Eric Matthies

Eric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries.Eric here. In the late-80’s/early-90’s, I was enthralled with the idea of racing bicycles. My inspiration was one part the excitement of winning and another part the awareness that winning could garner perks like being asked to join a team. Getting the uniform, bike, and stickers that came with sponsorship seemed like a neat form of social currency. It was clear that the way to achieving sponsorship was through results at the finish line. I did ok in a few races, poorly in a few more. I never got sponsored or asked to be a part of a team. I wanted to win, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the process. Eventually, I figured out that I had a better time riding my bike on my own terms. Racing wasn’t my thing. I continue to ride and follow the sport. I have friends who race, some at elite levels in niche disciplines. Like many, they struggle to square the costs of their passion with the costs of living. I’ve started to notice a new trend emerging in the competitive cycling networks, one in which winning races is secondary to building a social following to gain sponsorship.In cycling, the stain of winning through cheating—with drugs, mechanical assistance, or simply massive amounts of technological investment—has worn away interest levels. Sponsors have taken note and shifted how they choose to represent their brands accordingly. It would seem they’ve also borrowed from their action sport industry cohorts (skateboarding, surfing, sport climbing, and the like), who have long been ahead of the curve when it comes to reliance on imagery and story rather than contest results to sell products. The trend for companies looking to sponsor a particular cyclist seems to be bending away from who is the fastest and towards strong narratives and follower counts. Racers used to have names reflective of their all-or-nothing instincts—The Cannibal, The Pirate—and sports journalists penned mythic tales about these uber-athletes and their feats of speed and daring. Today, racers self-promote, often with more focus on their van-life adventures than competitions. In this profile, professional TJ Eisenhart states, “I’m not showing up at these races with a mean mug on my face ready to tear up some legs… I’m showing up wanting to meet the people and understand why they’re doing the races.” “The Cannibal” Eddy Merckx winning the 1975 Amstel Gold RaceWhy Is This Interesting? Eisenhart is representative of a very different mindset from the one you’d expect of elite athletes. Sponsoring brands have traditionally gained exposure by giving equipment, clothing, and fiscal support to athletes they can reasonably assume are showing up to win. This was true because the audience equated competitive results with quality products, thus ensuring that the rolling adverts coming across finish lines represented money well spent. Today, the same brands that once looked to score-sheets among the criteria used to sponsor a racer are shifting toward finding likable characters with unique stories and large platform followings to generate interest in what gear they carry into battle. Enter the rise of social-currency competitive cycling. Able-bodied racers who accept all the trappings of a sportive lifestyle—the sponsor provided state-of-the-art gear, the paid entry fees, the hash-tagged travelogue, the team-branded warmup suit—yet they claim as part of their manifesto that they “aren’t racing to win.” For them, the contest is not for the cash prize, but the cultural cache, not for the podium placement, but for a place in the mediated social pantheon. From personal experience competing in a variety of sports, if there weren’t some glimmer of imaginative desire to win, it’d be unlikely to find oneself before sunrise, shivering at the sign-in table with an entry fee clutched in a coffee-stained hand. Sure, there’s all that humble new-age talk about testing oneself, and how showing up is already a victory—but if you’re going to pin a number on, I promise somewhere inside is the desire to win the damn race. Andrew Vontz is a two-time second-place finisher in a grueling race known as The Dirty Kanza Half Pint. It’s 100+ self-supported miles across the shale farm roads of Kansas, one of the earliest events in a new format of bicycle competition known as gravel racing. Andrew has no sponsors, counts his wife as his support crew, and self-funds his race efforts. He has a great podcast episode called ‘Losing The Dirty Kanza Half Pint.’ For racers like Andy, athletes who say things like “I’m not here to win” elicit an ear-piercing blend of howling laughter and murderous competitive desire. Showing up at any event is a major outlay of equity: emotional, financial, and otherwise.  Not showing up to win would be a very poor return on that investment. It also wouldn’t be very sporting. (EM)Recommend of the Day: Lately, I’ve been recommending a book to friends and family; James Geary’s fine-tuned look at the meaning, use, and value of wit titled Wit’s End. (EM)Quick Links:A racer who’s in it to win it for far deeper reasons. (EM)Documentaries are hot commodities for streaming services; Tim Schwab’s been thinking a bit about what that might mean for the form. (EM)Some further thoughts on Eugene Wei’s SaaS theory. (EM)Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM)Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

Why is this interesting? - The Competition Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries.Eric here. I am many things, but I am not a journalist. I am capable of acts of journalism, as we all are. Together with my partner Tricia Todd we’ve made two films that looked intensively at cases of the violent censorship of journalism, becoming actively involved in advocating for press freedom and media literacy along the way. This has led to a full time interest in the citizen’s role in journalism; seeking creative tools with which we can be better participants in the news ecosystem.Last October I facilitated the DEFY APATHY! Rebuilding Public Trust in Journalism workshop in Washington DC, where the intention was to use art as a means of positively affecting some of the habits that drive distrust in news. One aspect of distrust we looked at closely was Information Disorder.Information Disorder is generally understood as having three categories: Misinformation, Malinformation, and Disinformation. I feel that in our current climate, it is prescient to add a fourth; Infoxication (a flood of information so great it cannot be processed).Why is this interesting?In this climate of infoxication, there’s a willingness to blame the media for all manner of ills. While there are ample reasons to be skeptical of mainstream news, they’re not entirely at fault. The news isn’t a feed-tube of information. Just like any diet, we are also responsible for it. We rely on journalism for factual input that informs decisions in our lives. In school we’re taught various techniques of verification that are central to the mechanism used in consuming, absorbing, and processing information. In our mediated online lives, verification is an easy step to forget. The speed at which we can all propagate opinion couched as information adds to the disorder. In