Fake Meets Soul: Division Among Hawai‘i’s Japanese Surfers

Introduction

“I have to do something, he’s going to get beat up.” Tsutomi, an accomplished surfer and transitory resident of Honolulu, said before aggressively paddling toward another surfer on a picturesque afternoon as we caught waves at the Queen’s Beach surf break near Waikīkī. ¹ Her comment was directed toward a young Japanese surfer attracting the ire of a group of local surfers nearby. He had just “dropped in” on a member of their group for the second time, a potentially dangerous and reckless practice where an individual attempts to catch a wave someone else is already riding, forcing the first rider to either abandon what was “their” wave or risk collision (Usher & Kerstetter, 2015). Repeatedly dropping in, whether done intentionally or out of ignorance and inability, can result in the “stink eye,” violent verbal attacks, and sometimes physical blows from a disgruntled surfer and their friends.

Tsutomi and the offending individual spoke for several minutes and faint half words floated back toward me over the water. Their conversation finished, she turned and paddled back while the young man went in the opposite direction toward a different break. She had asked him if he lived here and he responded first with a prickly “yes,” but further questioning revealed he was in Hawai‘i for only a few months, recently took up surfing, and, in her view, possessed a dangerously inflated sense of his abilities alongside little knowledge of surfing protocols or etiquette. Yet Tsutomi’s frustration stemmed not from his disagreeable disposition but the impact his behavior, and similar attitudes from other surfers like him, had upon the wider perception among Hawaiian locals of Japanese surfers (Ohnuma, 2010; Okamura, 1998; Talmy, 2010). His actions in the water, Tsutomi feared, reinforced stereotypical assumptions of Japanese surfers as ignorant of established protocols and more concerned with superficial displays rooted in privileged access to wealth instead of deeper connections to a revered practice. Views that serve to foster greater exclusion between the often ethnically defined and divided surfing communities throughout Oahu.

In this article, I argue that outside perceptions of surfing groups, alongside the liminal tendencies of many Japanese in Hawai‘i, and the desire by Hawaiian locals to preserve specific surf spots from outside encroachment, create a complex concoction rooted in assertions of identity and belonging. A majority of Japanese surfers, due to general financial privilege and their typically transitory standing in Hawai‘i, are viewed as “fake” surfers who undermine widely held views of surfing’s cultural significance. In contrast, Japanese “soul” surfers eager to maintain their standing within the aggressively hierarchical world of divided surf communities, seek to limit their associations with those they regard as fake, or if necessary educate them to preserve their own standing within the community (Doering & Evers, 2019, p. 400; Kampion, 2003, p. 114). In articulating these divisions of community around a revered and culturally weighty pursuit, I show the often hidden complexity governing surfing and its associated communities across some of the sport’s most hallowed breaks and beaches.

Hawai‘i is the birthplace of surfing and the principle proving ground for young surfers harboring visions of popular recognition or professional fame (Walker, 2011). Yet such language of conquest, proving oneself on the heralded waves of Oahu’s North Shore, feeds larger flows of “(neo)colonial” subjugation that have marked Hawai‘i’s engagement with the U.S. mainland, Japan, Australia, and other popular surfing locales, shaping the tone and tenor of interaction between the varying groups of surfers crowding the major surf breaks (Tengan & Markham, 2009, p. 2412). In short, surfing is “not just a sport that attracts the foreign tourist gaze but also an integral part of Hawaiian cultural resistance and renaissance” (Jolly, 2007, p. 2).

Many self-identified soul surfers regard the conduct of those they label fake a betrayal of the sport’s spiritual and cultural significance through their perceived disregard for surfing’s wider historical and cultural connections. Fake surfers ignore or fail to properly acknowledge surfing’s cultural and spiritual significance that vastly transcends the importance of professional fame or the visible markers of achievement—both bodily and material. In doing so, they are a hazard to others in the water because of their inadequate skill level and another colonial usurper dismissive of Hawaiian history and complicit in a legacy of invasion and subjugation (Walker, 2011). Put differently, fake surfers, be they Japanese or another ethnolinguistic association, become a group perceived as needing to be carefully managed, policed, and limited in where they can and cannot surf if the sport is to be maintained as a culturally meaningful practice (Beaumont & Brown, 2016).

First Waves

Surfing began in Hawai‘i and the practice was well established when Captain Cook’s 1778 arrival in the Hawaiian Islands launched a reign of vengeful disregard and destruction to native life (Walker, 2011). Ensuing waves of European colonizers worked to marginalize and destroy surfing, along with hula and other Hawaiian cultural practices (Nendel, 2009). Surfing became an act of defiance and resistance, a means to countering colonial forces and maintaining a zone free from its corrosive influence (Walker, 2008). The importance of surfing for native Hawaiians transcended the enjoyment and physical exhilaration it offers participants. Surfing became a direct way to assert an identity as native Hawaiian that acts as a counter to pervasive colonial influences committed to undermining Hawaiian cultural practices (Tengan, 2008). Yet doing so requires maintaining sometimes harshly regulated borders between zone of inclusion and exclusion, typically along lines of ethnicity and group membership. To understand how surfing came to occupy such a place of power and prominence, a fuller picture of its recent history is needed.

