Surfing with Bourdieu! A Qualitative Analysis of the Fluid Power Relations among Surfers in the Line-Ups

Introduction

Surfing, which was an important activity for many Indigenous cultures in Oceania, Africa, and other locations, has become a growing international lifestyle sport. Hough-Snee and Eastman (2017) explain that modern surfing refers to the cultural practice of wave riding, following Western appropriation and exploitation of this Indigenous traditional activity (87; see also Dawson 2017). A recent body of scholarship has displayed particular interest in the surfing culture and paid specific attention to the marginalization of certain groups, including women (Booth 2001b; Comer 2010; lisahunter 2017; Olive, McCuaig, and Phillips 2015; Waitt 2008), racial and ethnic minorities (Booth 2001a; Nessen 2013; Thompson 2017; Wheaton 2013), longboarders and bodyboarders (Booth 2001b; Preston-Whyte 2002; Waitt and Frazer 2012), nonlocals (Daskalos 2007; Waitt and Frazer 2012), recreational or novice surfers (Beaumont 2011; Scheibel 1995), and those who experience an intersection of these minority identities (Nemani and Thorpe 2016). Critical surf research demonstrates the sexualization of women in surf culture (e.g., Comer 2010; Schumacher 2017) and neocolonization of the Global South through surf tourism (e.g., Ruttenberg and Brosius 2017). Rebecca Olive and her colleagues, for example, have conducted participant observation research to explore how women negotiate power inequality in male-dominated line-ups ¹ (Olive 2016; Olive et al. 2015). While factors typically associated with surfers’ privilege in the surf culture such as masculinity and whiteness are well known, the complex and concrete ways in which surfers exercise and negotiate power dynamics in the water—as manifested in “wave-hunting” activity—have not been well-articulated in surfing research.

The popularization of surfing and scarcity of quality waves ² at many surfing spots has further fueled “localism” and surfers’ practices of marginalization and exclusion in the water (e.g., Bandeira 2014; Daskalos 2007; Scheibel 1995). The uneven distribution of quality waves and the “common-pool resource” issue have become the norm (see Rider 1998). Under certain conditions, conflict over limited resources becomes unavoidable (Usher, Goff, and Gomez 2016). Here arises an unanswered question: what determines who gets the waves? Focusing on the experiences of surfers, this pilot study examines how surfers’ social statuses in cultural spaces do not necessarily reflect their ability to catch quality waves. Drawing upon Bourdieu’s scholarship, this study hopes not only to confirm the marginalization of certain groups of surfers in the water—such as female, nonwhite, and inexperienced surfers—but also to compel further exploration of the complexity and fluidity of the power relationships among surfers in the water, particularly from the perspectives of the vulnerable.

The analysis in this article is based on the data drawn from my ethnography of surfers at a surf spot ³ in California, coupled with a small number of qualitative interviews. Instead of heavily relying on interviews, I observed how surfers at this spot, both regular and nonregular members, self-organized and used a variety of resources or capital, as termed by Bourdieu (1986), to exercise their power and increase the likelihood of catching high-quality waves, entities often viewed as “scarce commodities.” Consequently, I found that those surfers who had important resources such as longboards, experience, skills, knowledge, “regular” member status, and the privileges that accrue from whiteness and maleness had greater opportunity and likelihood of catching quality waves in this spot. I further argue that one’s social status does not necessarily guarantee quality waves: power dynamics among surfers in the water may not always reflect their social status and should therefore be understood to be more fluid. Indeed, according to observations made in this research, some forms of capital are contextual, nonlinear, and situational because, under certain conditions, advantages become disadvantages, and disadvantages become neutralized. The value of capital may not be static and universal across geographic places and times and with different people because it is always negotiated by social agents and determined through the dialectics between field and habitus (see Bourdieu 1986, 1993; Thorpe 2009). In short, surfers may encounter structural constraints but can spawn social agency, actively generating and collecting a variety of capital, sometimes deviating from established rules in order to negotiate the fluid power dynamics and the liquid form of social structure in the water.

Contextualizing the Power Relations among Surfers in the Water

The marginalization of surfers in tight and crowded line-ups ⁴ is complicated, partly because waves have become an increasingly scarce natural resource to be “consumed,” so that surfers often compete against each other to gain more of it. In contrast to the image of physical openness of the ocean, the general surfing rule of “one person per wave” (see www.surfinghandbook.com) does not always let all surfers enjoy riding as many waves as they want in crowded and competitive line-ups. “Surf-onomics” is a term that describes the economic boost received by areas around popular surf spots because such spots attract a growing number of surfers, which triggers local economic development (The Economist 2016). As the popularity of surfing increases and the capitalist process of the surfing culture advances, overcrowding has become a serious issue in many popular surf spots (see Preston-Whyte 2002; Scheibel 1995; Taylor 2013; Usher et al. 2016). In contrast, there are still a number of mythical and secret spots without large crowds of surfers, mainly because of accessibility, required skills and experience, and localism (Bandeira 2014; Beaumont and Brown 2016; Daskalos 2007; Evers 2009; Scheibel 1995; Sweeney 2005; Waitt and Frazer 2012), such as Central California’s Mavericks (Beal and Smith 2010).