the past decade the capability for individuals to produce, to persuade, and to promote has increased exponentially. As one of my fellow workshop participants Kenyatta Cheese has said, “the audience has an audience.” It can often feel like a race to pluck stories from the noise of the media machinery and add them to the noise of our social networks. Contributing verified, actionable signal is something to be valued.Recognizing Information Disorder by learning the differences between misinformation, malinformation, disinformation, and infoxication affords opportunity to better discern what’s being looked at, listened to, or read. It also helps us to recognize our own confirmation bias when we reach for information and introduce it into conversation. Recognizing bias and disorder are stable, simple steps toward breaking free of echo chambers while remaining conscientious when making choices in processing and sharing information. In addition, there are some wonderful verification tools out there, mainly for journalists and academics. I’d love to see a “civilian” version of these tools emerge. Perhaps by understanding how to find and deploy them, it’s possible to develop better habits around information verification and sharing. Resources like First Draft News, The Dart Center and Bellingcat have worthy toolkits online. In the age of COVID-19, many event-specific reporting, fact checking, debunking and myth busting resources have become available.Perhaps with the overview effect of COVID-19, as we begin to see forward with a new planetary perspective, our behavioral norms of gathering and sharing information will shift. It has always been incumbent upon each of us for that shift to be toward self-governance of the machinery we avail ourselves of in our quest for knowledge. (EM)Photo Book of the day:Sebastian Meyer’s Under Every Yard Of Sky; “weaves together a decade of Meyer’s reporting (in Iraqi Kurdistan) with his personal story of friendship and loss”. (EM)Quick Links: An Edge piece on the book Reinventing The Sacred, which is a bit more digestible than the book. (EM)Beautiful News, infographically. (EM)A resource for freedive training apps. (EM)Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM)Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

Why is this interesting? - The Information Disorder Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) has worked  as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from  large scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials,  web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR,  world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries. -Colin (CJN)Eric here. In the summer of 1998, I was in New York producing some jobs and living in the Chelsea Hotel. I was traveling with my good friend Joel Tabbush, who worked with me as Unit Production Manager and shared my interest in New York’s arcane cultural history. Between pre-production and time between projects, we had two months to entertain ourselves. As I recall, among other misadventures we ended up adopting a ventriloquist’s puppet that became our third roommate at the Chelsea.On weekends and between production meetings, Joel had gotten up the idea to walk all of Manhattan in search of 100-year-old taverns, which I’d then photograph on Type 55 P/N or 665 P/N film with either a 4x5 Rigby pinhole camera or a Four Designs/Polaroid Land camera. Ambitiously we figured we could turn this into a book.My kit consisted of the two cameras, a Polaroid back for the pinhole, a tripod, several boxes of film for each format, and two airtight containers. One container dry, with glassine sleeves to hold the “print” and the other with some water in it to wash and hold the negatives. The inherent instability of the film process combined with a less than optimum treatment of the negatives in transit resulted in anomalies and aberrations that lend some whimsical magic to the images.Ultimately, we expanded the idea to “old taverns and bars” and enlisted two local friends as guides—Sebastian Laws and Rob Juarbe. This was all pre-GPS of course, so we depended on our collective knowledge of the city and a good subway map. When we first plotted over takeout Italian at the Chelsea, I’d originally wanted to focus on finding the optimal time of day and the best light for each location. As the number of joints we wanted to photograph grew, it became obvious that to achieve our goal I’d have to work with what the shadows of the moment gave me. As a result, some exposures needed to be upwards of twenty minutes—a fact we quickly calculated was enough time to open the aperture, enter the establishment, and down a pint of ale before stepping back outside to cap the lens.Why is this interesting? In the end, we exposed over two hundred sheets of film, walked what felt like an equal number of miles, had a few pints, and a lot of laughs along the way. After mulling over the costs of self-publishing, we settled on a set of postcards instead and selected 23 images to box up. We sold them to friends, local shops, and, for a brief period, through Urban Outfitters. The oldest establishment was the Ear Inn (1817) and the “youngest” was Marion’s 1989), which made the cut for some sentimental reason now lost to time. As Joel wrote on the 24th card in the set:“These images remind me of a time when people talked to one another… It’s the communal feeling that makes New York the greatest city in the world. Millions, packed into a few square miles… They don’t make them like this anymore, and I don’t think they ever will.”Sadly they also don’t make 665 P/N film anymore. P/N stands for Positive/Negative and the true magic of this was the ability to give someone a positive of themselves or their place of business while retaining the negative to make additional prints later. There was certainly an environmental impact to shooting this film type that always gnawed at me—the excess packaging and the chemistry—but the sheer joy that could come from handling someone a photograph was priceless.Forward to Summer, 2020. We are deep in the New Truth of COVID-19 and it was reported that Jimmy Glenn, the owner of a stalwart Times Square institution called Jimmy’s Corner, had passed. I pulled the card of Jimmy’s, scanned it, and sent it off to my WITI colleagues on Slack. That rather innocuous act has taken me down a nostalgic path. Realizing that Joel and I still have dozens of boxes of the card sets, I put them online for sale. Then Colin asked me if I’d write this up and scan a few more of the cards for a special WITI about the project. I opened my archives and found the original negatives, proof sheets, some prints, and a smattering of original Polaroid positives. Here then are some favorites that didn’t make the cut, showing the different looks each part of the process creates.Camera of the day: Cole Rise’s working replica of the Apollo 11 Hasselblad. (EM)Quick links: Processing film with coffee (and other household items) - (EM)Teju Cole on the weaponization of photography. (EM)Fantastic photography documentary: Cheryl Dunn’s Everybody Street (EM)Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email fromNoah Brier &Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, considersubscribing (it’s free!).

