dating, geny, surfing

Because at the time it was cool

I grew up in the time of the belly button piercing. A time when trampolines had visibly lethal springs and kids broke their legs on pogo sticks. It was the late 90s and if you weren’t surfing after school then you were curling up on the couch with your Uncle Toby’s yoghurt topped muesli bar and getting ready for the next episode of Heartbreak High. Most girls sat leg locked sporting their latest Ryan Sheppers’ sweater, his giant sweat banded head splayed across the minimal contours of their chest. The rest stabbed away at inanimate parcels of flesh, mum’s bloodied sewing needle in hand, hoping this was finally the episode where Drazic took his shirt off.

There’s a certain type of person that gets a belly button ring. Turns out that person’s not really me. But because Alison McGaw had one with a big turquoise dangly ring, it didn’t stop me from trying. Alison McGaw was that girl. Skin of bronze and a shiny flaxen mane reminiscent of a scandinavian summer sun. She was every teen boys dream. She lived in the glow of the male gaze, the closest they’d ever come to Summer Bay’s Bec Cartwright. She wore the latest Havaianas and dated the hottest semi-average surfers in the school, the ones that owned white Oakleys and drew Stussy signs on their text books. And somehow, in the time between 8th grade maths and science, I decided that a belly button piercing and hot surfer babes were inextricably tied. A beautiful marriage of accessories that, if captured, could coast me into the sweet stages of popularity, free of high school angst and puberty blues.

It was a weird era, OK. Kids were confused. Velcro wallets were still a thing. People liked break-dancing and there were many many Fast and the Furious movies in development. It was a period marked by the wholesale absorption of surfing into popular culture across Australia, largely driven by the accessibility of Sun-In. A time when there were no SUPs and the most annoying people in the water were swimmers.

A window of starkly confronting contrasts presented themselves pre Centenary; Paddle Pops were still 75  cents and the internet was making lots of noise not yet understood by way of our own youthful ignorance. It was a time of censored exploration, boys had bad manners and according to alcohol everything required incomprehensible amounts of sugar and fluorescent colour. Surfing was a big thing and your gear dictated your flimsy state in the hierarchy of cool, Billabong being at its peak. Yes, consumerism was abounding but people still hated advertising. So, jabbing needles into ourselves with the only high being shiny body adornment was not the weirdest thing going around. And, if someone were giving out awards for self-body modification I would certainly not be receiving Best & Fairest.

I never got that piercing. My mother caught me half way through entry point, with an ice-cube on one side of my belly button and a big shiny Singer needle on the other. Hot surfer boys and beach babe life were a distant reality. I was destined to remain in the inferior land of chubby academia for a few years yet.


As it does, time goes on. The cycle of life continues, as David Attenborough would say. Beverley Hills 90210 caught a second win and Heartbreak High was probably sold off to some Japanese production company. It was 2005, organic products still hung in the periphery and sun safety was not yet a prerequisite to peer pressure. The internet was really fingering the world for the first time and just like a couple of fondling 15 year olds, no one knew what was coming. A proliferation of discman jokes proved the brink of the digital evolution. But, most importantly, true to Nature’s sick humour, Alison McGaw had well and truly peaked at the age of 14 and by now had inherited her mother’s staunch figure and overall rotundness.

It really was the Golden Days. And for a coastal populace surfers were the be all and end all. With the help of the Marie Claire sealed section we were blossoming into women and surfer boys into mostly immature surfer men. An age where surfers stuck out like a beautiful tanned thumb and the Gold Coast was a somewhat appealing getaway. The majority of us had not yet discovered anorexia but were incredibly aware of the allure of ‘thin’. Life had become more of a contradiction and still, the one thing that was not confusing were surfers. Good old reliable surfers, marked by a certain swagger and a tang on their tongue. Easy to pick amongst the sea of skaters, goths, nerds, metal heads, footy guys and general misfits. Yes, like most confusing times we make life easier for ourselves by boxing people in.