Notably, despite the commodification and popularization of surf culture, some surf spots such as Mavericks remain localized and exist as sites of cultural significance, such that surfers often need authentic subcultural memberships just to paddle out (see Evers 2009, 900–3, for his discussion on the “right-to-belong”). As Stranger (2010) argues, “The surfing-culture industry remains an integral part of the subculture, and one that has—so far—been instrumental in maintaining boundaries between the subculture and mainstream society” (1117). In this sense, the blurred bifurcation of surfing culture complicates the power dynamics among surfers, particularly in the water. These spots are considered sacrosanct, and only certain surfers are allowed to paddle out, while other “easy-access,” popular spots may attract a wide range of surfers. A constant imbalance therefore exists among the number of surfers, the number of waves, and the physical capacity of popular surf spots (Bandeira 2014).

Sharing limited natural resources among different cultural subgroups (recreational surfers, competitive surfers, longboarders, shortboarders, and bodyboarders, to name a few) makes the power dynamics more complicated. Vaske, Needham, and Cline (2007) describe this situation as “social values conflict”—conflict among individuals or groups who need to share limited resources but may not share similar values, norms, and means to do so (183). As demonstrated by previous extreme and lifestyle sport research, surfers have already developed these different subgroups that have their own cultural institutions—magazines, media, associations, cultural rules, lifestyle, and physical spaces (see Thorpe 2009, 496–99, for this tendency among skiers and snowboarders). In addition to this division, social values conflict further complicates power relations among surfers. Vaske, Carothers, Donnelly, and Baird (2000) conducted research on alpine sports conflict between skiers and snowboarders who share limited natural resources, as in slopes and terrains (see also Usher et al. 2016). Both groups have their own cultural institutions, and conflict arises out of goal interference and cultural dissimilarities as the groups have to share the limited resources (Vaske et al. 2007). Just as on alpine slopes, in ocean water, varied surfboards such as longboards, shortboards, stand-up paddle boards, and bodyboards have become an important part of surfers’ personal and collective identities. In short, surfers have developed their own cultural divisions and institutions, depending on what and how they ride (Gonzales 2015; Preston-Whyte 2002; Usher et al. 2016; Waitt and Frazer 2012).

However, my observations indicate that some surfers prefer to use various wave-riding tools, depending on surf conditions, in order to enjoy their wave-riding experience and maximize the likelihood of catching the best-quality waves available, if they can afford and are skillful enough to ride different kinds of boards. Ideological divides here should be understood in a more nuanced way. Surfers’ positions in the hierarchy (see Waitt and Frazer 2012, 329, for their observations about the surf hierarchy in Australia, where shortboarders are often placed at the top, followed by longboarders) are not simply dependent on the type of boards they ride. In fact, some groups of surfers are less hesitant to cross cultural and ideological boundaries and continually switch wave-riding equipment, depending on wave conditions and surf spots. Therefore, wave-riding equipment itself should also be conceptualized as a physical resource that can help surfers increase or decrease their chances of getting waves and have quality time in the water.

Surfers who have better resources can use this advantage against others and have greater likelihood of catching high-quality waves. Nevertheless, there is a significant population of vulnerable surfers such as longboarders (Booth 2001b; Waitt and Frazer 2012), female surfers (Booth 2001b; Olive et al. 2015; Waitt 2008), and nonwhite surfers (Nessen 2013). Surfers self-regulate (e.g., Bandeira 2014; Nazer 2004), yet because of such complexity, self-organization among surfers in the water may not be deterministic. It may be erroneous to demarcate their cultural space and actual physical space (i.e., the line-up). However, unlike competing for social spaces in surf culture, which may more directly reflect the existing social hierarchy, competing for limited natural resources with different cultural groups of surfers in the water requires more fluid, nonlinear, and multilayered approaches. As mentioned, the marginalization of some groups of surfers in the water is evident, yet this does not necessarily mean that vulnerable surfers have no agency and can catch no quality waves at all. This ethnographic study explores what determines who gets the waves.

Bourdieu’s Theories Applied to Research on Surfing

I suggest that Bourdieu’s idea of capital (1986) is a useful theoretical framework to further explore and analyze how surfers self-organize in the water and determine who gets the waves. Bourdieu (1986) uses four types of capital to refer to resources in the broadest sense (243): this capital can be economic (financial assets), cultural (skills, knowledge, attitudes, norms, language, performance, and experience), social (networks, local status, and group memberships), and symbolic (rewards accruing from status, respectability, and reputation). Like Marx’s idea that the possession of capital determines the position of individuals, families, and groups in the social order, Bourdieu’s concept of capital is useful to explain and theorize how the interplay and conversion of forms of capital determine surfers’ social position in any given social situation or field (Bourdieu 1986, 1993; Bourdieu and Passeron 1977; Ford and Brown 2006).

The concept of using Bourdieu’s capital is not new in surfing research. Surfing researchers have used capital theories in a variety of ways to explore and understand the culture of surfing (e.g., Dart 2002; Ford and Brown 2006; Nemani and Thorpe 2016). For example, social capital often provides surfers with a sense of belonging and “membership” to a local core group, which may then afford them greater privilege and more chances of catching waves, especially in a localized surf spot (Daskalos 2007; Olive et al. 2015; Preston-Whyte 2002). Furthermore, Bourdieusians and some surfing researchers, who do not necessarily recognize their concepts as a form of capital, have expanded the concept of cultural capital to cover certain unarticulated areas: linguistic capital (Bourdieu and Passeron 1997), feminine or female capital (Huppatz 2009), gender capital (Huppatz and Goodwin 2013; Waitt 2008), subcultural capital (Thornton 1995), white capital (Hage 2003), and brown capital (Nemani and Thorpe 2016). All of these can be converted into surfers’ resources in a wave-hunting game.