Why is this interesting? - The Pinhole Camera Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries.Eric here. My breath awareness story begins as an introverted and asthmatic boy, shuttled off each summer to my grandparent’s rural property, away from any trouble I might have gotten into in the city. It turns out I was allergic to every type of dust, mold, and pollen. Breathing in nature literally sucked. Around the age of thirteen, I took an interest in martial arts, where I learned two important things about breathing. The first was to stand upright and stop staring at my shoes. Suddenly I had a much more direct passage between my nose, mouth, and lungs. The second was to close my yapper and breathe through my beak. That lessens the chance of losing some teeth, decreases tension, and increases stamina. A deep inhale through the nose followed by a long, slow exhale with a partially closed mouth is an incredibly grounding and centering act.Some time later, I got really into functional fitness. Dynamic movement combined with traditional weightlifting requires many things—mainly, the ability to go beyond the point of perceived failure. Pushing past the brain telling you “I can’t” to the body simply reaching a point of “I won’t” is far easier to achieve if you’re practicing good breathing techniques. In moments of intense concentration, I would catch myself forgetting to breathe. As it turns out, I was doing this a lot, and not just in the gym. Breathing calmly and consistently through any difficulty always produces better results. As the stresses of politics weighed on me over the last few years, I started writing angry punk songs, leading my wife to challenge me to sing them better. She bought a package of vocal lessons at our local community music school. Learning how to control the diaphragm and place breaths along a song chart is not much different from managing the breath sparring martial arts or completing a complex HIIT session. I started to see the light about breathing techniques (and that my singing career was a nonstarter).Soon, I was incorporating a singer’s warm-up exercises into my morning run as a way of tricking myself into a meditative breathing practice before going surfing. Out in the ocean, I started to become aware of how frequently I held my breath. It wasn’t just when I went under a wave, but any time I was concentrating hard on a takeoff, cranking a turn, or simply holding the highline of a wave. I started to notice this on land as well. I was holding my breath to concentrate on all sorts of little actions and behaviors. Correcting this became an obsession.Why is this interesting?There is a lot of material available about flow states, with lectures and literature borrowing from special ops and alpha-extreme athletics. At its core, all are people who have trained themselves to practice a disciplined, comfortable, and calming capacity to breathe properly.In 2019 I was introduced to Augusto Carrara. Augusto teaches a program started by his free diving colleague Augusto Vegas called Survival Apnea. It’s designed to train surfers in techniques used by breath-hold divers and yogis, creating survival confidence when things get critical in the ocean. The training applies to dry land as well and can be incorporated into everything from meditation to endurance sports like cycling and running. Proper breathing technique begins with understanding how your mental condition affects the way the body uses oxygen. At rest, we use around 20% of our O2 supply. When spiked with adrenaline, that number also rises. Under stress, when we hold our breath—after a wipeout in the surf, for example—a few things happen. Time gets a bit confusing. We are prone to panic. We think we’re being held under far longer than we really are, even though we have plenty of air in our lungs. That gasping for air sensation is not our need for more oxygen. It’s our need to expel the CO2 we’ve built up. Training your oxygen supply is about building CO2 tolerance and developing the mental discipline to remain or become calmer.An intense aerobic effort on land is also where the benefits of CO2 tolerance and emotional calmness become a positive factor. A similar adrenaline spike can happen in the home or office. A moment of tension, an argument with a coworker, or a suddenly accelerated deadline can trigger a significant shift in the oxygen supply. The quicker the mind responds to this spike with controlled breathing, the sooner there is a restoring of calmness, rationality, and increased cognition. Nose breathing, particularly in concert with modifications to the yoga practice of “square breathing,” is one way to begin a discipline of building CO2 tolerance. The key is a controlled nasal intake of air using the lungs’ full capacity, paused in a brief hold, followed by a slow controlled exhale through the mouth that is at least twice the inhale’s length. Then another short hold, and the pattern repeats. Using the same concept—inhaling and exhaling with single nostril square breathing—is another way to practice and build CO2 tolerance while opening and strengthening the nasal passages.New practices are best approached with stable steps. Attempting too much change or modification to behavior at once will likely result in frustration or failure. Breathing is life. We do it naturally and mostly subconsciously. Adapting to a conscious breathing practice, incorporated into a daily routine until it becomes second nature, is beneficial to overall well being. It improves physical and mental health while increasing capacity and capability in every other activity. Breathe! (EM)Meditative Painting of the DayFreefall by Jeffrey Beauchamp(EM)Quick LinksA few simple breathing exercises  (EM)James Nestor on the future of breathing (EM)WITI contributor Joseph Dana on the Wim Hof breathing technique. (NRB)Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

Why is this interesting? - The Breathing Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) is a friend of WITI, a part-time resident of Costa Rica, and, as you will see, an avid surfer. He is responsible for one of the best WITI editions of all time. -Colin (CJN) Eric here. My fascination with surfing began before I ever got near an ocean-borne wave. As a Chicago kid deeply immersed in skateboarding, I knew that the roots of my preferred mode of expression and transportation were in the water. Way back in AP History, we were challenged with a single assignment for the semester—write a 100-page historical research paper on the topic of our choice. The rules were that the subject had to have at least six published books to be footnoted as references throughout. At that time, skateboarding did not have more than two published books and a couple of magazines, so I turned to the source: surfing. I wrote out the history of the sport, and, in the process, I got hooked. I rode my skateboard in studied imitation of the carving, flowing, speeding lines of legendary surfers. I became fascinated by guys like Tom Blake (from Wisconsin!), who studied hydrodynamics and physics, translating that knowledge into early surfboard design.Flash forward to the present; I’ve been surfing almost twenty-five years (though some days you’d still not recognize me from all the other kook beginners in the lineup). One of the most amazing things about surfing is that you can have your equipment custom-tailored to you and to the wave you’re planning to ride. I can’t think of any other activity where that’s true at an affordable level. Modern times means modern manufacturing, so the majority of the boards in the world’s waves are CNC-machined replicas of the models ridden by professional surfers. These boards are generally white, made of epoxy, feature five fin boxes, and have a carbon-fiber cloth stripe down the center. They are replicable versions of contest-winning, highly refined designs. They work just fine. In my view, they’re ugly, and they produce ugly repetitive surfing in almost all but the namesake professional or a comparably stylish practitioner.Anyone can still find a shaper who will make a board to exacting specifications by hand. You simply need to be willing