People will tell me that surfers have never been characterised, that it’s a lifestyle, that something something “how ignorant of you to stigmatise”. I know that to be true to a certain extent, I’m not so intellectually lazy to think we’re all made from a specific selection of cookie cutters. But if science and a little thing called semiotics, the study of signs, has taught me anything, it’s that there were intrinsic signifiers around these subcultures, ones that allowed us to make sense of the chaos of an impending digital world. A world that would diversify even the most typical of characters.

If not, why had I felt the need to steal my brothers Rip Curl boardshorts to wear to the swimming carnival? Why were people that still wore Oakley’s now outcasts? Why did I actually start surfing at the age of 17 instead of just finding a surfer boyfriend? Why did I think Manly was heaven on earth when I hadn’t really ventured anywhere else? Why was Billabong going public? Why did I pretend to read surf magazines when really I was way deep in Tom Wolfe and anything from Emily Bronte. Why was Mick Fanning considered good looking? Why was Luke Stedman the hottest man in a young girls world? All things I can only answer like this, “because at the time, it was cool”.

Everything can be explained by this single statement. Anything that matters to us in our formative years can be associated with this. ‘Cool’ had undeniable weight in our lives and surfing was fucking cool. Surfing was the shit. Just like Skylines were cool to dickheads, surfing and all that related to it allowed us to figure stuff out. Identifying others in this way gave us passage to identify ourselves and our place in the greater world. Similarly, having a surfer boyfriend allowed us to feel a part of something. We belonged and like traffic lights, we knew when to come and go. When things were vague or ‘orange’ we knew when to slow down. Surfing made sense. We understood surfing “because it was cool”.


By 2009 I had over indulged. For years surfing and surfer boys had been my gateway drug. I was the fat kid at a child’s birthday party that circled the food table like a shark. My brain had been baked in a salty oven and it needed to cool.

I was in my early 20s, I had in some small part imprinted my name on most Australian surf mags and to be fair, many surf journos were lyrically experimenting with their writing styles, and it was good. A sense of raw authenticity was emerging with styles mimicking that of Bukowski and Kerouac. It was cliche but it was a pleasant dilution. But even still, with this diverse injection of flavour, the world of surfing was small, and I longed for big.

Beaches, bikinis and sunsets took a back seat. Surf commerce was dying a slow death. I wasn’t interested in who the hottest surfer was and my superficial views of ‘surfers’ was at an all time high. The metro-sexual trend had taken full effect and surfing suddenly represented narrow-mindedness, lack of ambition and an obstacle to personal growth, for this reason I didn’t want to be with or date a surfer. Instead, I spent time with tech heads that filled my brain with concepts like augmented reality, visionaries that broke down mental barriers, and writers whom opened my mind to philosophy. I started engaging with people I never usually would have associated with. The world was a different place, it was bigger, scarier but exciting, it became a place with more opportunity.

Sometimes I think the shift was about the coin. A drift subliminally related to money. When I was 21 my brother asked me “Do you really just want to write for surf mags? There’s not much money in that.” And at the time I thought, yeah this is the best, what a great lifestyle as I collected shrapnel from bottoms of bags for a morning coffee. Money prevails. Money talks. And I was listening to that debilitating internal echo of “cool don’t pay the bills, honey”.


Listening to people flex their intellectual muscle can often be much more of a show than a process of learning. It’s amazing how unbearably obnoxious life becomes the more educated and evolved you become, plus the further you distance yourself from saltwater. And, while I’d been away from surfing and it’s cultural intricacies for quite some time, I’d also failed to realise that that too was in a state of constant evolve, for the good.

