This article appears in the columns section of frieze 237, ‘Threads’
A young man walks along a busy Seoul street, wearing a red Polar Skate Co. windbreaker and loose blue jeans and holding a spray-paint canister in his gloved hand. The fisheye lens captures him keeping close to a concrete wall, spraying his tag, then confidently and casually continuing along to mark another portion. The camera cuts to another young man – baggy camouflage cargo pants, oversized white T-shirt, baseball cap – skateboarding through what appears to be a corporate plaza, hip-hop beats by Maalib playing in the background. His arm is covered in a tattoo sleeve, despite inking being illegal in Korea since 1992. The video, PENISCOLADA × MISCHIEF (2016), marked the first of two successful collaborations between Seoul-based streetwear brand Mischief and skater Cramp Quack. ‘Respect came naturally after we understood young skaters’ pure passion and genuine affection for their culture,’ Mischief co-founder Jieun Seo tells me.
That the collaboration was acclaimed by skaters is unusual in a moment when so many Korean streetwear brands are copying a skate aesthetic. According to Sukwoo Hong, a fashion editor covering street culture, brands such as thisisneverthat, Critic, LIFUL and Covernat are all ‘adopting skaters’ free, young, rebellious attitudes. But,’ he continues, ‘skaters are wary of being associated with brands which don’t understand their culture deeply.’ He cites the example of how, last autumn, when Levi’s Korea used a longboard (instead of a skateboard) in a promotional video for a new collection, the brand was harshly criticized and had to apologize publicly. Nevertheless, designers continue to riff on skate trends and skate style has become ubiquitous in Seoul. K-pop stars such as G-Dragon and CL don skatewear and show off their tattoos while hanging out at clubs frequented by skaters – despite not actually skating themselves.
Kwang-hoon Cho, co-founder of Korean skateboarding magazine Daily Grind, told me that he started skateboarding because of how skaters dressed: ‘I wanted to be like them.’ Many new skaters are lured to the sport through fashion. However, most of the people you see dressed like skaters on the streets of Seoul probably don’t own a board themselves: they’re dressed like skaters simply for what they perceive the sport to represent.
After the 1988 Seoul Summer Olympics gave the South Korean government confidence in its international footing, restrictions on overseas travel were relaxed. In addition to economic modernization, this led to an influx of foreign culture, specifically hip hop and skateboarding, which were bolstered by global booms in the mid-1990s. But the ethos of these scenes was often at odds with the Confucian social dynamics, still prominent throughout Korea, that privilege family and career over individuality. Strict parents expect their children to study hard, go to good universities, find stable jobs and behave deferentially. This attitude extends to the workplace where employers, not unlike parents, often demand that their employees work late and on weekends. Cho tells me how many skater friends have left the sport, conforming to these pressures. Nevertheless, skaters, who have long been associated with a rejection of these norms, have served as an inspiration to a younger generation increasingly at odds with the predominant conservativism.
APAC brand director for Supreme, Brian Smith, tells me how ‘emerging fashion trends in Korea tap into this energy that skateboarders represent – a feeling that is, at the same time, humble and raw, full of attitude.’ You’ll see graphic hats by Critic or flight pants by thisisneverthat alongside a shelf full of antiseptic and well-cut sweater vests and beach shorts. Consumers, though, are drawn to streetwear’s promise of individual expression, and brands continue to launch in Korea, convinced they’ll click with the market. And they do: young people are eager to learn about new trends, presumably unaware of the irony of desiring the ‘independent spirit’ these brands represent whilst wanting to wear the latest fashion; as soon as a K-pop star is seen wearing a clothing item, these consumers – informed by Instagram – rush to add that same piece to their closets.
Keen to hold onto their authenticity, real skaters are happy to reject current trends. On sites like Daily Grind, communities of skaters – and their fans – will discuss and determine whether a photo features true skater clothing (say, Dickies workwear or Levi’s SilverTab jeans) or a streetwear knockoff. Despite the sport’s widespread fashion influence, there still aren’t many actual skaters in Korea, so these sites are also useful for sharing skating videos, planning meet-ups and developing communities.
At the end of PENISCOLADA × MISCHIEF, the six featured skaters – Byung Moon Choi, Tim Chung, Bob Jong Ill, Min Hyuk Lee, Francois Osamu, Cramp Quack and Tae Jun Um – are all failing: they’re falling off their boards, not landing their ollies, scraping their knees. But, in each clip, they’re also laughing. We get a glimpse of the back of one skater’s bright yellow hoodie; it reads, ‘Have a Good Time’. The video ends, one friend helping another up, and then both are back on their boards, recording themselves as they skate down the middle of the street. One lifts his casted hand to flip off the camera, a big smile across his face.
This article first appeared in frieze issue 237 with the headline ‘Skaters vs. Streetwear’
Main image: John Finucane, Kim Bumsoo doing a frontside tailslide, 2022. Courtesy: the artist