Different forms of capital are often treated as independent and applied independently to surfing research, while the interplay of these forms is sometimes overlooked (see Bourdieu 1989; Wacquant 2007, 268). Furthermore, Bourdieu’s (1986, 1993) four forms of capital are not fixed; each can be converted into or from the other forms of capital in certain conditions and may depend on other forms of capital to be effective. For example, “performance capital” (Dart 2002; Ford and Brown 2006)—mainly surfing skills as a form of cultural capital—is one of the prominent characteristics of surfers, which awards them prestige and status. In this case, cultural capital converts into symbolic capital, and the interplay of these and other forms becomes important. Bourdieu would argue that being a professional or a “local hero” provides a significant form of symbolic if not cultural capital, which also grants social power (e.g., Preston-Whyte 2002) and translates into greater chances for better and more waves in a wave-hunting game. Moreover, surfing is a costly activity, and a clear class division may exist. Economic capital is a significant resource for surfers. It can be converted into the time, locality, and materials necessary for surfing, which may provide “regular member” status and chances of catching better waves. Although the greater emphasis on performance rather than costly commodities and the “denial-style” (Wheaton 2000) seen among windsurfers can also be seen among surfers, economic capital still plays an important role in the logistical costs (i.e., owning a car, paying for gas, living close to a surf break, buying equipment) involved in being a surfer. Thus, while Bourdieu’s capital theory seems straightforward, it is nonetheless complex because capital may not operate independently and can convert into and from other forms of capital under certain conditions (Bourdieu 1986; Wheaton 2000). Therefore, the interplay and conversion of capital may be crucial. This is what distinguishes Bourdieu’s capital theory from others.

Another important point here is that Bourdieu’s field and habitus theories are integral components of his capital theory because it allows us to focus on surfers’ practices as the outcome of social structure and the process of social construction. As mentioned, four types of capital are employed and deployed by agents in a “field”—a social space in which social agents compete for the distribution of capital (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992). As Swartz (1997) would argue, surfers can be perceived as playing a wave-hunting game in a field, taking advantage of their different packages of capital. Members in a field seek, individually or collectively, to improve their positions by generating and accumulating more capital. A field is inseparable from “habitus,” which is an internalized, taken-for-granted social structure and a set of dispositions (Bourdieu 1984; Swartz 1997). The social order existing in a spot becomes internalized and taken for granted mainly due to surfers’ socialization and habitus. This order may be created and perpetuated by the members’ socialization such that new members learn and recognize, for example, riding a longboard, performing better, or becoming a local or regular member as legitimate advantages (see Thorpe 2009, 499–502, for an example of a similar process among snowboarders). They then become longboarders and regular members and improve their performance for a better chance of catching waves. In this way, a surfer, as a rational improviser, becomes complicit with the specific rules and hierarchical social structure in a particular field.

A facet of Bourdieu’s theories useful when applied to surfing research is its notion of all surfers being active social agents and the field always being dynamic, depending on the habitus and external factors such as time, place, and environmental conditions. While most sociological theories are conceptualized as stable and unchanging, Bourdieu’s theoretical approach provides for the fluidity of social structure (Bourdieu 1990; Navarro 2006). The social space—a liquid form of social life—is not environmentally stable enough. It recognizes that surf conditions are dynamic, and the value of capital may not be as consistent as many believe because it is determined through the dialectic relationship between field and habitus (see Bourdieu 1985, 734). In other words, surfers create the specific social hierarchy and norms and determine the value of capital, depending on time, space, other surfers, and surf conditions.

The Social Setting and Research Methods

Qualitative data for this research was drawn from my ethnographic participant observation and a small number of interviews that I conducted at a surf break in California, which, mainly because of its accessibility and popularity, attracts a wide range of surfers such as longboarders, shortboarders, stand-up paddle boarders, locals, nonlocals, foreigners, beginners, professionals, men, women, the elderly, adolescents, and children. Because of the popularity of nearby surf breaks, this area was bustling with a wide variety of individuals whenever it was sunny and the waves were good. Surfers in this spot were diverse in many respects, except racially: most surfers were white. The cars they drove and the fact that this was a relatively expensive coastal neighborhood indicated that there were not many working-class surfers in this area, revealing a possible class division in this surfing community.

In addition to interviewing surfers, I also utilized ethnography, which is a popular and important research method used in studies on surfing as well as other lifestyle and extreme sports. Such studies are particularly interested in understanding the cultural practices and power relations within these subcultures (e.g., Beal 1996; Beaumont and Brown 2016; Evers 2004, 2006, 2009; Olive et al. 2015; Olive et al. 2016). I took ethnographic field notes for a total of 10 weeks, observing surfers’ behavior in the water. The ethnographic field notes were written from memory, given that I could not take a notepad, pen, or voice recorder into the water. I acknowledge that, besides data reliability and sample size, this might be one of the study’s methodological limitations (see Schensul and LeCompte 2013, 54). However, I dealt with this challenge by employing the best possible strategy under the circumstances: I stayed in the water for 30 minutes to 1 hour, and then made detailed notes in the parking lot. This is an unusual method for ethnography even though it is similar to time-out spaces, which some ethnographers occasionally use in covert studies (Emerson, Fretz, and Shaw 1995; Schensul and LeCompte 2013).