Beginning in the early 1900s, surfing began a much-chronicled journey away from colonial prohibitions and into the Euro-American imagination, expanding rapidly in popularity in the 1960s to become a cultural phenomenon that champions “discovering, conquering, and experiencing a Western-contrived surf utopia” on warm, wave-filled Hawaiian beaches (Ingersoll, 2016, p. 43; Lawler, 2010). Yet as Clark notes in his excellent history of Hawaiian surfing, elements of the surf community prior to the sport’s explosion in popularity sound almost utopian.

We lived in Kaka‘ako (a neighborhood of Honolulu) where all the racial groups lived together: Filipinos, Hawaiians, Japanese, Portuguese, and Chinese. All kinds of people, and all the kids went to McKinley (among the oldest public high school in Hawai‘i). I graduated in 1941. I learned to surf about 1936 from other Orientals, not Hawaiians, and from the first time I was hooked. (Clark, 2016, p. 64)

Despite the diversity within surfing’s early resurgence, rising popularity brought tension and division, as haoles, literally those without breath and a terms used sometimes derogatorily to refer to Whites and non-locals in Hawai‘i, now jostled for space with locals eager to protect and maintain the ka po‘ina nalu (the surf zone) as a “Hawaiian realm” (Walker, 2008, p. 89). Such tensions around ownership of the surf zone, and the actions taken to police and monitor these borders, continues today and is the fraught cauldron of ethno-racial tension marking Hawai‘i’s most desired surf breaks. Japanese surfers, and their wider perception, are but one component of these overlapping forces.

This article offers a narrative told largely through the Japanese individuals who have sought out and realized an ikigai (that which makes one’s life worth loving) that places them in Hawai‘i on at least a semi-permanent basis (Mathews, 1996). In part, this is done to devote a significant amount of their time to surfing, or at least the appearance of surfing. At issue is the distinction between serious soul surfers who assert making a host of personal sacrifices to have constant access to surf, and fake surfers (okasāfa) who are enamored with the surfing lifestyle and associated fashion, but spend little time in the water and even less trying to catch waves. ² At the end of the article, I link this practice to kata or “patterned form,” a theoretical framing in Japan where the way of doing a particular practice is given precedent over the final outcome (Yano, 2002, p. 25). Influences of class, gender, access to wealth, bodily and comportment norms, especially in the relationships it fosters between Japanese and local surfers complicate these tensions. Such subjects of inquiry also raise uncomfortable questions concerning the widely perceived character of Japanese surfers and Hawaiian locals.

Three components organize how I present the Japanese surfing community in Hawai‘i. The first is community formation, especially the linguistic continuity that works as a facet of access and a barrier to inclusion based on individual linguistic background. Second, the internal divisions rife within the Japanese surfing community, notably the split between fake and soul surfers, and finally, the body and its requisite extensions for a surfer that include the surfboard, board shorts, bathing suit, a wetsuit or rash guard, and other accessories. In particular, bodily transformations when one takes an interest in surfing and increases their level of involvement are considered.

Community

Language, particularly struggles by Japanese surfer to speak and be understood in English, influences the formation of community in Hawai‘i. Many from Japan find themselves living in an environment where they are linguistically a minority for the first time in their life. Yet they are also insulated from many of the struggles encountered by others in a linguistically unfamiliar setting due to the abundance of outlets catering to, or capable of, speaking Japanese. Instead of struggle and marginalization, Hawai‘i is a desired destination for many Japanese with the financial resources to create a transnational existence for themselves and immediate family (Igarashi, 2015). Due in large part to the financially privileged position many of these transitory residents can command, numerous industries catering to nearly exclusively Japanese clientele are abundant throughout Honolulu.

Ritsuro, a surfer in his late 20s, is part of this vast network that caters to Japanese tourists and temporary residents. He works without an official work visa for a large hotel in Waikīkī as a surf instructor for primarily Japanese tourists. His lessons are 60 dollars an hour and are generally one-on-one or with two students who are connected in some significant way, such as couples or close friends. The lessons are also a minimum of 2 hr, making them considerably more expensive than the 40 dollar, 1-hr lessons from the well-known “beachboys” on Waikīkī beach. ³ Ritsuro secured his unofficial employment through connections and friendships developed with the beachboys and other influential individuals on previous vacations in Hawai‘i. This noteworthy and rare accomplishment, he was one of only a few individuals I spoke with who made such an effort and unquestionably the most successful, allowed him to work in an area heavily policed by informal regulations designed to exclude and protect against outside incursion. Without the beachboy’s permission, Ritsuro would not be able to take people out on lessons and receive space to work or, if needed, assistance from other instructors. Because of his unusual experiences, he spoke extensively about community formation among Japanese surfers and the patterns he observes when Japanese and local surfers encounter one another in the water. “Most Japanese are too passive to make connections” or put in the extensive work needed to become an accomplished and respected surfer. He added that most individuals he sees are reluctant to talk to locals because of the language barrier, and instead tend to stick together in insular groups and not become members of the larger community, even when staying in Hawai‘i for an extended period of time.