to have a conversation or six, plunk down a deposit, be very patient, and you’ll end up with the wave-riding equivalent of a Savile Row suit. WITI colleague Joseph Dana has even built a few boards of his own. I’ve surfed all over the world on all manner of craft from bodysurfing hand-planes measuring less than one foot to rented hunks of styrofoam over ten feet long. My current quiver of wave riding equipment is entirely hand-built, mostly from the imagination of an elusive zen guru named Jimmie Hines.Why is this interesting?In no other sport but surfing could you spend around a thousand bucks and walk away with a highly functional object-d’art made exclusively for you. Sure, you can get fitted for a custom-made bicycle (gone down that rabbit hole too), or order up a custom-tuned golf club, but I’d argue those are not in the same league. A surfboard isn’t just made to measure to your body’s dimensions, it can also be dialed into a specific type of wave you love to ride or intend to ride. It carries the DNA of the experienced, imaginative artisan who created it. In surfing, the people who make the boards are equally as important to the history and lore of the sport as those who ride them. That’s because they’ve crafted equipment that made history in some of the biggest and best waves in the world. The men and women who ride these waves pledge deep allegiances to their shapers, in some cases forming lifelong relationships that have raised the surfer, the shaper, and the sport to new levels. Getting a board from one of these legendary masters isn’t that easy or simple; like great artists, they have long waiting lists, high prices, and are often notoriously fickle about who they’ll work with. Boards from the hands of Dale Velzy or Dick Brewer have sold for tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars at auction. There’s plenty of other great craftspeople in the sport, so much like finding a good tailor to make your clothes, it’s a fun process to find a shaper.A board starts as a blank rectangle of foam— usually polystyrene. In modern times with a deep commitment to environmental efforts, less toxic materials are becoming more common. Cork, algae-based foams, reclaimed balsa and other substances are being successfully employed. There are some shapers, like Ry Harris in Los Angeles, who base their entire business around eco-conscious techniques and materials. Spend enough time floating around the world’s oceans with a thick layer of “ocean plastic” debris and it’s easy to appreciate how important it is to keep the art of surfboard manufacturing in line with environmental concerns.After deciding on the dimensions and style of the board to be made, the next step of shaping the board is to saw the block of foam into a basic shape using a template. It’s then planed down with a series of power tools and hand tools to a precise set of measurements and, in the hands of a master, feelings about what will work best. Traditionally, it’s then passed along to a glasser, who meticulously layers fiberglass over the foam, then seals it with resin and catalyst. These are toxic, so again we’re seeing changes in the materials used in these processes. The glassing is also when any color tint or spray is applied and it’s generally the color that most people view as the “custom” aspect.Most of the boards I’ve commissioned over the years came through a series of phone calls and emails, followed by a lot of patience about the stated vs. actual delivery date. In 2019 I was surfing in Costa Rica and struck up a conversation in the water with a guy named Forrest Minchinton. Forrest happens to be a world-class motocross racer and he was querying me about some specifics in post-production for a documentary about his attempt to win the Baja 1000. As it turned out, Forrest also is the son of a legendary underground shaper named Mike Minchinton. Like father like son, Forrest mows foam into beautiful boards and had just opened a shaping bay down the street from where we both lived. Realizing it was a first opportunity to actually surf with a shaper and work on a board together, I immediately placed an order. I wanted a board for the waves we were surfing—punchy head high to overhead sandbar beach break which demanded an ability to generate speed, turn sharply but also carve longer lines when warranted. For the first half of my life, I’d been skating the way I imagined surfing would be, now after a couple of decades in the water I wanted to surf as I skated. We grabbed a few beers and wrote up some dimensions—length, width, volume, what kind of tail shape, and fin configuration I was after. We landed on a version of an existing design of his: a relatively short twin fin with a round pin tail, some very specific twists to the rails, and a spiraling bottom concave.I’ve had the professional pleasure of filming some amazing craftsmen over the years—indigenous carvers, third-generation metalsmiths, blue-chip artists. I’ve spent many hours in state-of-the-art ateliers, basement studios, and funky skunkworks sheds. The Minchinton’s new shaping bay was in a still under construction hotel/restaurant/shop compound. With a week until the grand opening, there was chaos all around, but inside the air-cooled bay it was calm. As soon as we’d penciled numbers for the design, Forrest grabbed a blank and a saw and began the process. Hanging out while my new watercraft came to life in Forrest’s hands was one of the more fun experiences I’ve had. Mike would wander in from time to time, along with a few of our local crew. It was like swapping stories in a hotrodders garage. I walked across the road and bought another six-pack. Forrest asked me “how loose do you set up your trucks on your skateboard?” I said I liked to shake the board and have the trucks wiggle. He smiled and kept moving the Skil planer around the hunk of foam in front of us. In a few hours, it looked like a screamingly fast, maneuverable surfboard. I dropped by a few more times that week to chat with Forrest while he carved, sanded, and foiled out the wooden keel fins that would complete the craft. I secretly hoped I could honor it by riding it well. Getting it glassed, colored, and sanded took another month so I had time to change my mind about aesthetics dozens of times. In the end, I brought over a dappled leaf from a local vine. I gave it to the glasser and let him do his thing, knowing that the tints, resin, and catalyst would have their own magical input to the final look.Like anything that one connects to through story, my board from Forrest feels tuned to me in a way that goes beyond the dimensions we put on paper that evening over beers. It definitely speaks to the waves out front, responding in speedy snaps and arching turns. Occasionally, I rise up to the level the board demands and everything comes together in an orchestrated dance. Sure, with my rather pedestrian surfing I could have saved a few bucks and gotten the instant gratification of an off-the-shelf computer-shaped board. If I had, I wouldn’t be learning new stories and sharing them with the ocean. I wouldn’t have made some new friends, and I wouldn’t be surfing the way I want surfing to feel. (EM)Photo of the day:Quick LinksNew Plastics Economy (EM)The King of Pavones (EM)The Future Is Female (EM)Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

The Board Shaper Edition

After running Eric’s excellent Board Shaper Edition this week we thought it was worth re-upping his also excellent Pinhole Camera Edition. Hope you enjoy! - Noah (NRB)Eric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large-scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries.Eric here. In the summer of 1998, I was in New York producing some jobs and living in the Chelsea Hotel. I was traveling with my good friend Joel Tabbush, who worked with me as Unit Production Manager and shared my interest in New York’s arcane cultural history. Between pre-production and time between projects, we had two months to entertain ourselves. As I recall, among other misadventures we ended up adopting a ventriloquist’s puppet that became our third roommate at the Chelsea.On weekends and between production meetings, Joel had gotten up the idea to walk all of Manhattan in search of 100-year-old taverns, which I’d then photograph on Type 55 P/N or 665 P/N film with either a 4x5 Rigby pinhole camera or a Four Designs/Polaroid Land camera. Ambitiously we figured we could turn this into a book.My kit consisted of the two cameras, a Polaroid back for the pinhole, a tripod, several boxes of film for each format, and two airtight containers. One container dry, with glassine sleeves to hold the “print” and the other with some water in it to wash and hold the negatives. The inherent instability of the film process combined with a less than optimum treatment of the negatives in transit resulted in anomalies and aberrations that lend some whimsical magic to the images.Ultimately, we expanded the idea to “old taverns and bars” and enlisted two local friends as guides—Sebastian Laws and Rob Juarbe. This was all pre-GPS of course, so we depended on our collective knowledge of the city and a good subway map. When we first plotted over takeout Italian at the Chelsea, I’d originally wanted to focus on finding the optimal time of day and the best light for each location. As the number of joints we wanted to photograph grew, it became obvious that to achieve our goal I’d have to work with what the shadows of the moment gave me. As a result, some exposures needed to be upwards of twenty minutes—a fact we quickly calculated was enough time to open the aperture, enter the establishment, and down a pint of ale before stepping back outside to cap the lens.Why is this interesting? In the end, we exposed over two hundred sheets of film, walked what felt like an equal number of miles, had a few pints, and a lot of laughs along the way. After mulling over the costs of self-publishing, we settled on a set of postcards instead and selected 23 images to box up. We sold them to friends, local shops, and, for a brief period, through Urban Outfitters. The oldest establishment was the Ear Inn (1817) and the “youngest” was Marion’s 1989), which made the cut for some sentimental reason now lost to time. As Joel wrote on the 24th card in the set:“These images remind me of a time when people talked to one another… It’s the communal feeling that makes New York the greatest city in the world. Millions, packed into a few square miles… They don’t make them like this anymore, and I don’t think they ever will.”Sadly they also don’t make 665 P/N film anymore. P/N stands for Positive/Negative and the true magic of this was the ability to give someone a positive of themselves or their place of business while retaining the negative to make additional prints later. There was certainly an environmental impact to shooting this film type that always gnawed at me—the excess packaging and the chemistry—but the sheer joy that could come from handling someone a photograph was priceless.Forward to Summer, 2020. We are deep in the New Truth of COVID-19 and it was reported that Jimmy Glenn, the owner of a stalwart Times Square institution called Jimmy’s Corner, had passed. I pulled the card of Jimmy’s, scanned it, and sent it off to my WITI colleagues on Slack. That rather innocuous act has taken me down a nostalgic path. Realizing that Joel and I still have dozens of boxes of the card sets, I put them online for sale. Then Colin asked me if I’d write this up and scan a few more of the cards for a special WITI about the project. I opened my archives and found the original negatives, proof sheets, some prints, and a smattering of original Polaroid positives. Here then are some favorites that didn’t make the cut, showing the different looks each part of the process creates.Camera of the day: Cole Rise’s working replica of the Apollo 11 Hasselblad. (EM)Quick links: Processing film with coffee (and other household items) - (EM)Teju Cole on the weaponization of photography. (EM)Fantastic photography documentary: Cheryl Dunn’s Everybody Street (EM)Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier &Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

The Pinhole Camera Edition

WITI comes out every weekday (with a bonus edition on weekends for paid subscribers). If you love what we do, consider supporting us!Subscribe nowEric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large-scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries. -Colin (CJN)Eric here. Most sports are governed by rules about wearing the team’s uniform at all times when in public, even when training. This extends to the helmet, which happens to be the one piece of kit that is often customized to reflect the personality of the athlete. Motorsport is probably the best example of this. Racers on two and four wheels often sport helmets that carry their sponsor’s logos but can be heavily personalized with lucky colors, airbrushed images, and talismanic details. Customizing helmets is a niche art unto itself—one in which the top artists have followings just like the athletes whose gear they paint.There is one custom helmet design across all sports that has to be earned, however, and that comes from Red Bull. Red Bull supports a dizzying array of athletes across dozens of activities, many of whom have existing sponsorship obligations on teams that are otherwise not engaged with the drinks brand. It’s a coveted honor to have one of the iconic branded hardhats, and the only piece of gear I can think of that deviates from the usual sponsorship rules about maintaining color palette and logos in symmetry with the rest of an athletes’ team uniform.Why is this interesting?For a sportsperson, especially in a particular niche or outsider sport, acquiring sponsorship is an art form that usually involves the athlete and/or their management submitting request packages to candidate brands. It’s rumored that Red Bull keeps a list of these requests—a list that banishes those athletes from ever receiving their support. True or not, what’s clear is that the brand is highly selective about who they bestow their colors upon. What’s especially true is once that distinctive silver, blue, gold, and red hardhat are granted, much more than cranial protection comes along with it. Red Bull athletes gain access to a sport-specific science, technology, and public relations machine that achieves world-record-setting results across the board. When RB-winged aviator Dario Costa set out to fulfill a dream of flying through a motorway tunnel, he trained for it at one of Red Bull’s Athlete Performance Centers, where coaches adapted specialized technologies to help increase Costa’s fast-twitch reaction timing. The event was filmed by a camera crew and production budget akin to a stunt in a major feature film.A lot has been written about Red Bull’s status as a media company that happens to sell beverages, including by WITI co-founder Noah Brier. The brand’s YouTube channel bristles with cutting-edge films and clips produced for all types of “winged” sportspeople demonstrating their skills at the highest levels. Not only does RB document its athletes’ best performances, but they also create and stream super-sized events in sports like downhill mountain biking, motocross, snowboarding, and surfing in which all the top athletes compete. With Max Verstappen beating out Lewis Hamilton to win the 2021 F1 Driver’s Championship toward the end of 2021, Red Bull imagery dominated sport and culture stories in ways most brands only dream. F1 wasn’t the energy drink brand’s only media coup this winter—in bicycling mad Europe, Wout Van Aert has been sweeping podiums wearing a distinctive Red Bull brain bucket since his return to cyclocross. His top competitor, British champion Tom Pidcock, is also with the Bull’s wings. Often running first and second race after race, they’re giving a lot of television time to the brand.  