Participant observation involved some informal and formal interviews with regular members, which added valuable data to my analysis. As chatting with surfers was a normal component of participant observation, I decided to conduct 10 interviews with surfers from this surf spot who were able to offer knowledge about and experience of surfing here (6 formal interviews audio-recorded and 4 informal interviews retrospectively written in my field notes). The study’s participants were aged between 25 and 59. With regard to gender, I interviewed five women and five men. They were of diverse (self-reported) skill levels: four novice and six intermediate. On the basis of my observations and the literature review, I identified potential vulnerable surfers at these spots such as novice surfers, women, nonlocals, shortboarders, and those with a combination of these identities (see Booth 2001b; Nemani and Thorpe 2016; Olive et al. 2015). As a result, I purposefully included novice and intermediate surfers in order to obtain a more comprehensive understanding of the particular cultural institutions of this sport and the surfers’ diverse experiences, and to gather more viewpoints of vulnerable surfers and outsiders. I also included both longboarders and shortboarders (five each, but many ride both types of boards), who have their own cultural institutions and different habitus, which causes social values conflict and unique vulnerability in the water. These interviewees were selected through convenience sampling. Most interview questions were open-ended (except a few demographic questions) and focused on the interviewees’ experiences in the water with other surfers, how they strategize to catch waves, and how they perceive the power relations. While the sample size is relatively small, the benefit of supplementing observational data with that from qualitative interviews to improve accuracy should not be ignored (Marshall and Rossman 2006, 131).

Most often, my role in this social setting was that of an active participant; however, occasionally, I became an “outsider” to the setting by not actively participating in catching waves but sitting at a distance from the rest of the surfers and observing them. Moreover, I, as a researcher, am a regular member and an “insider” at this particular surf spot and have surfed for a significant period of my life (longboarding, shortboarding, and body surfing). I am therefore competent, experienced, and knowledgeable enough to conduct research on surfers. Meanwhile, my racial minority and foreigner status might also have provided me with unique insight and the opportunity to observe with an outsider’s perspective. It is worth noting here that both my outsider and insider statuses at these spots, along with Bourdieu’s theoretical approach, provided a critical lens through which to explore the rules and norms created by the dominant members and helped me select suitable methodologies to understand how surfers develop fields and habitus. Moreover, I focused on the ways in which surfers create, employ, and deploy various forms of capital to negotiate, sustain, and create and re-create the power dynamics in the water.

In the following sections, I focus on the following three main themes: (1) the interplay of capital, (2) negotiating vulnerability while reproducing the field and habitus, and (3) the fluid power relations among surfers.

The Interplay of Capital

As Bourdieu would argue, a specific form of capital alone may not always be advantageous or its value may be “wasted” due to its contextual and situational nature. For example, the power relations among a longboarder, a shortboarder, and a bodyboarder may be complex and fluid, depending upon the intersection of their social statuses, performance and skills, localized cultural factors, surf conditions, and so on, which may favor one of them (e.g., Nemani and Thorpe 2016). My observations suggest that surfers at the spot selected for this study used multiple forms of capital to wield power or neutralize disadvantages and increase the likelihood of catching quality waves. For example, I observed that, in contrast to the general assumption that line-ups are dominated by white male shortboarders, despite the crowd, a nonlocal Japanese female surfer in her thirties kept catching the waves.

[Chika] was riding her longboard and she was catching many waves. . . . It seems like she does not even sit and wait. She catches a wave and takes it in to the beach, and she slowly paddles back to the peak and takes another one.

Riding a longboard was not the only capital that Chika used to catch more waves while others, mostly shortboarders (including me in this particular session), were waiting for available waves. In particular, she benefited from her experience and advanced skills of finding quality waves and peaks, ⁵ which translated into performance capital and symbolic capital in tandem with her longboard—a materialized form of cultural capital. My observations (and personal experience) indicate that experienced and skilled surfers in general seem to find quality waves more easily than others, and, unlike Olive et al.’s (2016, 57–58) observation, no surfers at this break dropped in on her during the session (see also Dart 2002). Thus, there seemed to be no disadvantages related to her lack of linguistic capital (limited English competency), white capital (being Japanese), gender capital (being a woman), and social capital (being a nonlocal Japanese tourist). Alternatively, the potential disadvantages might have been negotiated and neutralized by her longboard and performance capital. In some cases, “silver surfers,” who may experience a physical decline, circumvent their increasing physical disadvantages by riding longboards and using their experience, skills, knowledge, and local memberships (Wheaton 2017). As they have appropriate capital, they do not waste “funds.” Thus, in contrast to the general assumption of shortboard, male domination in the line-up, the interplay and overall quality of capital allow some surfers to catch better waves.

This phenomenon became evident when I repeatedly observed certain surfers, who seemed to have a higher volume and quality of capital, catching more waves than many other surfers in the water who appeared to be vulnerable. For example,

unlike [Chika], who is catching many waves, wave after wave, [Bob], a very experienced local longboarder, sits and waits outside. Whenever a good set comes in, he is the only one who is in the perfect position and can catch it. Everyone in the water just watches him catching good quality waves. He rides his longboard almost all the time. Even if the waves are bigger, he still rides his longboard and catches the best waves of the day . . . but he also rides shortboards . . . he was ripping the other day on his shortboard too.