Yet Ritsuro is an example of how artificial a barrier to community expansion and inclusion language can be, especially when there is a shared passion such as surfing to bind linguistically dissimilar individuals. While he is conversant in English, he was adamant our interview be conducted in Japanese to ensure he could communicate strongly held opinions and complex ideas. He also has little problem understanding non-Japanese surfers or making himself understood in English. All of which, he says, is the mark of a soul surfer, as their commitment to surfing transcends barriers of language. Furthermore, as “something few Japanese surfers in Hawai‘i attempt,” an unwillingness to put oneself in a linguistically uncomfortable situation creates distinctions between the larger group of fake surfers and a smaller Japanese soul surfer community.

Stemming from the linguistic aspects of community formation are issues of exclusion and inclusion, how these boundaries are maintained, and the consequences of such practices. Exclusionary practices, more widely known as localism and a form of “human territoriality,” can be traced and followed throughout various areas of the surfing community (Usher & Gómez, 2015, p. 196). Certain beaches are regulated as the domain of local Hawaiian residents, and non-locals can struggle to garner acceptance. The process of gaining acceptance is simple in nature, but requires a substantial investment of time and commitment to surfing, something a majority of Japanese are denied, either through their transitory status in Hawai‘i or individual unwillingness to work at gaining inclusion. Tsutomi, introduced earlier, is an English student in her early 30s and a surfer since high school. She earned the acceptance of locals and now surfs on an exclusive break east of Waikīkī off the Ala Moana beach park. This inclusion, she said, was earned by going to the beach everyday, being friendly but respectful to the local surfers, and demonstrating her commitment to surfing through her unquestionably advanced skill level.

Tora and Shoji, two self-identified soul surfers who are deeply integrated members of the local surfing population, also had well-developed view on the distinction between the two major factions of Hawaii’s Japanese surf community. Tora owns a surf shop a short distance outside Waikīkī that has been featured in numerous Japanese magazines and guidebooks. His store is filled with beautiful new surfboards and a steady stream of local Japanese surfers who come by to “talk story” about surfing, as well as tourists prepared to spend substantial sums on a new board. Shoji owns an upscale beauty salon in a fashionable office tower just outside Waikīkī that caters to the wealthy tourist and local Japanese market. Both individuals expressed similar accounts, saying it is a relatively straightforward process to break through barriers of exclusion, one simply has to demonstrate a commitment to surfing. Tora said that to many locals, the exclusionary practices are a matter of “protecting their zone” or territory, so that it remains a desirable spot for surfing, instead of another overcrowded and congested break reminiscent of the tourist choked beaches in Waikīkī. Tora said that at a minimum you would “get the stink eye” (harsh, unfriendly glares) from locals if ones conduct was deemed disrespectful to surfing, or endangering to others in the water. At worst, this could result in inviting bodily harm upon oneself by surfing an unwelcome spot. “[The] Surfing community is completely different [from the non-surfing], it is basic, really basic. [The] same as one hundred or two hundred years ago; stronger is strong, weaker is weak.” This attitude can be viewed as the cause of aggression in surfing and until recently the systematic exclusion and marginalization of non-locals, women, and others deemed unwelcome (Young, 2000).

Shoji said he was initially treated as a yosomono, a Japanese term for stranger or outsider, and dismissed as not worthy of attention until he demonstrated he was not a tourist but a resident committed to regular, near daily, surfing as well as awareness of others in the water and the etiquette governing hierarchy and access. Once his abilities and reverence to surfing became sufficiently clear, his presence in the water was embraced, and further access to better waves and positions in the lineup were given. In this sense then, Shoji complicates Usher’s (2017) observations of the “foreign local” (p. 212) at Costa Rica’s surf breaks, along with the complex links to privilege and neocolonialism. Tora is certainly correct in his point that surfing is governed by a basic hierarchical structure, yet there is also nuance and fluctuation that, when observed, potentially allow for inclusion and a diversity of practitioners.

Tora noted that a persistent pattern emerged among visiting Japanese tourists after his shop was featured in Japanese surf magazines. Tourists, generally two or three young men, would come to his store to buy or rent high-quality, expensive surfboards shaped by well-known names, ⁴ and ask his advice on good surf spots outside of Waikīkī. They often come with a guidebook that highlights breaks like Makaha or Waimea, and want to hear from Tora which location is best. He, however, feels compelled to warn these individuals that they are potentially putting themselves at risk by surfing these beaches regardless of their skill level as surfers. They will drive a rental car, an obvious marker of a non-local, likely wear a wetsuit, and often not socialize with the locals. Tora views this behavior as an affront to proper surfing comportment that can infuriate locals while embarrassing local Japanese soul surfers like himself.

