The sun doesn’t rise so early in Malibu canyon. Or at least it doesn’t on this particular Sunday morning. Luxury houses are all hidden in the hills, painted with a foggy layer of false tranquility in one of America’s most restless societal crannies. All the houses belong to celebrities, or people who wish they were celebrities but don’t have enough talent or personality to become celebrities so they just become investment bankers or plastic surgeons or shady businessmen and drive the same cars and sit at the same restaurant tables as America’s stars, starlets, public figures and private train wrecks. One of the houses here belongs to Pamela Anderson -- heard of her? -- and it’s the temporary home of a very special guest. His name is Michael Dunphy -- heard of him? -- and he’s crawling out of bed with a lovely little miss with breasts the size of large mangos who, I’m assuming, is all smitten over his WQS-battle-hardened eyes. She rolls over and buries her gorgeous face into a plush pillow. Dunphy dresses, grabs his shit, exits the room, exits the house, goes to the beach, wins the 2015 Malibu Invitational.
While I may have taken an artistic liberty or two in that first paragraph (the bust size was an educated guess), it was by no means fabricated. Dunphy woke up at Pamela Anderson’s house the morning he won the Malibu Invitational. That’s a fact. A pro surfer, a celebrity, two paths, one junction. And it wasn’t an isolated incident. In the past weeks, I’ve also heard about that time a group of professional surfers ended up partying at Justin Bieber’s house. Or how a few others have been spending nights out there doing the cha-cha with Miley Cyrus. I’m still not lying. See:
This is nothing new. Surfing has had an ebbing and flowing relationship with Hollywood ever since it became a place and, more importantly, a thing -- maybe Duke Kahanamoku banged Helen Hayes? Maybe Miki Dora was a cocaine cowboy with John Wayne? Maybe there was a guy guy who woke up at Pamela Anderson’s house plenty of times during her prime? Probably.
So even though surfing and Hollywood have always had their moments of mingling, right now feels different. It feels bigger. It feels like more surfers are hanging out with more celebrities. It feels like surfing is envied -- even idolized? -- by the general public and the people whom the general public hold in a very high regard. It feels like surfing is taking over Hollywood. And why does that matter?
It doesn’t. At all. The fact that professional surfers are partying with celebrities has absolutely no impact on your life. I just thought that you might like to know that some of the surfers you admire are out there grabbing stalefish by day and licking starfish by night. It’s a great time to be a surfer. It’s a great time to be alive. And I tip my cap to them. --Brendan Buckley