It is important to highlight that Bob possibly possesses the highest amount and quality of capital that this field and its agents’ habitus value: he is an older, iconic local (who has frequently appeared in magazines and films) and a white, male, highly experienced longboarder who rides shortboards as capably as he rides longboards. Because of his package of capital, which may be valued in multiple cultural institutions and fields (as his performance and symbolic capital is universal due to his media appearances), he did not have to deal with the common-pool resource issue and compete with other surfers to secure good-quality waves. Nobody dropped in on him because, apparently, all the people in the water accepted his privilege and recognized that these waves were for him. It is conceivable that, like Bob, those who have the greatest power by virtue of being male, white, highly experienced, skillful, knowledgeable, well-known local surfers and riding various surfboards might maintain the highest position in the social order in this particular field. Therefore, they can avoid “interpersonal conflict” (Vaske et al. 2007, 183)—the direct competition over resources (Devall and Harvey 1981) occurring “when the presence or behavior of an individual or group interferes with the goals of another individual or group” (Jacob and Schreyer 1980, cited in Vaske et al. 2007, 183)—and catch the best waves at almost any time without interference from other surfers.

Thus, a surfer’s position in this social field is determined by the interplay of capital that the surfer possesses. As Bourdieu would argue, by accumulating more quality capital, people may negotiate and neutralize their disadvantage to maximize their power in the competitive field. Surfers at this spot seemed to learn how to maximize their ability to catch more waves by socializing and developing their habitus and by agreeing upon which form of capital was valuable.

Maneuvering around Vulnerabilities or Simply Reproducing the Social Hierarchy?

Unlike Chika and Bob, vulnerable surfers at this spot seemed to use a variety of strategies and knowledge to actively negotiate the power dynamics and catch waves because earning performance capital may not be a quick process. However, such acts can be understood not only as the surfers’ negotiation with vulnerability but also as simply taking part in reproducing the existing field and habitus. I observed that some vulnerable surfers accepted their subordination and tried to catch different waves from the ones that those who had greater privilege in this field tended to catch. For example,

[surfers] are sitting and waiting at random places . . . not sitting close to each other. I decided to stay just in the middle. . . . It looks like one shortboarder (who has [a] shaved head and is very muscular) and one longboard guy (who looks quite old, probably in his 60s and has grey hair and [a] mustache) are waiting for bigger but inconsistent waves outside, while others (all shortboarders) are waiting for smaller but more consistent waves inside (closer to the shore).

Although a peak refers to a physically limited spot, the size of waves is not always consistent, and bigger and smaller waves do not necessarily break at the same spot. Surfers therefore wait at different spots for different kinds of waves. Indeed, according to my observation, “this whole picture looks actually like a triangle-shaped, top-down and stratified social structure as it goes from outside offshore to inside beach, fewer people outside and more people inside (closer to the beach).” The underlying implication is that surfers in this field, including the vulnerable, accept the social order created by themselves, thereby reproducing the social hierarchy. Most surfers seemed to quickly find where they were supposed to be in the hierarchy. The vulnerable surfers are marginalized, yet often their cultural capital—cultural values and attitudes in particular—helps them convince themselves to accept the marginalization and get “rideable” waves. It seems as though they have learned the benefits of “passing,” which refers to socially marginalized and stigmatized, particularly racial, religious, and gender minorities, hiding their identity and complying with the dominant groups in order to circumvent various forms of social oppression (see Goffman 1963; Sanchez and Schlossberg 2001). By accepting the social hierarchy, although the number and quality of waves that surfers get differ, the vulnerable still receive rideable waves.

To clarify this point, I asked respondents how they strategize to catch waves in the crowded line-up. Chris, an intermediate-level, white, male shortboarder in his twenties, explained the strategy he implements to negotiate his disadvantage.

You sit where everybody is but let one [wave] go through and [it] clears almost everybody out because they all try to take that one. There are usually more than one, so if you wait, you can usually get it unless surfers are really good. They take that wave in and get out there before the other waves are coming in again. Yeah, but it clears the area out, and act like you know what you are doing. Just go out there and take . . . take the wave even if you think somebody else is gonna get it . . .

Chris explains two important strategies here. From knowledge based on observation and experience, (1) he waits until the dominators are not present so he can catch waves, and (2) he keeps trying to see whether those in power fail to catch any waves. He was therefore able to recognize the power relations and theorize that, when those who are in power are not present, he is able to negotiate his vulnerability and catch waves. Again, it is Chris’s cultural capital—knowledge and experience in particular—that helped him formulate effective strategies to secure some waves.

As noted, experienced and professional surfers possess skills and knowledge as a significant form of cultural capital. Moreover, experienced and skillful locals also have more performance and symbolic capital than others. Particularly, unlike marginalized surfers, they catch waves in a competitive and crowded situation. It can be this type of capital that helps certain surfers predict where and when waves will break so they can catch more and better waves. The disadvantage of surfers who lack knowledge and experience then is obvious (see also Scheibel 1995), yet Michelle, a female respondent who was a white, novice surfer, explained that “there are good waves coming to wherever [John] is as always . . . so I decided to move to where he was before he caught a wave and left, the good waves came to the peak where he had taken waves!” Michelle demonstrated her development of habitus and an application of her knowledge that experienced surfers know where good waves break and how to catch them, without being in competition, in order to increase her chance of getting waves. It is her knowledge that convinces her to learn from experts to obtain further cultural capital. Discussions with other surfers at this break indicated this to be the typical process of development of surfers’ habitus and cultural capital. Sometimes, a peak is not easy to locate or shifts according to the direction of swells and various factors. Therefore, some surfers use their surf knowledge, experience, and skills as a significant resource to increase the probability of being at a better position to catch better waves. It is then not necessary to have higher social status or performance capital in this field; it is the surfers’ knowledge of surfing at this particular spot and their “eagerness” to pass as vulnerable and learn from experienced surfers that facilitates and expedites their development of habitus and collection of capital. However, as termed “symbolic violence” by Bourdieu (1991), these forms of negotiation among vulnerable surfers may simply contribute to the reproduction of field and habitus and thus reinforce the existing social structure at this spot, which distributes waves unevenly. Surfers socialize within a particular field and become complicit with the existing power relations.