Ultimately, these barriers to inclusion demand conforming with established surfing protocols, regardless of what nation one hails from, by visibly demonstrating a strong commitment to surfing and deference to locals if one wants to be counted as a soul surfer. While such a commitment is sometimes impossible, as the majority of Japanese surfers are in a temporal life stage, often sandwiched between youthful irresponsibility and the impending responsibility of salaried life, it is the paramount obstacle one must overcome. Thus, failure to meet these community demands feeds negative associations made of Japanese surfers and fosters resentment among soul surfers in and around Honolulu. It is thus a barrier to inclusion and the major reason the Japanese surfing community must wrestle with an internal struggle between fake and soul surfers, as well as the need for continual demonstrations of authenticity and worth by the committed individuals.

Internal Division

As is now apparent, the division between fake and soul surfers within Hawai‘i’s Japanese surf community is contentious and multifaceted. The majority of individuals introduced here are intensely committed to surfing, and thus self-identified soul surfers, but are also often in transitory and impermanent life stages, unsure of their future and what role, if any, surfing will play in that future. Thus, tensions and sensitivities are evident regarding how they and other Japanese surfers are perceived. The result is often intense vigilance to the rules and structures organizing surfing’s complex and fluid ethno-racial composition in Hawai‘i, and discomfort with the perceived superficiality and attention to appearance instead of skill level among fake Japanese surfers.

A consistently similar hyperbolic story was told by numerous interviewees about the young Japanese male who wanted to project a “surfer look,” but rarely if ever ventured into the water (Mizuno, 2018). To achieve this look, he bought a roof-rack for a surfboard and attached it to his car. He then purchased a new surfboard, nailed the board to the rack, permanently ruining it, but also insuring it would be much more difficult to steal and unattractive to a thief. Our hypothetical fake surfer then drove around the streets of his Japanese city, advertising his self-image as a surfer, “to pick up girls,” as Tsutomi mockingly framed her retelling of the often-invoked story. While this story is interesting, it is also an unverified urban legend long circulating throughout the Japanese surfing community. Like other similar tales, a certain portion of the story was likely based on truth, and has been twisted by retellings into the neat and humorous version I heard from many I spoke with. Regardless of the truth behind the account, the themes of fashion and projecting a specific and highly cultivated self-image, even if that image has nothing to do with actually surfing, are important as they reflect a widespread concern with outside perceptions and recognition of perceived tendencies of superficiality among Japanese surfers.

Surfers in Japan are not necessarily those who engage in the sport. Instead, outward appearance and fashionable accessories can command more reverence and attention than time spent in the water. Many Japanese surfers in Hawai‘i rarely surf and some cannot even swim. Rather they dress in a “surfer” style (e.g., open shirts with tropical patterns, cloth shoes) and wear their hair in a distinctive “surfer cut” (straight and combed forward with the back cut short) (Sato, 1991, p. 165). The styles have changed markedly since publication of Sato’s book, but the practice of looking the part of a surfer, and perhaps tentatively engaging in the sport, persists among Japanese surfers domestically and abroad. Shoji, through his work in the beauty industry, is keenly aware of the latest in fashionable and stylish trends. He feels that surfing in Japan is “largely just fashionable. It’s [surfing] not treated with the same level or seriousness it has in Hawai‘i.” He credits film and more recently social media for fueling the boom in surfing’s popularity, largely through the release of American films like The Endless Summer, Big Wednesday, Dogtown and Z-Boys, and Blue Crush that garnered significant audiences in Japan or Instagram accounts of popular surfers. ⁵

Fashion and a desire, especially among young people, to cultivate and advertise a specific look is not a new or unusual pursuit. Consequently, why these manifestations among young Japanese surfers are so comprehensive and often coupled with a barely concealed lack of actual surfing become important areas of focus. Tsutomi worked as a surf instructor in Japan at a variety of beaches in Chiba and Ibaraki prefectures, and is viewed by those who see her surf as accomplished and gifted. She ascribes these traits to what she calls her “soft knees,” which allows her to execute sharp turns and difficult maneuvers with ease. Tsutomi was blunt in her criticism of fake surfers, equating their interest in the surfer look to an optimistic desire that it would enable particularly the young men to have greater success meeting members of the opposite sex. This cowardly superficiality, “they don’t surf because they are chickens” was Tsutomi’s candid assessment, is consequential as such individuals can crowd surf breaks, interfering with others in a way that negatively impact the wider perception of Japanese surfers.