It’s 2015 and the reality is, I’ve missed surfing. I’ve missed the ease of life that surfing so casually brings. I’ve missed the tan. I’ve missed the daily dose of naturally occurring magnesium; the most powerful relaxation mineral readily available to us. I’ve missed the menagerie of colourful characters that inhabit this world of surfing, whom are now a diverse bunch of creatures that see the sport as an achor and not a box. I’ve even missed the odd dickhead that’s still doing burnouts in his ‘98 Skyline in the car park. And, without leaving shallowness in the 90s, I’ve really missed the man babes.

Of course, people don’t really run belly button piercings these days, and believe me I’d judge you if you did, but I do think it’s become a beautifully disorganised motley of intrigue. Sure, you can sense someone’s a surfer, but you can’t really define them by it, just like you shouldn’t define someone by their job or who they date. Cool then and now are two totally different things. Cool is about the new, unexplored, anything that will ‘blow your mind’ instead of your gear. It’s about a personal sense of awe over the collective. Let’s not forget the influence of the world wide web and how for surfers, that has made a big world small and a small world big. Allowing the sport and lifestyle to access innovation, technology and locations like never before. The fact surfing is becoming more and more diluted, a sobering hybrid with other sports, is testament to the fact it’s more of a lifestyle than a culture in which to assimilate.

Sure, I’m older and wiser and I don’t care about accessories anymore, so my epiphany is hardly isolated. But, surfing again made me feel grounded, it restored something I felt I’d lost. ‘Cool’ was just a pre-meditated sidekick to surfing I didn’t really understand. I’ve stopped blaming surfing for my season of creative conflict, and I thank it for pushing me outside of my comfort zone. And while this ‘great return to surfing’ may sound pretty soppy and lame to you, I’m loving it, because to me, right now, it’s fucking cool.

dating, geny, men

Excuses girls give to avoid single shaming

Girls talk a lot of sh*t when it comes to being single; most of it depicting their ‘singleness’ as a hand they’ve chosen rather than dealt. Why? Because apparently being single is socially regressive and closely equated to having a disease, maybe something like Herpes or not owning a Netflix subscription.

Despite its seemingly embarrassing nature, being single isn’t actually a disease, nor is it a rite of passage. It’s just a fact of life, like cellulite or your mum adding you on Facebook. Everyone is single at some point. Sigh. But, some of us hate to admit it and instead come up with vague, self-validating reasons as to why we don’t have a boyfriend.

 Excuses, lies, social fabrications, whatever picture you want to paint, they’re there to serve a purpose – to make a single gal feel better everytime a friend finds a boyfriend or, worse yet, gets engaged. These are five of the most common excuses to avoid when you feel like you’re being single shamed.

“I intimidate men”

The mother of all excuses, often seeded by someone in your family or social circle that worships the ground you walk on. It goes a little something like this, “You’re just too pretty and smart and independent. You’re so confident, boys are scared of girls like you”.

 Single girls take pride in this reason, it massages their ego. In reality you may very well be an alpha female: you’re probably smart, independent and beautiful, but so are a lot of other girls, other girls with boyfriends. In this case, your triple threat combo has probably led to some serious walls, which men find hard to breakdown. While this reason might make you feel better, it’s relatively transparent and sort of just makes you seem needy and narcissistic. If you feel single shaming coming in hot, cool it down with a “I’m just wading in the dating pool right now”. You’ll feel better for the humility.

“I just came out of a pretty messy relationship”

Remember that time when you went to a dinner party and everyone was in a couple and they were all like “do you even go here?” Then you queued your ‘I just broke up with someone and I’m pretty cut up about it’ mixtape, which really sounds like a rendition of “we actually broke up 2 years ago and I can’t get over it”.

 This may be true, your ex may have been the love of your life, but unfortunately he is the essence of his namesake, “your ex” and after two years it’s pretty safe to say he’s going to remain all the way back there in the past, just like your sex life. Try not to burden everyone with your First Girl Problems because this makes you sound high-maintenance. Go with something real and something casual, “I just haven’t found anyone I’m interested in dating yet”.