Fluid Power Relations: Resistance and Contextual Changes

Nevertheless, the fluidity of power relations was also caused by vulnerable surfers’ resistance and the contextual changes accompanying a change in participants’ or surf conditions. I found that in this particular spot, resistance operated in two forms: (1) violating the established habitus and rules, which often causes conflict, and (2) creating a new set of field and habitus. Unlike some shortboarders and beginners who accepted their vulnerable positions and tried getting any waves available, others deviated from the field-specific rules. This phenomenon became evident in certain situations such as when, as Rider (1998) notes, “surfers face a common-pool resource problem, similar to that faced by fishers” (49). When there are not enough waves for everyone, there are fewer waves available for the disadvantaged. I repeatedly observed that when the number of waves was limited and not distributed equally, structural strain occurred. The vulnerable, who had “insufficient funds” to achieve the common goal of catching waves, would decide to violate the common rules. Under such circumstances, rule-breaking was not a result of lack of knowledge as is often seen among beginners. For example, I observed that:

the longboarder was arguing that he took the wave from the peak and he was already on the wave. On the other hand, the shortboarder claimed that the longboarder could not really make the section [meaning that he missed the opportunity to keep riding on that wave], and he and [the] other longboarders were taking all the waves, so there were not much left for [the] shortboarders.

The culturally determined common goal of surfers is to catch and ride waves; however, as we know, not all groups of surfers have the same values, means, and capital to do so. As noted earlier, social values conflict occurs among different groups of surfers such as longboarders and shortboarders (see Vaske et al. 2007, 183). This situation could also be interpreted as follows: since the longboarder was catching all the waves and there were few waves left for other surfers, this shortboarder’s “deviant” behavior was a form of resistance to the existing power structure in this particular social setting. I observed another similar case:

A long-haired blonde guy with a big longboard is yelling at a younger shortboarder in the water, “Get out! You gotta look when you go!” The longboard guy says that this guy did not look to his back when he was taking a wave on which the longboard guy was already riding, so they almost hit each other. “You did it five times!” It sounds like the shortboarder did it five times already. They keep arguing the same thing over and over. There is another guy with [a] longboard paddling towards these two guys, and he is joining their argument. The longboard guy continues [yelling] and tells the other longboard guy, “He did not look. It was not only once! Five times in a row! These people piss me off!” I could not hear what the shortboard guy was saying and [how he was] responding to the longboard guys.

As this longboarder mentioned, the shortboarder in the water dropped in on him five times. It seems that this shortboarder violated the general rules of surfing intentionally, thereby committing an act of deviant behavior. In turn, from the standpoint of the shortboarder, it might have been an act of resistance to the existing power structure in order to secure limited resources. Importantly, dropping in can be interpreted both as a form of resistance to the power structure by the vulnerable and, as exemplified by Olive et al. (2016), an act of oppression by the dominators against the vulnerable surfers.

A previous respondent, Chris, also described a similar situation in which “the guy on the longboard takes one [wave] and comes back and gets another wave. I mean, he was taking wave after wave consistently. He definitely had more waves than anybody else.” Although waves are a scarce commodity in some situations, some longboarders catch more waves than others. Waves may not be equally distributed in this field, which creates resentment between longboarders and shortboarders, increasing the likelihood of conflict between them (e.g., Gonzales 2015). As I found, riding a longboard, rather than being an illegal act, is a norm and a materialized form of cultural capital in this particular spot even though it is stigmatized in some other shortboard-dominated fields (see, e.g., Waitt and Frazer 2012). Riding a longboard can be a legitimized form of capital or advantage over shortboards in terms of the number and quality of waves caught since there is a perceived consensus among the surfers present in this particular field where there is a clear cultural conflict. Here, the complexity of power dynamics is obvious: as in Vaske et al.’s (2000) analysis on the conflict between skiers and snowboarders over limited natural resources, it is important to recognize the cultural similarities and dissimilarities between longboarders and shortboarders that contribute to the multilayered power dynamics in the water.

In fact, resentment toward longboarders was evident among this study’s respondents. Moreover, earning this specific form of capital, which is legitimate but stigmatized for some, was feasible for some shortboarders but not preferred by them. When I asked Mike, an intermediate-level, white, male shortboarder in his thirties, whether he felt comfortable being in the water with many longboarders, he described a situation in which riding a longboard could become disadvantageous.

Depends on the waves . . . on the bigger days, yes, because I laugh when they try . . . you know, a lot of times when they try to take off on those bigger waves, and they pearled ⁶ the nose and, you know, they can’t ride [those bigger waves].

Mike did not feel inferior to longboarders because, as he perceived while he possibly tried to make sense of the fluidity of capital due to surf condition changes, riding a longboard was not an advantage on days with bigger waves; rather, for him, riding a shortboard was an advantage. It is commonly agreed that longboards are technically not suitable to waves that are bigger, faster, steeper, and more powerful. Although, as I observed, riding a longboard could be significant cultural capital for catching high-quality and a larger number of waves under some conditions, it does not necessarily guarantee a position of power even in the longboard-dominated spots such as the one where I conducted my ethnography. Indeed, I did not see many longboarders on days with bigger waves. Riding a longboard as a materialized form of cultural capital may thus depend on environmental factors—that is, surf conditions. Contextual changes, especially with a shift in surf conditions, significantly altered longboarders’ (and longboards’) predominance over shortboarders. This illustrates how the field can be dynamic, so that surfers must continually respond to environmental changes and assume the fluid nature of social hierarchy.

