Crashing Surf Expo ‘08

By Nick McGregor

After two days amidst the surfboards, bikini-wrapped models, and ever-flowing beer found inside Orlando’s Orange County Convention Center, I thought to myself, “Surf Expo is decadent and depraved.” I mentioned Hunter S. Thompson’s famous words to my fiancée, and she imagined Dr. Gonzo himself, Tar Gard cigarette filter dangling from his mouth, swatting at the scantily clad surfer girls, watching the scene around him devolve into a sprint of promotion, marketing and sales.

So it goes inside this biannual meeting of one of the most profitable consumer industries in the United States, with thousands of exhibitors, representatives, and sellers reciting rehearsed product descriptions to equal armies of shop owners, buyers, and advertisers. Sales people easily clock 10-15 miles on foot, circling the grid in search of their next appointment. When seeking out that elusive marketing rep or coveted team rider to pitch, they might hear the typical responses of “He ran to the bathroom” or “Think she’s eating lunch” or “Might want to check the beer garden.”

Even though Friday morning’s bushy-tailed optimism leads to Friday night’s good-natured merriment, and Saturday morning’s fatigue leads to Saturday night’s reckless abandon, millions in sales and decades in contracts are negotiated right along with “Who’s buying the next round?” and “How ‘bout that trip to Indo next summer?” Grassroots upstarts splash onto the scene, revered West Coast and Hawaiian chieftains make their annual East Coast pilgrimage, and everyone involved happily goes along to get along, keeping the momentum of the surf industry rolling onward.

Not that there aren’t controversies, though. Proud American surfboard craftsmen suspiciously eye “popout” importer/exporters, who have recently looked to Southeast Asia in hopes of lowering board production cost while stoking “Made in the U.S.A.” patriotism. Every year, somebody’s company just bought out somebody else’s, so-and-so went to work for his former employee’s competitor, and did you hear that Joe Blow just signed a six-figure deal with Swell Dude Dudz, Inc.?

This year’s Surf Expo also happened to fall on the same weekend as the heated AFC divisional playoff game between the Jacksonville Jaguars and the New England Patriots. The Jags have a sizable and fervent fan base in the Florida-conscious surf industry (one company even produces limited-edition Jags shoes), and plenty of hostilities spilled over into neighboring bars after kickoff. A newfound friend of mine, with a ragged New England shirt and a stylin’ Pats belt buckle, even got shouted out of Hooters by a rabid gathering of Jags fans.

On first glance you might think Surf Expo is about product giveaways and shameless branding, half-naked girls and unruly derelicts, “bro-shakas” and gladhanders, or drunken belligerence and constant sexual tension. But Surf Expo is really about a true gathering of this far-flung tribe. The industry head honchos who time this event to coincide with a major Association of Surfing Professionals World Qualifying Series contest at Sebastian Inlet know what they’re doing, making sure every last team manager and marketing rep and teenaged tag-a-long has a confirmed hotel room, a tasty meal, and the good-times-guaranteed run of an perpetually expanding city.

The Surf Expo is decadent and depraved, but it’s also a chance to read the surf industry’s pulse. The Expo whisper word in 2008 was “recession,” but the energized crowds over the weekend and the reported sales sure gave everyone reason for positive thinking. I’d venture to say we all feel a little sense of brotherhood and common cause by the end of the weekend; we’re all keeping this machine moving, and no matter what part you play, from buyer to seller, observer to poacher, or plain old surfer to networker, I can bet everyone came away from Surf Expo with plenty of financial, material, or personal gains (and a brutal headache too). If you ever get the chance to attend this increasingly exclusive event, go for it; all you need is a generous friend in retail. Have a little fun while you’re there, too. Hunter S. Thompson would be proud.