Tsutomi discussed her experience as a surf instructor and, in her observations, the problematic path by which many Japanese surfers are introduced to the sport. She said that there are a lot of instructional surf magazines in Japan that cater to beginners, “and it is far less embarrassing to read a magazine alone at home than to be seen getting a lesson, especially if the instructor is a girl.” What these books and magazines fail to convey is the abundance of unwritten rules soul surfers treat as doctrine and become incensed when beginners violate by infringing upon “their” waves and favorite spots. These rules include dropping in on someone (the dangerous practice noted above of trying to catch a wave after someone is already riding and getting in the way of the first surfer), not observing surfing etiquette or the hierarchies of certain surf spots, as well as something as mundane as having new and expensive equipment on a break reserved for experienced surfers when one’s skill level gives them away as a beginner. Tsutomi’s anger is with the ease by which these perceptions of Japanese surfers as superficial pretenders clogging already crowded breaks in dangerous ways easily become how the entire group can be regarded and perceived.

In Hawai‘i, these ill-received practices cause Tsutomi concern as they give Japanese surfers, including her, diminished standing and reputation in the larger community. While she has minimized this by surfing in the same several spots consistently and is now regarded as a regular, she often sees others doing more to foster negative perceptions through their actions. The root cause of this pattern, Tsutomi feels, comes from differences between her approach and the typical approach to learning to surf that her students desired in Japan. She believes the best way to learn is to have your body “remember” the necessary actions through time spent in the water, while others preferred to “think” and plan with their head before any physical action. ⁶ While neither method is intrinsically better or worse, Tsutomi feels strongly that their real-world manifestations have contributed to the widespread presence of fake surfers and tension between Japanese soul surfers in Hawai‘i and others who appear to view surfing in a less hallowed manner.

Hiromi is in her early 30s, and has been surfing for the past 3 years, 2½ of those spent living in Hawai‘i. Like Tsutomi, she also discussed the volume of material in Japanese bookstores on “how-to surf,” noting a marked increase in titles at the beginning of each summer. She said some books even describe how to look “cool” while carrying, paddling, and standing on one’s board. “The outside (appearance) is very important ‘How can I look cool?’” is most people’s principal concern. In this sense then, these guides to surfing draw upon practices of kata or “patterned form” in Japan, which emphasizes “surface form and beauty” (Yano, 2002, p. 25). Kata, in its attention to surface form, creates a possible tension by emphasizing a particular approach or look as the way of pursuing an activity, be it surfing or any other established set of practices. In doing so, it creates a consumer space in the contemporary for a particular way of surfing to emerge as dominant that is disconnected from the rites and practices viewed as valid and validating in Hawai‘i.

Yet, as Hiromi sees it, the root of this phenomenon, particularly as it pertains to surfing and its associated aspects, lies in the amount of money and financial freedom enjoyed by a large number of Japanese young people. “Because they usually don’t have to pay rent, food, or bills in Japan or abroad,” Hiromi asserted, “they can devote nearly all of their money towards fashion and consistently having the clothes, accessories, and anything else they want to purchase.” For those turning to surfing as the source of a carefully cultivated self-image, this is evident in the new surfboards and trendy clothing matched to a passing interest in actually surfing.

Performative assertions of membership in a particular subcultural group are also a well-documented tendency not restricted to Japanese surfers. Fans of hip-hop are a well-explored example of communities divided between committed soul participants and superficially minded fake contributors. In reference to Japan’s hip-hop devotees, Condry (2006) notes that “Only about 20% of them care about the music. Many of them just buy records to fill up their room” (p. 130). Having lots of records, or the latest run of limited edition board shorts, was viewed as something that could impress others and say something about the individual. “Its just about riding the wave of whatever is popular” (Condry, 2006). The final metaphor could not be more apt, as we see a quest for popularity and advertising ones individually created self-image, cultivated around a variety of activities, but ultimately seeking to be viewed as a participant in a popular and fashionable pursuit, with limited concern for how one participates in that subcultural community. One’s crafted identity must then remain fluid with changing social whims, surrounding and perhaps suffocating a core group of committed individuals, passionate about the pursuit, be it hip-hop, surfing, or anything else.

Atsumasa, an undergraduate at Tokyo’s prestigious Waseda University taking a year off to study English and surf, outlined how he views the division between fake and soul surfers. He was initially hoping to use surfing, like many other teenager males, as a vehicle to meet women. However, “two things can happen when you start surfing,” you can be swept up in the joy of the sport and become less concerned with meeting romantic partners, caring more about catching good waves. Or you can perpetrate the fake lifestyle as long as it remains fashionable and popular. This division is somewhat self-evident, of greater interest are the influential factors leading a person to a superficial immersion into a subcultural group.