Furthermore, the field is unstable not only because of environmental factors but also because of the way in which various surfers develop different fields and habitus at various times. The context also changes with a change in participants. Furthermore, my findings were similar to those in the studies conducted by Daskalos (2007), Evers (2004, 2006, 2009), and Scott (2003), in which localism and authentic memberships were emphasized as prominent social capital to paddle out to a particular spot (or enter a particular field). I found that, similar to locals attempting to maintain their own field and habitus, asserting power through a controlling field and habitus to resist the existing social hierarchy was quite possible. Although I observed it only once during my ethnography, a group of surfers tended to have this type of advantage to temporarily replace the preexisting social fields and established habitus, such as common rules and surf etiquette, with new ones. Thus, authentic membership of a subculture may not be accorded only based on the surfer’s local status; a group of surfers can create it.

There were eight guys in the water, and I did not know that they all knew each other. This was one of the days that a peak area was small and surfers were really concentrated in a spot. When some surfers caught waves and left from the spot, I moved to the middle of the spot for a next available wave. Some came back and started talking to each other in Portuguese; I was surrounded by these Brazilians who were talking over me! It was a very uncomfortable moment. A set came. I started paddling and tried to catch it, but three of these Brazilians also tried to catch it. All others were saying “Go go, get it” in Portuguese . . . I hesitated. When I started speaking to them in Portuguese, they looked really surprised. After talking to them for a while, I did not feel uncomfortable anymore staying there, surrounded by them. A little later two guys came out and tried to stay in this spot like me. These two were surrounded by a group of surfers (including me). . . . They looked uncomfortable. After a while, they left . . .

Social exclusion and domination are accomplished by using linguistic capital and, deliberately or otherwise, violating respectful distance with an intent of imposing rules and creating new field and habitus. Lack of linguistic capital meant to me and others that we temporarily “wasted” our capital, which is why it was difficult to be in the peak (enter the social field). However, we quickly developed our habitus in response to contextual changes: I tried to talk to the surfers in Portuguese while the others left the spot. The surfers in this particular situation, including me, who later became accepted by the group, felt vulnerable to this group’s dominance because our “taken-for-granted” capital suddenly lost its value. Although this is just an example and I observed it occurring once, this way of establishing social control, by creating a new layer of field and habitus that can be more dominant, theoretically exemplifies great power, especially when the group is sufficiently large, as in this case, to physically take over the peak. Consequently, this surf break was negotiated and governed by a group and its rules and norms. In this particular situation, those who did not possess the key capital, such as the two other surfers, to enter this field, quickly learned their vulnerability and subordinate position, after which they left the field. As I experienced first-hand, possession of linguistic capital was necessary to obtain effective social capital in order to enter and be part of the dominant field created by this particular group. Again, it was one observation during my ethnography, but a similar finding was discussed in Nemani and Thorpe’s study (2016): “Brown capital is strongly valued at surf breaks where the dominant ethnic group of the local community is Maori and/or Pacific Island” (228). As they note, their respondents’ brown capital in other spots in New Zealand, where the dominant group of surfers is not Māori, can be negative capital, depending on the participants in a given spot who develop a specific field and habitus. In addition to depending on changes in weather conditions, the power relations among surfers are contextual for this reason as well.

According to my observations and previous research, the value of capital is fluid, meaning that some forms of capital can be “well-spent” or “wasted” in certain situations. Because of higher spatial mobility (i.e., transportation and telecommunications technologies), even locals do not necessarily surf at the same place all the time (see Anderson 2014); they may visit different surf breaks where they may not have the same symbolic capital. This phenomenon of capital being fluid becomes even more evident when surfers travel abroad or to a new location. Although their cultural, performance, and symbolic capital helps, they become first-timers in a new spot without other significant forms of capital such as local status, social networks, and local knowledge. Furthermore, they have perhaps no linguistic capital in a foreign country. Theoretically, many then feel vulnerable. However, if a large group of surfers go out together to a surf break or build their own cultural and physical spaces (e.g., foreigner-owned surf camps in surf destinations such as Mexico and Indonesia), they might be capable of “taking over” a spot. As Comer (2010) observed, due to international surf tourism, foreigners—“Western locals”—surf the waves at a premier reef break in Mexico while locals are marginalized (see also Usher 2017). Thus, globalization and recolonialization also complicate the power dynamics among surfers, particularly in surf-tourism destinations (e.g., Ruttenberg and Brosius 2017; Comer 2010). In such circumstances, if a group of visiting surfers attempts to impose its own rules and take over an existing or new field, what constitutes legitimized and valuable capital depends on the surfers present, and there can be resistance from other participants (e.g., Usher and Kerstetter 2015). There appears to be a strong need for further investigation, yet my preliminary findings based on the limited data in this article validate the existence of fluid power relations among surfers in the water.

