Make It Look Easy

Much like its predecessor (i.e., surfing), skateboarding has always had a near-obsessive interest in style. Unlike most of us mere mortals, a lucky few simply have it, that almost undefinable quality that makes their performance easy on the eyes. It’s even rarer to possess a fluidity, grace, and nonchalance on both water and concrete. Chris Miller falls into that category.

During an era when vertical skateboarding went straight up and down, Miller flowed from side to side. In addition to mastering the aerial moves of the day, like the McTwist—an inverted backside 540—he pioneered lip skating as well. By utilizing the x-axis of the ramp while his peers focused on floating higher in the sky, Miller traversed the coping with the precision of a tightrope walker. He made use of the entire ramp, weaving frontside noseblunt slides or backside sugarcanes into his relaxed competition runs.

Miller’s surf-like approach was a byproduct of his upbringing. He spent the first 10 years of his life in Santa Monica, where he quickly absorbed surf culture by way of his brother Carter, eight years his senior. The younger Miller would visit his sibling at work, hanging out at haunts like Jay Stone’s Blue Cheer and Con Colburn’s Con Surfboards. However, before he really got a chance to join his brother in the local lineup, their parents divorced. While his older sister and Carter remained in West Los Angeles with their father, Miller and his younger sister joined their mother in Claremont.

He awkwardly adapted to his new surroundings—hot, arid, and smog-filled. By chance, the owners of the nearby Pipeline Skatepark in Upland were on the verge of breaking ground on the Combi Pool, the soon-to-be-infamous double bowl. The biggest of its time, the double-overhead monster became Miller’s second home, a canvas that he used to perfect his talent. Before long, the preteen attracted sponsors that eventually gave him the pro nod.

As Miller fostered a career at a young age—he earned his first Thrasher cover at 12—any downtime was devoted to catching rides to the beach. Feeling the pull of the ocean, he dabbled with surfing until it gradually took hold of him the same way that skateboarding had. At 18, he relocated to Ventura.

Now 57, Miller has been surfing regularly for over 40 years. In an alternate reality, one where he had not left Santa Monica at such an impressionable age, perhaps his pastime would have become his profession. If that had happened, skateboarding surely would have suffered. From impeccably performed tricks to the launching of iconic brands, he has contributed volumes to the culture while inspiring multiple generations that followed. And although skateboarding became his livelihood, surfing has been the undercurrent through it all.

EW Was learning to skate the Combi relatable to navigating a lineup for the first time?

CM Steve and Micke Alba and Scott Dunlap were locals there. Now that I know him, Salba’s one of my favorite people and greatest mentors in skating. But, at the time, he was pretty gnarly. There was a pecking order, and you obeyed or you would get kicked out, basically. They would tell you to leave. After skating around in the bottom of the bowl when no one else was around, eventually we got to the point where we wanted to drop in. As kids, the deep end was too big, but the hip was where we could. Like surfing, when you finally decide to go to the peak, and your wave comes to you, if Salba is on the shoulder and telling you to go, you better go. Or you’re not going to get another chance for a while. We had a moment like that. One day, we were there with all these pros. I had a couple of friends that were up there, legs shaking, too scared to go. Salba said, “If you can’t drop in there, you can’t skate with us!” That kid would leave and go cry in the corner. When I got up there, and it was my turn, I went, and I made it. Another friend tried and went full splat. All the older guys were stoked on that kid, even though he was limping out of there. Those kinds of moments are what keep you going, and trying more. Then, eventually, you earn your place in the lineup. There is such a parallel between a localized surf spot and the scene where I grew up skating. One difference from surf culture is that, especially in that era, skateboarding was small. When somebody new arrived, especially if they could actually skate, they were welcomed in. You couldn’t be a total kook. But if you were respectful, could handle yourself and ride the place, everyone was stoked on you. At that time, there was a comradery among skateboarders that transcended your local crew.

EW How did surfing enter the picture for you?

CM My skateboarding was almost always imagining myself surfing, even though I wasn’t a surfer then. We were getting the hedge barrels and looking for places along the sidewalk where a tree overgrew into a tube or a bank—that was a wave to turn on.

EW How did your first session go?

CM When I was about 12, I won one of my first skate contests that I competed in. One of the prizes was a G&S single-fin. It was way too big for me, but it was essentially an egg. I called my brother: “I won the surfboard!” He said he would get me a wetsuit and take me out. We went surfing in Santa Monica on a winter day—it was me, my brother, and his buddy. They paddled outside and left me in the whitewater to figure it out myself. I actually caught a few waves and was pretty stoked. The water was freezing, and so I got out way before them and just waited on the shore. Finally, they came in, and we went back to the car. I had never worn a wetsuit before, and I couldn’t get out of it. I don’t remember the brand, but it kind of had a turtleneck to it. My brother and his friend were heckling and laughing, until they joined in to help. They started trying to pull it over my head so hard, I felt like my ear was going to rip off. In the end, I was crying, and they ended up cutting this brand-new suit off of me. [Laughs.] I just gave my brother the board and told him to sell it or whatever. I thought, “I’m never going surfing again.”

EW What changed?

