” as they say.
The birthplace of surf.
The first time women were officially able to compete in big wave surfing was 2016. Equal prize money for WSL competitions was agreed in September 2018. In doing so the WSL became the first US based sports league to offer equal prize money for all its events.
Internalized misogyny is when women subconsciously project sexist ideas onto other women and even onto themselves.
Sets: like wolves, waves move in packs. One big wave is followed by several more. A set is followed by a period of No Waves.
A comment which could lead to a more in depth point about objectification in a sport that requires women to wear swimming costumes however I’ve already written a lot.
No one.
If I receive unrequested, condescending advice in a normal arena, aka on land, my thoughts are “shut up”
Most of the time.
Something that would regularly happen to female athletes in the 90s and 00s.
Love your writing! Will be coming back to this for tips if I ever muster the courage to make it onto a board myself.