hiya wa howa aswat

Creed McTaggart. A fresh-face out of West Oz, a laid-back bloke who listens to The Velvet Underground and has long hair and has for the last six months been perpetual putty for the hippest in surf. He’s been paraded as a cultural magnate, photographed more out of the surf than in it, earning such editorial praise as, “he isn’t afraid to publicly puff a ciggy when he feels the need.” He’s been molded into the embodiment of the paradigm hipster-shift within the industry.
I have no problem with Creed, I’m actually a huge fan. He’s humble in person and loud in the water. Style for days and a versatile bag of tricks. His short-form film Abyss was great. I’m just disappointed that I’ve seen him on two magazine covers in the past month without a surfboard in sight. Puffing ciggies and chugging fishbowls or some other form of posturing that is so far from surfing it’s obscene. He’s better known for his signature sunglasses than his aerial repertoire, and that’s a road of faux surf celebrity that fades fast. Creed deserves to be on covers of magazines, but he deserves to be there on a surfboard, on or above a wave.
Creed, before they make you cut your hair, and film it, and run a full feature about the experience, heed this advice: Stay in the damn water. It’s the only place you’re safe.

Here’s to Creed someday getting the Page 1 he deserves;
enjoy five reasons Creed should just keep surfing: