Do you ever feel like you’re a little behind at becoming yourself? Like you’re you, of course, but you haven’t fully stepped into the version that you’ve always been in your head?
I didn’t grow up surfing, but I was a Blue Crush girl. Complete with a hemp necklace, an Alloy catalogue, and a Pacsun frequent shopper card. Extreme sports were having their renaissance when I was in middle school, and the release of Blue Crush in 2002 coincided perfectly with the end of the teeny-bopper era and the beginning of my alternative journey. “By The Way” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers had just come out and was permanently glued in my Discman. The stars had aligned to create an entire generation of girls who would come out as bisexual as soon as we learned the word for it.
In the summer of 2002 I took one surf lesson. I hadn’t actually seen the movie yet, but I had already decided it would be my whole personality—the rest would fall into place, duh! Unfortunately my instructor was a teenager and extremely cute, and few things are less safe than a 12-year-old with a crush in the middle of the ocean. I had no coordination, terrible form, and quite frankly, I have very little memory of the whole attempt. Between wondering what the guy thought of my braces and trying to angle my body so he could see my tankini, my brain was closed off to new neural pathways.
"I hadn’t actually seen the movie yet, but I had already decided it would be my whole personality—the rest would fall into place, duh!"
I put surfing on the backburner, then I grew up and moved to a city where people wear Doc Martens to the beach. I never even saw Blue Crush in full, despite its sheer existence playing an integral part in the formation of my identity. It was just one of those things that got away from me, until I streamed it earlier this year.
This is what Roger Ebert said in his review when it came out: "Looking at the posters for Blue Crush, which show Bosworth, Rodriguez, and Lake posing with bikinis and surfboards, I expected another mindless surfing movie. Blue Crush is anything but." Boy, was he right. The film follows surfer Anne-Marie (Kate Bosworth) in her quest to overcome her fear of drowning and go pro. She’s supported by her tough-as-nails friends—the tough-as-nails Eden (Michelle Rodriguez), Lena (Sanoe Lake), and her little sister (Mika Boorem)—as they train, party, and work terrible hospitality jobs. It’s a relatable, inspiring story of female athleticism and friendship, and there’s even a little love story with Warner from Legally Blonde.
True to form, I immediately signed up for a surf lesson as soon as I finished the movie. You can call me a kook—and riding the subway to surf camp while listening to “Youth of the Nation” by P.O.D must qualify as kook behaviour but there is truly no stopping a grown woman with a hyperfixation. Overconfident and about 20 years late, I was determined to see through to this rite of passage I’d totally flubbed before.
As it turned out, my first lesson as an adult had been cancelled. They closed Rockaway Beach that day because a woman had been bitten by a shark and was in critical care. It was the first shark attack reported on that beach in 70 years. Clearly, the ocean was testing me just like it had tested Anne-Marie (she surfed 20-foot waves in Oahu, and I was on the sand of the North Atlantic, but you get what I’m saying).
At my rescheduled lesson, I was fired up. My instructor was a 22-year-old named Vicky who was a lot like me if I’d made much chiller choices in life. With clear instructions and no teenage hormones, I was up on the board in minutes on little bitty waves pretending I was trying out for the Billabong team. I was actually pretty good, proving once and for all the message of the film: Girls really can do anything and, though they didn’t explicitly say this, 33-year-old women can, too.
With my whole personality officially earned, allow me to loudly proclaim: If Blue Crush has one fan, she’s me. If Blue Crush has no fans, I have likely been eaten by a shark.
Do you ever feel like you’re a little behind at becoming yourself? Like you’re you, of course, but you haven’t fully stepped into the version that you’ve always been in your head?
I didn’t grow up surfing, but I was a Blue Crush girl. Complete with a hemp necklace, an Alloy catalogue, and a Pacsun frequent shopper card. Extreme sports were having their renaissance when I was in middle school, and the release of Blue Crush in 2002 coincided perfectly with the end of the teeny-bopper era and the beginning of my alternative journey. “By The Way” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers had just come out and was permanently glued in my Discman. The stars had aligned to create an entire generation of girls who would come out as bisexual as soon as we learned the word for it.
In the summer of 2002 I took one surf lesson. I hadn’t actually seen the movie yet, but I had already decided it would be my whole personality—the rest would fall into place, duh! Unfortunately my instructor was a teenager and extremely cute, and few things are less safe than a 12-year-old with a crush in the middle of the ocean. I had no coordination, terrible form, and quite frankly, I have very little memory of the whole attempt. Between wondering what the guy thought of my braces and trying to angle my body so he could see my tankini, my brain was closed off to new neural pathways.
"I hadn’t actually seen the movie yet, but I had already decided it would be my whole personality—the rest would fall into place, duh!"
I put surfing on the backburner, then I grew up and moved to a city where people wear Doc Martens to the beach. I never even saw Blue Crush in full, despite its sheer existence playing an integral part in the formation of my identity. It was just one of those things that got away from me, until I streamed it earlier this year.
This is what Roger Ebert said in his review when it came out: "Looking at the posters for Blue Crush, which show Bosworth, Rodriguez, and Lake posing with bikinis and surfboards, I expected another mindless surfing movie. Blue Crush is anything but." Boy, was he right. The film follows surfer Anne-Marie (Kate Bosworth) in her quest to overcome her fear of drowning and go pro. She’s supported by her tough-as-nails friends—the tough-as-nails Eden (Michelle Rodriguez), Lena (Sanoe Lake), and her little sister (Mika Boorem)—as they train, party, and work terrible hospitality jobs. It’s a relatable, inspiring story of female athleticism and friendship, and there’s even a little love story with Warner from Legally Blonde.
True to form, I immediately signed up for a surf lesson as soon as I finished the movie. You can call me a kook—and riding the subway to surf camp while listening to “Youth of the Nation” by P.O.D must qualify as kook behaviour but there is truly no stopping a grown woman with a hyperfixation. Overconfident and about 20 years late, I was determined to see through to this rite of passage I’d totally flubbed before.
As it turned out, my first lesson as an adult had been cancelled. They closed Rockaway Beach that day because a woman had been bitten by a shark and was in critical care. It was the first shark attack reported on that beach in 70 years. Clearly, the ocean was testing me just like it had tested Anne-Marie (she surfed 20-foot waves in Oahu, and I was on the sand of the North Atlantic, but you get what I’m saying).
At my rescheduled lesson, I was fired up. My instructor was a 22-year-old named Vicky who was a lot like me if I’d made much chiller choices in life. With clear instructions and no teenage hormones, I was up on the board in minutes on little bitty waves pretending I was trying out for the Billabong team. I was actually pretty good, proving once and for all the message of the film: Girls really can do anything and, though they didn’t explicitly say this, 33-year-old women can, too.
With my whole personality officially earned, allow me to loudly proclaim: If Blue Crush has one fan, she’s me. If Blue Crush has no fans, I have likely been eaten by a shark.