Cycling has some of the most rigid rules in sport about wearing approved sponsor gear. Pidcock and Van Aert are the only guys on their respective teams not topped in team-issued helmets for these races. There have been cases of cyclists docked pay for training in the non-regulation kit. The sport’s sanctioning body has forced squads to change color schemes or pay fines because of perceived infractions to the rules. Does RB also pay any penalties that might occur from their racers wearing their potentially non-regulation helmets? Perhaps one of the more successful examples of a Red Bull helmet marketing scheme can be found during the winter Olympics. During the competition, athletes are head to toe in national colors. When the coverage cuts to packaged stories about their training and preparation leading up to the events, Red Bull and its distinctive headgear is frequently front and center. In 2008 snowboarder Sean White had a historic Olympic season, one in which Red Bull got a three-minute infomercial during the primetime NBC broadcast by putting a helmet on White’s head during the shoot about his prep for the halfpipe finals. The fact that they also built the training center he used, branded the helicopter that shuttled him around, and stuck logo emblazoned flags in the background of every shot didn’t hurt either. In 2014, the IOC banned sponsor logos from athletes’ wardrobes and equipment entirely, though they still slip through regularly. (A year or two later, when White mired himself in #metoo assholery, Red Bull pulled his sponsorship.)The Red Bull helmet is like a super sponsorship on top of the athlete’s already hard-won set of benefactors. Unlike any other piece of gear, it immediately identifies the wearer as someone who is reaching beyond the established top tier of their chosen sport. Unlike any other piece of branding, it ensures that the energy drink is front and center in all media coverage of the chosen athlete. The mystique of the helmet is so large, no other brand has even attempted to match it. (EM)Quick LinksWe should perhaps be thinking about waste. (EM)Robotic greenhouses. (EM)An interview about what lies beneath with Robert Macfarlane. (EM)--WITI x McKinsey:An ongoing partnership where we highlight interesting McKinsey research, writing, and data.If we’re all so busy, why isn’t anything getting done? Most executives say they now find themselves spending too much time on pointless exchanges—but there’s a better way forward. Check out a new article that looks closer and suggests three focus areas to help your organization step up.Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing (it’s free!).

The Magic Helmet Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) has worked as a director, producer, and consultant across a number of genres—from large-scale installations to major motion pictures, broadcast specials, web series, multi-platform content packages, site-based VR, world-building R&D, live events, and traditional documentaries.Eric here. In 2017 my wife, dog, and I took a gamboling, rambling road trip from Barcelona up into the Cote de Basque, then across Galicia before dropping down and passing through Portugal as we made our way back to BCN. In Lisbon, we stumbled across a small tavern that featured fado. After ordering some wine, we were hushed by the barkeep as he proceeded to lock the doors, dim the lights, and began to sing mournfully to an intricate twelve-string guitar. Twenty minutes later, the lights came up, the doors reopened, and we had been transformed. With zero understanding of Portuguese, we’d been completely drawn in, drowned, and reborn by the storytelling we’d just been immersed in.WITI Classifieds:We are experimenting with running some weekly classifieds in WITI. If you’re interested in running an ad, you can purchase one through this form. If you buy this week, we’ll throw an extra week in for free on any ad. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to drop a line.Another interesting newsletter: Making the case for good content, clear writing, and the creative process. Subscribe to the Hand & Eye. The Hand & EyeMaking the case for good content, clear writing and the creative process. By John PeabodyWant to aggregate data from third-party servers automatically? Check out HTL Exec by HTL Inc. https://hashtag-labs.com/contact-us.html  Beats In Space with Tim Sweeney: weekly DJ mixes + interviews on Apple Music http://apple.co/beatsinspace  A publication exploring the most interesting and innovative consumer businesses, products, and trends https://newconsumer.com/Fado, as explained by The Museo de Fado, was born in the public areas of Lisbon during the late 1800s. It is sung poetry: a spontaneous combustion of music and song recounting tales of love, loss, and, quite often, the sea. “Evoking urban emergence themes, singing the daily narratives, Fado is profoundly related to social contexts ruled by marginality and transgression in a first phase, taking place in locations visited by prostitutes, faias, sailors, coachmen, and marialvas.”Why is this interesting?This year, I returned alone to Portugal, and with a few days free in Porto before the sharp end of my trip began, I sought out the fado experience again. Several venues were recommended to me, all requiring a dinner reservation and a commitment to both the meal and three progressing sets of music. Intrigued by this difference from our Lisbon experience, I selected a different restaurant for each of the nights I had available. The first was an older spot, in a touristic area near the water across from the famed port wine district, owned by an affable family of brothers. The musicians were accomplished, though they seemed to not always be in sync with each other. I noted, and would see repeated, that the rhythm or bass player rested his chin on the upper bout of his instrument during particularly complex sequences, the better to absorb the resonance and hold tempo. The fadistas were fantastic, their bodily gestures complimenting the tonal range of their vocals. As I came to learn over the subsequent evenings, the performances followed a pattern of sets. After the first course was served, a woman sang songs of what I felt to be loss and love. A pause to order dessert, then a man would sing of hardships and the body politic of labor. Lastly, after postres and port, the two performers would join in duet.The second night was my favorite, with excellent food in a more modern setting and a young enthusiastic team whose passion for their establishment carried the mystique of the music forward. In fact, it was the man clearing tables and pouring wine who emerged as fadista for the second and third sets—with a stunning voice to complement his equally astonishing partner. Everyone in the house seemed to be Portuguese and looked to have their connections to the mythologies of the lyrics etched into their faces. As a bonus, a gentleman who was apparently a well-regarded elder in the art was invited to rise from his table with another song. I attempted to get his name, but it was closing time, tabs to ring up and cigarettes to roll, so I left them all to their routines and walked the silent streets back to my guest house.On the last night, I visited what was claimed as the oldest establishment in town, which opened in 1968. I asked the proprietor where fado originated. He looked at me a bit incredulously, then with bemusement and emphasis, declared “Oporto!” So much for Lisbon. Here the doyen of the house was also the potent poetess of the second and third acts. The food was less exciting than the night prior, but the richness of history in the walls seemed to waft into her vocals and back throughout the room like a smoky melancholy that brought me to tears. I find fado, like flamenco and other ‘folk’ music, to be a portal through which emotion flows not only from the lyrics, notes, and gestures but through the bricks and boards of the room—through us in the audience and the spacetime of the stories the performers retell. It is a sharing of history through myth, tradition, and repeated interpretation. Language becomes feeling, it is not necessary to understand the words (though it would no doubt change the experience even further). The fadista is a hakawati, powerfully taking agency in a tapestry of tales to remind us of where we might have visited in other lives past, present, and yet to be. (EM)—Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric Matthies (EM)—Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing.