Surfing has been a male-dominated sport since its explosion in global popularity in the 1950s and 1960s (Brennan, 2016; Doering & Evers, 2019; Mizuno, 2002; Olive, 2019; Vlachos, 2008). Many surfers fall back to stereotypical assumption of the aggressive nature of the sport and the “fighting” one must do for each wave, both to drive off others trying to catch the wave and the effort required to conquer an awesome natural force, that makes it a male-dominated endeavor. Such broad and misguided perceptions are being eroded by increasing numbers of women surfers demanding a greater share of attention for abilities that match or surpass those of men (Comley, 2016). In Hawai‘i, this trend is unmistakably on display within the large female portion of the Japanese surf community. Yet despite inroads made by Japanese women in Hawai‘i to rectify discriminatory attitudes imposed upon them by men, there remains a multitude of obstacles to be confronted. Atsumasa, in addition to attending Waseda, is an accomplished surfer who flirted with the professional ranks in Japan at several competitions, and could likely have succeeded as a surfer if he did not feel more committed to his studies. He was candid about his love of surfing, and his views on who he wants to see surfing in the future. “I want to teach my sons to surf.” He would be reluctant, however, to teach any future daughters, saying ultimately that he could not envision them having the same connection to the sport that he, and presumably his male progeny, would carry.

Tora, in critiquing fake surfers taking to the water for largely fashionable pursuits, especially the tourist and temporary residents in and around Waikīkī, was clear about who he views as this groups’ principal members: “Japanese girls joined [surfing] because its fashionable.” Dai, a surfer of 8 years with the past year spent in Hawai‘i after 4 years surfing the famous but cold breaks off Los Angeles, was equally blunt in his views of Japanese female surfers. He said he consistently sees groups of Japanese women off Diamond Head near Waikīkī, not surfing or only trying to catch a few waves, and instead “chatting.” He added, “this is a place to surf, not talk, chicks are talking too much.” He credits this boom in popularity both generally and among women to the rise of celebrities in Japan taking to surfing, offering the example of the hugely popular singer, actor, and sex symbol Takuya Kimura, or Kimutaku as evidence. Celebrity interest in surfing has, in Dai’s opinion, fueled the rise in popularity of surfing among Japanese women, yet not, he believes, for reasons befitting soul surfers or the broader perception of Japanese surfers in Hawai‘i.

The frustrating irony to Dai, Atsumasa, and other male surfers’ assessment of Japanese women as the primary culprits driving perceptions of being a fake surfer is that it ignores the numerous men engaged in the same practices while also dismissing the accomplishments of women surfers like Hiromi and Tsutomi. In giving greater credence to men, a “privileging of surfing masculinities continues” that serves to “marginalize, devalue, and trivialize women’s experiences and their accomplishments despite their increased participation and visibility across the world” (Doering & Evers, 2019, p. 389). As others have noted, Japan has a long history of significant female participation in surfing (Doering, 2018; Moore, 2011). Sadly then, the corrosive impact of divisions within a community along a dichotomy of fake and soul is easily evident in expressions of gender. While Japanese men and women fill the ranks of fake surfers, it is the women who often bear the disproportionate burden of associations as fake surfers, a frustrating phenomenon that extends to surf communities globally (Olive et al., 2015).

Body and Its Extensions

Body surfing aside, surfing requires equipment. Most obviously, this includes the surfboard, in all its many size iterations, a leash to attach the surfer to the board, and wax to ensure a safe surface upon which to ride. Beyond these essentials are board shorts, bathing suits, rash guards, and wetsuits for colder water. A distinct surfer look has also emerged and changed over time, with popular clothing brands like Quicksilver, Billabong, Hurley, and Reef selling not just gear but a desirable lifestyle that has surfing at its center. As lisahunter (2018) notes, “adorning the body in a specific brand reveals the athlete’s economic arrangements and corporate loyalties, and by implication, arguably locating the athlete within identifiable political and ideological structures” (p. 1384). Jewelry, hairstyles, tanned skin, musculature, and even one’s way of speaking all play a part in the comprehensive image that can label an individual a surfer. Yet all of these aspects exist aside from one’s skill level and the larger cultural, identity, and spiritual connections one makes between themselves and surfing.

The first object of analysis is the surfboard, as this is the indispensable piece of equipment viewed by many as an extension of the body. Hawai‘i, as mentioned earlier, is the birthplace of surfing and that form of surfing was longboarding. It was not until the 1960s that shortboard surfing emerged, with Hawaiian sharpers taking an influential but often overlooked role in this transition (Walker, 2011). A tumultuous integration into surfing eventually saw the shortboard replace the longboard in competitions and among the world’s top ranked professional surfers (Waitt & Frazer, 2012). Even Hawai‘i’s current professional surfer superstars, John John Florence, Seth Moniz, and Sebastian Zietz, among many others, are known for their prowess on a shortboard, as are all of the world’s other top professionals including Hiroto Ohhara, currently one of Japan’s top ranked male surfer. Most of the surfers I talked with surfed exclusively shortboard and did so because it “looks cool,” as Keiko, a surfer of 12 years and resident of Honolulu for the past 6 months, stated. A common sight off Waikīkī is a Japanese surfer on a shortboard, a declaration some Waikīkī beachboys and local regulars say shows an amateur standing as a surfer. This is due, in their assessment, to Waikīkī’s waves, particularly in the summer months, being better suited for longboards. Yet the shortboard is clearly the desired, sleeker choice of most surfers, regardless of ethnicity as one look at an American or Japanese surf magazine reveals in its abundance of pictures of shortboard riding and few, if any, of a longboarder. This is not to suggest that longboarding is somehow more authentic and proper in Hawai‘i, as on the North Shore of Oahu one finds almost exclusive shortboard surfing. Instead, what is at issue is acclimatization to local preferences and feelings. Japanese surfers off Waikīkī lose creditability when they try to catch waves on a board viewed as improperly suited to the task. Unfortunately, this perception is only bolstered by the large number of Japanese tourists and temporary residents consistently in the water in this area with often expensive shortboards.