CM Four years later, I finally had friends that were old enough to be driving. They weren’t surfers, but were into bodyboarding and bodysurfing. We started going to Laguna, Newport, and places with shorebreak. Occasionally, 10th Street in South Laguna is a surfable wave, and I started to try surfing there. I had another buddy from school, whose parents had a beach house in Ventura, which is what first introduced me to that area. We’d go up on the weekends and surf Pierpont and the jetties. That was where I really learned how to surf. My first real surfboard was a hand-me-down Tim Phares Fluid Drive—a 5’10” thruster, more or less. I got kind of hooked on it, but I was so immersed in skateboarding. Not only that, I still lived inland, so it was very much a side thing until I turned 18 and wanted to move out of my parents’ house immediately. I had two friend groups—one choice was to go to Anaheim and live with Neil Blender and his brother, and the other choice was to move to Ventura with my surf buddies Jim and Ward. There was nothing really to skate up in Ventura at that time, but I went for it. Over that three-year period of living there, I really got devoted to surfing.

EW With all the skate-related travel, did you surf on the road?

CM The first time I ever got barreled was in St. Augustine, Florida—I was out there skating at the Kona Skatepark in Jacksonville—on a borrowed board. I remember dropping in and pulling into this tiny tube. Back then, I tried to go to Australia and New Zealand every time I could. I had an incredible session with Andrew Morrison, a ripping Kiwi skater and surfer, and Natas Kaupas, at Raglan when it was double-overhead and going off.

EW J. Grant Brittain shot timeless photos of your career. What does photography mean to you?

CM Because of the era I grew up in, still photography held that magic that in some ways, even now, video doesn’t. There is something about a still photograph and being able to study a moment in time that you otherwise can’t even see when you are watching it. I still love print magazines. For me, Tom Curren was my hero, for sure. It was that era of Occy, Martin Potter, Luke Egan, and even Kelly coming onto the scene as the young upstart. Surfing had so much personality back then. 

EW Your short Animal Farm video part features a single vert-ramp run and then a surf clip. Did any skaters ever negatively comment on the fact that you surf?

CM I think in my case, people always commented that I had a surf style. I don’t think it was ever viewed negatively.

EW Are there any surfers that you feel have a skate style?

CM Christian Fletcher in that old Astrodeck video with Matt Archbold—I was so stoked seeing that as a skater, because that was what I wanted to do on a wave. I always found it interesting that the surf industry basically blackballed Christian. In doing so, it stifled the progression of the sport. As far as airs go, he was by far the most progressive and innovative surfer of that era and just so ahead of his time.

EW Aerial surfing would definitely be different. 

CM I think so. It would have progressed more. All of the earlier aerial pioneers were fringe guys—Davey Smith and Kevin Reed. A few early Santa Cruz guys that were on the forefront. None of them really got much recognition. Christian was the most famous of all of those guys. There is this idea, I think in both surfing and skating, that you can have style or progression but not both. I think that’s finally changing. Almost by nature, good style is kind of laid back, casual, and understated. I think a lot of the early innovators are almost functionally not stylish. It’s almost like their creativity is derived from this other place of progression over grace. Now, more than ever, you can have both. John John is the pinnacle of this, but he’s so good, you kind of don’t think of him as a “style guy.” His style is so unique and skate influenced with the quiet arms. Craig Anderson is another.

EW What are your thoughts on how both industries have evolved from when you began until now?

CM I learned how to skate in a pool that was designed to be difficult—double-black-diamond, experts-only type of terrain. To do well, you had to have skill, and you had to pay your dues. The goal was to ride the heaviest stuff but make it look easy. I did it, but I’ve had so many injuries, broken bones, and concussions. I think about all these things today—what did this teach me about life? Talent is important, but so is grace under pressure. You don’t succeed without dedication and sacrifice. At the same time, my motivation didn’t come from goal setting or success—it came from the feeling of doing it. I didn’t know I was learning those things at the time, of course, but now the lessons are clear. In hindsight, I think, “Wow, I’m grateful I grew up in an era when it was smaller and more humble.” It was almost innocent and pure compared to now. There wasn’t social media, the X Games, the Olympics, energy drinks, big money, and all the bullshit. As these sports have gotten bigger, what comes with that scale and marketability is a lot of outside stuff and distractions. I don’t fault anyone for taking those sponsors, at all. I’m not even anti-Olympics, but I just don’t feel inspired by it. It doesn’t define the sport. It’s a great financial vehicle for the talent of those participating, but it’s missing the mark in terms of creativity and freedom. 

EW With competition being less vital, what are your thoughts on freesurfing?

CM I think it’s really important for the industry to support freesurfers, because that’s where the creativity and the innovation is generally happening. When you try to judge something, you break things down from an art form into a scorable matrix. You develop this grid that relates to scoring but is not connected to it creatively. If people don’t pay attention to it, the powers that be—the WSL or the media or the sponsors—will be promoting something that is losing its style. Mikey February may never win a CT event, but I would rather watch him than 90 percent of the guys on tour.

EW As someone that started your own brands—Planet Earth skateboards and clothing, Adio footwear, and Vuori clothing—what are your thoughts on the smaller brands in surfing today?

CM I think these smaller brands started by surfers are really good for the culture, creativity, and the scene. Skateboarding had that, and it’s evolved and changed now too. I think honing in on the essence of what it is, and what it is about, is important. Maybe having the industry go through some tough times is a good thing. It might promote creativity and innovation, and reduce some of the commodification that we’ve seen over the last several years. It’s good to remember the industry is not the sport, or the art, or the act. Surfing is being in the ocean with the wave, your board, and maybe your friends. Or perhaps it’s a meditation in solitude. Everything else—the contests, the business, the ads, the media—is all peripheral.