“Men have too many feelings”

You are a badass player. You are way too much of a hot sassy bitch to be needy. People applaud your heart of stone because you’re a stone cold fox.You are pretty much Chloe Sevigny and you have all the men feeling the feels.

 If you’re checking these boxes like men are checking you out, then they probably do have a lot of feelings for you, most likely in their pants, maybe sometimes in their hearts. But, if this is truly happening then you probably don’t feel the need to give an excuse for your singleness. This single shaming reason is reserved for those that want to appear unattached and unattainable. You may be slightly insecure or perhaps a little wounded from bad experiences with past relationships. Here’s a hint, it’s not conducive to your love life to tell people/guys you have no feelings, it’s an immediate roadblock to romance. If you’re looking to appear cool and a bit blase go with “I’m having fun being single but wouldn’t say no if the right guy came along”.

“I’m just focusing on my career for a while”

No you’re fucking not. No one is. What you’re focusing on is the best combination cocktail to keep you from quitting and spending your limited super on a mediterranean getaway. We all know there is always time for dating. Everyone knows that. Amal Alamuddin knows that. The “focusing on my career” excuse is a timeless one that mostly comes across as a little immature. It’s as bad as “I just don’t have the time” or “I want to get back to knowing the real me before I find someone”.

As humans, we’re made to love and be loved, to deny yourself that in exchange for excelling in your career seems quite depressing. Sure people will be impressed by your tenacity and resilience, but ultimately they’ll probably just feel sorry for you. Let’s play with something a little more upbeat and open-ended like, “I’m not looking for anything serious right now”.

“I have commitment issues”

The commitment issues excuse is very transparent and something that belongs to “I’m scared of getting hurt and I want you to pursue me and prove your worth”. As it slides out of your mouth, you secretly hope it paints you as a vixen that’s hard to nail down. You envision yourself as a Tumblr girl, half naked in CK jeans smoking a marlboro and staring at the camera like “you wish you had this many likes”. But that’s not really true, you’re the girl doing insta mainies at 11pm and puffing on a winnie in the blacked out corridor in your low-rent apartment block. This reason will never make you seem as sexy and wanted as you might think it does.

Believe it or not, men are far more emotionally evolved than we give them credit for, they are beings with desires, needs and feelings that need tending to, just like women. While they like the chase, if you seem closed off and unreceptive to their advances, they will very quickly halt their steps in your cutesy tic-tac quest for love. Next time someone asks you why you’re single, better to go with “I’m not really sure what I’m looking for in a partner”.

Single shaming can be confronting and no one likes to feel romantically inferior or inept, but it’s the people who are able to be honest  that will be granted a healthy life dose of clarity, confidence, courage and commitment. Being single is a choice, not a disease and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.


Why guys don’t like funny girls

Pop culture has lead us to believe many a thing; party girls most definitely never get hurt, “zero fucks given” is now a legitimate reason for not doing something, and if somebody likes you and hasn’t put a ring on it then you should twerk your booty ’round in some sheer black neoprene until they do.

Tv, movies, shit we find on the interwebs and largely netflix would also insinuate the cute kind-of-sassy funny girls that get too drunk at weddings Emma Stone always end up with the very good looking, pragmatic Ryan Gosling’s of this world.

Well, just like party girls often end up semi-naked, face down in a burrito at 6am at a Starbucks on a Sunday, so too do many  funny girls end up single, watching 30 Rock re-runs while yelling “Dumplings for one” down the phone to their local Vietnamese on a Saturday night.

But, let’s be clear about the exact definition of a ‘funny girl’ in this instance. We’re not talking ‘commercial comedienne prompted by queued audience laughter types bridget jones diary‘, but more the witty, caustic social commentary humour that conjures unexpected hilarity. Think Tina Fey, Lena Dunham, Dorothy Parker, Fran Lebowits, all of whom make you laugh and think at the same time and maybe even pee your pants a little. Now let’s dial it back a bit, take away the celebrity, the shine, mostly the money, till we get back to the common funny girl. Still funny, just a li’l more single, a li’l less rich.