The board and other surfing implements are also significant in how new or old they appear. Todd, a long-time surfer, Waikīkī beachboy, and surf instructor, had a mischievous practice directed at Japanese surfers and their boards. Like many other instructors, Todd is relatively conversant in Japanese, a helpful ability if one wants to serve a significant portion of Hawai‘i’s tourist clientele. He often asks Japanese surfers he encounters on the beach and in the water if their board is new (“atarashi?”), and the answer is usually “hai” (yes), and costing hundreds if not thousands of dollars. While Todd has no ill feelings to an individual purchasing a new board while still a beginning surfer, he feels that many he meets are not serious about the sport and soon the boards will be relegated to a closet or taken back to Japan as mementos of the owners’ time in Hawai‘i. In contrast, a means of taking to surfing generally perceived as ideal by the beachboys and local soul surfers is first through a longboard (and not surprisingly, paying for lessons from them), purchasing a used longboard, and then, if one is properly committed, acquiring a new board after mastering the basics of surfing.

Such attention to the surfboard may seem obsessive, but its importance is central to one’s identity as a surfer, as evidenced in Ishiwata’s (2002) paper on the politics of surfing between locals and visitors to Hawai‘i, which deserves to be quoted at length:

. . . the globalization of the surf industry has also worked to confound displays of locality. Because surfboards continue to be individually hand shaped, one of the most telling markers of place comes from the boards that surfers ride. Since sales are largely based on reputation for making quality surfboards, the craftsmen who produce boards, make names for themselves by shaping for the top professionals and by putting out boards to a local clientele. Because shaping is by and large a cottage industry, shapers are always producing boards from a specific place (i.e., Sunset Beach, Makaha, Haleiwa or, more generally Hawai‘i) and thus the board’s logos become distinctive markers of locality. However once a shaper establishes a solid reputation, they can be “taken in” by the large surf companies (i.e., Rusty, Town & Country, Channel Islands), the outcome being a wider exposure in the surf media as well as a global distribution. (p. 260)

Once solid indicators of locality and difference are being challenged through surfing’s increasingly global stature and ubiquity. Consequently, greater scrutiny is turned to who is riding atop the board, their physical appearance as an indicator of skill level, and the other implements the surfer has or does not have, to assign a position in Hawai‘i’s surfing and location hierarchy.

Tora, owner of the Honolulu surf shop mentioned earlier, said you could always spot non-serious Japanese surfers because they are the ones wearing a partial wetsuit, “something a local would never do.” He adds that he makes a deliberate effort to always wear only board shorts when he surfs in an effort to better fit in, ensuring he is allowed to surf some of the aggressively local beaches like Makaha on Oahu’s west shore. Again, such a focus on minute details can strike those unfamiliar with surfing as odd or obsessive. Of importance is the ways in which such small practices, wearing a wetsuit as opposed to being closer to the water and working harder to stay warm, also become barriers of inclusion or exclusion that can visibly mark the degree of commitment to surfing one, knowingly or not, advertised to others.

Shin, in his 30s and employed unofficially at a Japanese restaurant, echoed a similar sentiment regarding the importance of physical appearance. He came to Hawai‘i 13 years ago, fell in love with the place and surfing, and has no plans to return to Japan beyond short-term visits. He said he left Japan because he wanted to see if he could work and succeed in America. A lesson learned over his years of working and surfing was the importance of physical appearance and how it can convey one’s ability to others, especially when trying to project competence and worthiness of inclusion. His deep tan, acquired over years by spending extensive time in the water, positions Shin as localized to a degree. He stated that his surfing ability and not being a haole also allow for his sometimes tepid acceptance in places like the Makaha surf break, traditionally an unwelcome spot for non-local and haole surfers. The rationale behind surfing ability is obvious. Ones ethnic compartmentalization based on physical appearance and skin color is more complex and troubling. Tora offered his interpretation of the ethnic ranking system and the ethno-racial “habatsu” (cliques) in Hawai‘i based on his years of observation. At the top are “pure locals, followed by local Japanese, local haoles, bobora (slang term for non-local Japanese), and tourists.” This scheme is based on physical appearance and the perception of where someone’s body fits into these categories. Thus, individual appearance deeply influences where one can surf, often trumping or at least influencing other components such as surfing ability or interest in the sport.

