I hope you have lots of fun in trying to catch me…
I hope you have lots of fun in trying to catch me…
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how they matter

Did you know we have a YouTube channel? I barely do. But get off my back, jerk, because so many different StrangeLove hats are worn between Nick and I that we're lucky if we can even remember our own names, much less what we did or did not say to each other a week ago. Yes, Moleskins would behoove our beleaguered and forgetful synapses, but that's more of a personal matter between the two of us and not something to be aired out in public spaces such as this… which I apparently already did. Hmm. Anyway, the pencil point of today's post is not our bottomless well of shortcomings as occupational human beings, but rather the great lengths we went to this summer to share the stories behind our newly expanded line of "Pro Series" boards and how they're all now uploaded to that Great Digital Garbage Gyre in the Cloud, aka YouTube.

If you're a devotee of our Instagrams then you've most likely seen all of these videos. Unless, of course, the algorithmic odds were not cast in your favor, because apparently less than ten-percent of our 56.2K followers do actually get served up with our intermittent stream of social bullshit. So, should you fall in that unwitting 90th percentile whom Instagram deems unworthy of our reach, here you go.

I could, by the way, whinge on and on about our algorithmic woes (both that of StrangeLove and my own sorry ass Instagram account, the latter of which I'm convinced now permanently resides in the most anti-social of social shadow lands), but from what I've gleaned online it's a universal commonality shared between most all prole users—especially those segregated into the small business and artist camps. Free is as free does, though, so who am I to complain? I mean, I am, but whatever. It's my birthright to do so as a card-carrying member of the greatest slacker generation ever.

Oh, but yes, graphics can and do matter. Or at least more so when they actually mean something to someone, be it the artist or rider, and that was the ultimate goal with this series of one-offs for the team. Yeah, I know, it may be regarded as an antiquated mindset, but it's one that I grew up skating and drawing in coming out of the '80s back when graphics still held the power of identity and had yet to succumb to the churn 'n' burn cycle of commodification that accelerated throughout the '90s into that which we know as the nowadays [1]. Besides, it's just plain fun to engage with the team and get them actively involved in the creative process for their respective models.

Not to overstate the obvious, but each rider was then given the opportunity to elaborate on the aforementioned experience for a series of promotional videos. Aside from our providing a few remedial questions and a bit of guidance to prevent any unfortunate episodes of brand schizophrenia, each took their own directional cue to come back with that which can now be played before you at your leisure, all algorithms be damned to the depths of MetaHell. —Sean Cliver

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1. On a recent Sk8face post via Instagram, Lance Mountain had an interesting take on this graphic transition going from the hey-days of the '80s into the dark days of the early ‘90s, where the pro model became less and less about the pro and more about the graphic or the artist. This soon lead to another more drastic transition, however, where boards mostly became quarterly catalog fodder with less and less regard for the artist in favor of bowing down to the almighty bottom line. The bean counters had finally won and so began the Age of the Logo Board as graphics returned full circle to the ‘70s.


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