So, if you consider yourself one of those girls that can really throw out a LOL but can’t quite catch a mate, these are some of the reasons you don’t get the guy.

1. You are intimidating

You scare men. You make them feel inadequate. Why? Because you’re smart, which is the underlying fuel for your innate humour and apparently the worst thing to ever happen to a man’s penis. This must mean you like books and reading and other dumb dumb things that don’t involve making sandwiches with a side of sex on a daily turn around. You like challenging banter and often blur the lines between being dry and being rude. You like Amy Poehler; he likes Adam Sandler. You make jokes he doesn’t get and don’t find his particularly amusing or well executed. You prefer to watch the news than document his weekly Saturday football game via Snapchat. You leave no place for him in your life and he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. And as a result of this, neither do you.

2. Men are the funny ones

Male western culture is designed to breed funny. Take the Seth Rogen, James Franco, Jonah Hill manpanionship; just casually hanging out 24/7 for the hahas. So, you are male and you can’t even funny?… then you can’t sit with us. Us being the guys playing beer pong and  chest bumping over there in the corner of the bar. Being male and funny equates to having friends and getting more chicks than your looks would otherwise allow you to. It’s guy maths and it doesn’t apply to those with ovaries. Women, ladies, girls that run the world, are not ‘expected’ to be funny. And, you are definitely not expected to be funnier than him. But you are, and worse yet you are funny in front of his friends. You are a unicorn. You are like a big plate of LOLsagne and everyone is eating you up.  You make jokes at his expense and even sometimes around his family. You have gained all the laughs and he has lost all his manhood. You must go before he becomes fatally more insecure.

3. You’re just not that into him

Not really. You probably L.O.V.E love him or are at least keen to grab a drink and maybe turn down for what. But, just as we, girls, are nurtured from a young age to be quiet, polite ladies, so too are men’s perceptions of us. You’re confident, outspoken, drawing attention with your quips and anecdotes, then surely you couldn’t be interested in him. Your slightly abrasive, push-pull conversational tone tells him you are not so keen on his face, or maybe you’re just a lesbian, as he’ll later recoil to his 300 friends on Facebook. While we might look for a certain taste of humour in men, men see humour as their special provenance from which their primitive side triumphs. It’s a communication breakdown and one you shouldn’t bother wasting time on pandering to his insecurities.

4. Triple threats are dangerous

If you’re good looking, smart and funny, then it’s probably not just men that hate you, it’s women too. Only women hate you because they are baby makers fending off fierce competition to procreate and men hate you because you are some strange alien sent to their local cafe to make them feel wildly insufficient and maybe even  a little short. Being a triple threat can be a triple fucking nightmare and a lonely existence for a woman. And in fairness, when we think of the recent wave of funny women emerging through the cracks in pop culture’s diversifying sphere, none of them are particularly gorgeous. Kristen Wiig, Sandra Bernhard, Kathy Griffin to honestly name a few. While men instantly go up with quick banter on their scale of one to hot, I’m not so sure this is transferrable to women. Men want to look after you and, more importantly, be better than you. They want you to slide into their life like mayo on their burger, fitting perfectly between the meat and the sheets. Being a triple threat makes you unapproachable and unattainable to most men, unless they themselves are one. You’re not mayo, you’re the special sauce and if they don’t get the recipe then they don’t wanna go there. So, best be looking for that unicorn or  turn your womb to 250 degrees fahrenheit and ready to settle.

So, what do we make of this? Do funny girls need to tame it or just accept that some men will never actually accept them?

Personally, laughing is one of life’s greatest pleasures and the ability to ignite amusement in others is an even greater joy. So, to deny yourself that, purely for the affection of another, seems repressive and ultimately dissatisfying. Surely there’s a Chris Pratt out there for every Anna Farris.

So, keep it real. Real funny.