Ritsuro, the previously mentioned surf instructor, is an example of how bodily comportment and appearance are fundamental aspects of surfing that cannot be faked and often expose the fake surfers. “Paddling is the foundation of surfing” and if an individual is physically incapable of paddling into position they should not be surfing. For individuals who have not surfed it often comes as a surprise how exhausting paddling is, as it taxes muscle groups infrequently exercised in other activities. Furthermore, it constitutes the primary action one must undertake while in the water and as a result long-time surfers are easily recognized by their developed and defined upper body muscles. Beginning surfers typically lack this strength, regardless of how much previous time they have spent engaged in other athletic pursuits. Yet the business aspect of surfing, particularly lessons from the beachboys, has compelled instructors to disregard physical capabilities in favor of financial gain. Instructors will often place one of their feet on the front of the student’s board and paddle themselves and the student out to a surf break they otherwise could not physically reach. “This happens because most Japanese only want to catch a wave, and are willing to pay the lesson price,” but are less eager or incapable of exerting the physical effort that constitutes the majority of surfing. Ritsuro views such actions as detrimental for two reasons; they put the instructor and student at greater danger while in the water, as it is likely that the non-paddling student is not a strong swimmer. In addition, it ignores fundamental bodily aspects of surfing and creates a situation where students get an introduction to the sport that does not convey the dangers, level of physical strain, or the amount of work other serious surfers have invested in the sport.

Conclusion

Surfing and its associated meanings have changed profoundly over the course of its history. Once a spiritual practice that sought connection and continuity between surfer and nature, it was prohibited by colonial overlords, persisted as a defiant act of native Hawaiian identity expression, was marketed globally as a desirable and profitable icon of Hawai‘i to the world, and today sits contentiously between its cultural origins and capitalistically inclined professionalization efforts. The tension that surrounds surfing then is profound. Some in Hawai‘i defend and protect its status as an unquestionable marker of identity. Others seek to find fame and fortune through success in professional tournaments and sponsorships with the major retail brands the sport attracts. The largest contingent enjoys either surfing recreationally or at least appearing to surf and tries to assert such an image outward to others.

Hawai‘i’s Japanese surfers are but one piece of the complex ethno-racial and socioeconomic puzzle that is contemporary surfing. Yet Japanese surfers also rely on aspects of their cultural identity that allow for broader insights to be gained regarding the tensions circulating around the meaning making practices of contemporary surfing. This is most notably evident in the practices of kata (patterned form) mentioned earlier which

emphasizes surface form and beauty: the viewer’s attention is drawn to the surface of the staged event and to the effects produced by the performers. This emphasis on form and effects gives a highly theatrical sense to performance and a performative sense to daily life. (Yano, 2002, p. 25)

A reliance on kata challenges Western perceptions of how one should engage with a particular pursuit of interest, as Yano (2002) again notes: “What is important is that, unlike much Western thought that gives primacy to what is below the surface and behind the mask as somehow truer and more significant, a theory of kata gives the surface its due” (p. 26). Yet while kata helps frame some of the behavior and motivations of fake surfers, it does not fully encompass the complexity and animosity between fake and soul surfers regarding their differing views of why and how someone should surf.

The impediment to recognizing these complexities stems in part from the often rigid and dichotomous manner individuals are introduced to the sport. In Japan, this takes the form of kata-influenced parameters found in magazines and how-to guidebooks that focus intensely on cultivating a surfer self-image. In Hawai‘i, these surface practices encounter a complex history of colonial incursion and persistent negotiations of ethno-racial identity. Further compounding the complexity are often frustrating opinions linking one’s gender association to perceptions of skill and commitment to surfing.

Japanese surfers, whether they can be readily labeled fake or soul, amplify tensions at the heart of surfing and its role in the contemporary. As typically transnational individuals capable of moving between Japan, the United States, and elsewhere in the world, the surfers introduced in this article, and the fake individuals they are critical of, help spread, grow, and sustain surfing as a capitalistically driven global and professional sport. Yet many of them also recognize that in some form, this is a betrayal of surfing’s origins and emphasized connections to the natural world and identifying as a native Hawaiian. Betrayals that are made worse when the destructive legacy of Euro-American colonialism in Hawai‘i is considered. As Tora said, surfing is “basic” in that it involves an individual, a board, and a wave. Yet surfing and its associated meanings are complex, tension rich, and shifting as an evermore diverse range of individuals take to the sport and engage or confront its historical, place-based, and ethno-racial legacies. This article has shown the ways in which that paradoxical tension makes surfing much more than a contest between individual and ocean. It reveals and informs much of the complexity rife in an interconnected world driven by capitalistic influences yet also resisted by those who feel duty bound to protect and maintain sacred practices as their own.