The Fado Edition

Eric Matthies (EM) is a producer, an artist and an athlete, roughly in that order. -Colin (CJN)Eric here. In 1985, I was in a Chicago area high school, writing a term paper about surfing for an AP History class. Mainly, I was cribbing from fellow midwesterner Tom Blake’s book Hawaiian Surfriders 1935 and trying to fill in gaps with my own, at the time, very limited experience with the sport.Along the research path, I found the story of Eddie Aikau, a revered son of Hawaii who had perished at sea. The Aikau’s are a family of oceanic legend and Hawaiian history. They had been a part of an effort to build and then navigate a traditionally built voyaging canoe between Hawaii and Polynesia, to prove migration routes that had been told through centuries of oral history. Eddie was a legendary lifeguard and surfer of great renown who had attempted to paddle his surfboard for help when the canoe became swamped and capsized twelve miles at sea. Everyone but Eddie was eventually rescued. His spirit is said to appear as a giant sea turtle along the harrowing reefs of Oahu’s North Shore. That same year that I was writing my paper and struck with the incredible story, now myth, of Eddie Aikau, a surf contest in his memory was organized.Image sourceWhy is this interesting?The event was, and remains, invitation only. Only surfers who meet an exacting criteria in Eddie’s model as determined by peers and elders of the community are considered. The contest is only held if the seas reach and maintain an average wave height of twenty feet. The first year was at Sunset Beach. In 1987, the next year that conditions were met, it moved to Waimea Bay where it has been held ever since.The wave at Waimea Bay is a hydrodynamic marvel, focusing incredible amounts of water on a reef at the edge of a small inlet that is just over one kilometer wide. When waves get taller than 20 feet and come from a certain direction they can “close out,” meaning that a wall of water breaks top to bottom from one side of the bay to the other. People are at risk by simply standing on the sand berm watching the show. The lifeguards who work the Waimea tower are the worlds best, and Eddie, who made over five hundred rescues and never lost a person, is their icon.Photo by © Erik Kabik / @erikkabikThe Eddie Aikau Big Wave Invitational is one of the most unique sporting events in the world. It's been going for 38 years, but it’s only been run ten times. That means 38 times an invite list was announced, a competitors ceremony was enjoined and a waiting period commenced during which conditions were monitored by a team of meteorological and oceanographic experts. But only in ten of those many years has The Eddie been called “on.” For each call up, even the false alarms, competitors have flown in from around the world. If they’ve missed a flight, gotten injured, or otherwise don't accept the invitation, a select list of alternates are ready to fill in the competitor's roster. It's the most prestigious group of competitors for the most revered prize in surfing.For most of the aughts, including the last edition in 2016, the event was sponsored by a major name brand clothing company. Prize money was high, coverage was robust and many of the competitors were regularly collecting six figure salaries from endorsement deals and contest winnings. One thing that has always been true about The Eddie, though, is that some of the invited competitors at each competition are revered underground surfers—not household or media recognized names. This year, for the first time, that list of names included six women. Here’s Hawaiian invitee Makani Adric’s response: When I heard I got invited to be a part of the Eddie Aikau I was so happy. At first I didn't believe it, that women were going to be participating in this world class event. It has always been a dream of mine that finally became reality. My heart was so full with love and excitement. Growing up on the North Shore of Oahu with a lot of my family being surfers had a huge impact on where I am today. Surfing is a part of our culture and the history of Hawaii. Our (family) lineage goes way back. My Grandma would always take us to the beach when we were little and that is how I learned to surf. I was comfortable following the footsteps of my family and friends who were also surfers. Hawaii is such a small place that everyone knows each other. I have gained my place and respect in the community because of my family and my hard work and dedication throughout the years.This year, when the Aikau's called it “a go” in early January the world was well aware of massive weather systems slamming the western coasts of North America with herculean sized waves. The Eddie, it seemed, would be on. But then, with some athletes already on aircraft taxiing for take off, the Aikau’s conferred with the world’s top weather and oceanic forecasters and decided conditions weren't quite right, then called it off. A collective breath hold then groan passed through the wave riding universe. WITI Classifieds:We are experimenting with running some weekly classifieds in WITI. If you’re interested in running an ad, you can purchase one through this form. If you buy this week, we’ll throw an extra week in for free on any ad. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to drop a line.Daly is a comms+ agency that reaches beyond the standard PR playbook to deliver results (and some magic) for our exceptional clients. Check us outThe Intermodal Spirit. Writing about Exploring, Relating, and Being. Available by newsletter or online. Subscribe here.Parlance is a Brand Voice Advisory Studio. We Help Make the Impossible, Relatable. Learn more about our Fractional CBO modelNoah here. I've got a new newsletter about brands and AI called BrXnd Dispatch. If you're in marketing, creative, or just interested in understanding what's up with AI, check it out. Subscribe to BrXnd DispatchI sent some questions to invitee Nic Von Rupp, who told me that the first big waves he’d ever surfed were at Waimea fifteen years ago, making this a truly memorable and emotional event for him. Yeah it is crazy to think that we need to be ready at all times; every hour we need to be ready to travel to the other side of the world. I’ve had some of the most intense weeks of my life, I traveled to the US three times in three weeks. I went for the green alert… got home for three days and then went back…. Arriving the day before, competing