The world of surf’s a vibrant space, filled with individuals to match. Whilst we all share the common hobby of being addicted to the brine, we differ in a number of others. Some of us like craft beers, others like a XXXX slab, some are into 8-cylinders and short skirts, where some prefer 80’s Volvos and bobbed fringes.
Another point of divergence, is below the hips: that’s right, your trunks.
It’s a demonstrable fact that diving in the drink wearing nothing but trunks is the ultimate worldly pleasure. So no matter hip-hugging aesthetics this season, these six trunks (available from SurfStitch, here) have you covered six ways to Sunday, with six styles to match six summer personas.
You’ve just picked up a fresh Ghost, there’s a few warm pony kegs getting tapped at the sandbar out front, and Boardriders is coming up next week. Tech boardies work, right? If you’re looking for an extra (probably mental) edge to make it out of round 2, lace up these feats of modern engineering and start shralping.
There’s nothing better than a mid-afternoon schooner, post-Pass slide, at the Northern. The good thing about this pair of trunks is that they accentuate your Knost-like groove and tanned upper-gams (and double as an afternoon lady-killing accessory).
Style, like music these days, is full of generic, self-serious pretentiousness—bring back the growl of Kurt’s Fender Mustang, time travel back to ‘95, put on Ween’s “Buenos Tardes Amigo,” and grab a pair of these nostalgia-scratching (Youth Against Establishment!) Veeco trunks to sate that pre-2000 itch.
Your no trend-hopper and your not pining for competitive glory. You just want a pair of trunks that are easy on the eye, easy on the shallow pockets, and lets you snag a couple unnoticed amongst the throngs escaping the summer heat wave.
Grind out a 4-hour stint at the Superbank, then an 8-hour shift plus overtime at Rainbow Bay surfy after—these trunks will get the job done. They’ve even got a little bit of spice to entice the ladies’ eyes too.
Oh, the liberated sensation, sliding unshackled by that tether they call a ‘leash’? Leashes are for dogs, you say, and you hardly ever lose that log anyway? (You don’t know what-all those style-cramping clubbies are upset about.) When you wear these 16-inchers, Mum plays “spot the difference between you and your ‘70’s Dad’.” Oh, how sons carry the sins of the father...