Conclusion and Discussion

This qualitative study presented an example of the fluid power dynamics that exist among surfers in line-ups, laying particular emphasis on the complexity of the social fields and habitus. Employing Bourdieu’s theories, this study emphasized the field of practice and found that surfers in this surf spot used multiple forms of capital to exercise their power and increase the likelihood of catching high-quality waves, which appeared to be a scarce commodity. Those who have the greatest package of capital (male, white, highly experienced, skillful, knowledgeable, well-known, local surfers who ride various surfboards) might maintain the highest position in the social order in this particular field, thereby catching the best waves without interference from other surfers. Participants in this field, particularly newcomers who have “insufficient funds” or “other currency,” socialize and develop field-specific habitus, through which they try to earn field-specific valuable capital (such as riding a longboard, being a regular member, improving skills, and obtaining more knowledge). The experiences of vulnerable surfers who lacked essential capital or “wasted” their capital indicated that quality waves may not be evenly accessible to everyone. The marginalization of vulnerable surfers occurs. However, unlike previous research, this pilot study revealed that surfers’ social status in cultural spaces based on, for example, whiteness and masculinity may not independently affect their ability to catch quality waves. Drawing upon Bourdieu’s theoretical approach, instead of focusing on capital individually and considering surfers’ vulnerability to be static and deterministic, this study is significant because it emphasizes the interplay of capital and discuss how this interplay complicates marginalization.

As Bourdieu would suggest, the theorization of the power relations among surfers in the water requires a more nuanced approach. The value of capital may not be fixed and universal because it is determined differently in each situation through the dialectics between field and habitus (see Bourdieu and Passeron 1977). For theoretical innovation, Bourdieu’s focus on solving the structure-agency dilemma is of particular interest in this research. In short, surfers in this spot confronted social structural constraints but could also spawn social agency, actively earning a variety of capital and sometimes negotiating their structural vulnerability by “passing” or deviating from the established cultural rules or habitus specific to this social setting. As newcomers socialize and learn, a lack of capital can often be remedied by earning more capital (by, for instance, becoming a regular member, improving skills, and riding a longboard). However, some social and cultural capital, such as longboard capital, performance capital, linguistic capital, gender capital, and race capital, are not easily earned, cannot be earned at all, or are not preferred to be earned. Beginners, for example, could not earn performance capital easily; instead, they negotiated by learning the power relations, accepting their vulnerability, and passing, thereby reinforcing the existing power relations but allowing themselves to catch waves. This exemplifies the typical process through which established cultural rules fortify symbolic violence. Shortboarders, who did not comply with the longboard subculture, on the other hand, purposefully violated the established rules and fought against the longboarders’ domination—for example, by “dropping in” on the dominators under certain wave conditions. Moreover, an alternative form of negotiation for more mobile surfers is to circumvent their disadvantages and avoid crowded surf breaks simply by surfing at different breaks (Preston-Whyte 2002; Usher et al. 2016) or by traveling to uncrowded surf-tourism destinations. Thus, some forms of capital are not static because surfers resist and negotiate the power structure even though, according to the established cultural rules and power structure, their resistance and negotiation sometimes appear as deviant.

Importantly, in addition to the cultural and structural forces generating vulnerability (i.e., gender, race, class, local status, and other social factors that often contribute to the ordinary power relations in the water), context changes that occur with a shift in surf conditions and a change in participants may make surfers feel vulnerable. Such changes contribute to the fluid nature of power dynamics in the water. As exemplified, power relations in the water may be complicated by the fact that the established habitus—surfing norms in particular—apart from being simply reproduced and enforced by normal socialization, are also challenged in some particular contexts. When the context changes with a shift in surf conditions, longboard capital may become “wasted” because of waves being unsuitable for longboarders. Experienced surfers may enjoy bigger and more challenging waves without interference from longboarders and less experienced surfers. Keen surfers also enjoy surfing alone in less ideal surf conditions. Furthermore, a shift in participants who bring different habitus and packages of capital and can instantly create a new social field was also considered theoretically important in this study for further analysis of the fluidity of power relations in the water. “Taking over” a field is possible when a change in participants implies a change in dominators in the field. Established cultural rules and factors, which normally fortify the existing, stable power structure, may be challenged and significantly altered depending on the context. Thus, although it may not be possible to develop universal theoretical knowledge about surfers’ power dynamics given their fluidity, this study suggests that, unlike traditional sociological theories that are often conceptualized as stable or slow-changing, utilizing Bourdieu’s theoretical approach to focus on surfers’ practices may provide critical insight into the liquid form of social life.

Despite these significant theoretical points, this is an ethnographic study about one surf spot where different groups of surfers are active. Unlike other nearby beach breaks where it is easier for surfers to find uncrowded peaks, this is a reef break with a smaller carrying capacity (see Buckley 2002). As Bourdieu’s theoretical approach suggests, I acknowledge that the findings in this study may be unique and not applicable to other breaks because multiple, multilayered social fields can exist and be operated differently by different agents with varying habitus at various times. Moreover, differences exist between this break and others in terms of the population, location, and type and quality of waves. In addition, different historical, political, and geographical factors make every break slightly different. Cultural factors are also important as various groups of surfers develop distinct, multilayered habitus, resulting in different cultural groups and institutions such as longboarders, shortboarders, recreational surfers, competitive surfers, and soul surfers. It is particularly important to mention that, in contrast to the shortboard-dominated spots often emphasized in previous studies (except that by Olive [2016], who conducted her research in Byron Bay), the surf spot in this study is longboard-dominated.

Political efforts toward making surf management and policies more effective and inclusive in order to solve the long history of conflict in crowded line-ups (see Bastone 2008; Usher et al. 2016) should consider these implications. Current surf management policies intend to promote safety but also fortify the social hierarchy in the water. Creating and enforcing surfers’ rules are crucial for safety reasons. However, they may not resolve issues involving the marginalization of disadvantaged surfers and the fluidity of power relations, which is the underlying cause of conflict in line-ups.