the next morning is super exhausting but it’s the sport we have chosen, we just have to send it, be ready and send It at the right time.Fellow Witian Joseph Dana watched part of the competition with his neighbor Matt Bromley, one of South Africa's premier big wave surfers. He noted that not only does the swell need to be 20ft. plus, it needs to be building through the afternoon so that the waves are even bigger toward the end of the contest. Given what went down on Sunday, January 22nd, the wisdom of the Aikau clan proved correct yet again. A week of cartoonishly large surf had been ridden and documented across the Pacific, so when the call was made again to hold The Eddie on Sunday the 22nd suffice to say people were keyed up. This year’s event would feature the widest range of competitors from across the islands and the world—among them a father and son, the daughter of a big wave legend, world champions and working class heroes. I've followed every one of The Eddie’s, mainly via sketchy VHS, YouTube recap clips, articles and photos. This year, the whole event streamed via the local station KHON, so for the first time I was able to see every heat, every wave as commentated by a crew of wise and wisecracking Hawaiian surfers.  Watching it this way, complete with local car dealer and injury law-firm ads, was wonderfully quaint. The very knowledgeable on-air team worked with their wits and lifelong knowledge of the wave. They had no spotter, no direct communication with the judging tower and often no accurate capability of determining which color jersey was on which wave (red, orange, pink and black or purple all being similar when looking through sea mist from half a kilometer away), making for a very entertaining if slightly confusing broadcast. Another aspect of watching the live broadcast was seeing the event’s on-duty lifeguards at work. This mostly unnamed crew of professionals were 100% focused on making sure that competitors were pulled out of dangerous spots, that water photographers were safely swimming (and hydrated) in the channel and that the increasingly boisterous crowd on the beach didn’t get swept out to sea. Lifeguards and specifically the Hawaiian Water Patrol (an A-team of the best lifesavers, founded, like the event itself, in 1985) are crucial to every surf competition in the islands. That this is the event honoring their most iconic predecessor made seeing them use their vast skills throughout the afternoon as significant as the waves being ridden.While the 2023 event featured plenty of famous faces—John Florence, the reigning Eddie champion and a world title holder, Kai Lenny, a renowned multisport athlete with endorsement deals that rival  F1 drivers, Michael Ho, the 65-year-old (!!) Pipeline master and one of surfing’s true living legends competing alongside his son Mason. Zeke Lau, reality TV star and no slouch in critical waves, and Andrea Moller, a leading voice for equality in women’s sport. The list is deep but it would be some of the lesser known names who would make their mark in this edition of the contest. Here’s what Nic had to say:“Surfing is a great example of sportsmanship. Having women competing with men, they’ve proven to be able to perform together with the boys and that’s where the sport is going, elevating women’s surfing on the same platform as the men. The Eddie is definitely all about respect. The respect of your peers. It’s not a competition, it’s a celebration. Everyone wants to win but everyone’s respectful of each other. May the surfer with the best connection with the ocean that day win. That’s what it’s all about.”Forty surfers entered the ocean in groups of eight, surfing for two heats. The first for forty-five minutes, the second for fifty. They could catch a maximum of four waves each heat and the best three would count toward their overall score. Here’s Makani again, describing what it was like to be out there:Waimea is definitely something else. When the waves are big there is so much energy and power that is uncontrollable. Being the only female out there surfing a heat with a group of all men was very challenging. Some of the men were just there to compete. As for myself I was there to fulfill my passion and love for surfing. Although I had to try and be competitive, I still had to remember my main purpose which was to be out there surfing and having fun. The waves were huge and many of them maxing out. I was lucky to catch a few in between the bigger sets. During the period of waiting for the right wave was like a game of life or death. You don't know where exactly to sit, how many waves will be coming toward you, or which wave would be best to surf. I got one wave in the contest that was memorable. A few of the guys were telling me to go on certain waves and I finally turned around and paddled for one that I was able to catch. I stood up and made the drop then rode it as far as I could. It was such a good feeling to hear other people supporting me in the lineup. When I got to shore after my heat a lot of people were congratulating me for catching that wave. By being a part of this event I wanted to inspire women and the younger generation of kids watching to believe in themselves. If you value something then do it for the passion. Do it because that is what you want. Be a good person, and stay true to yourself, even if others don't know who you are.There were quite a few stand out rides like Makani’s and the surf was truly thundering in the epic to marginally possible category all day. The performances of one young man, a quiet Hawaiian local named Luke Shepardson stood above the rest. Since he was technically on-shift for the County Lifeguard, he allegedly had to get permission from his captain to leave his tower a couple of times throughout the afternoon and surf his heats. Via surfing media, we’ve subsequently learned that  after each heat he put his uniform on and went back to work, even helping to stitch up two of his fellow competitors who were injured during their jousts with the heaving water. In the waves, Shepardson was drawing the most critical lines on the more challenging peaks and getting through them cleanly. After he rightly won, he begged off his podium interview because he needed to “get back to the tower and make sure everyone's ok.” That point hasn’t been lost on mainstream news media around the world, who have repeated the story of the on duty lifeguard who won the prestigious big wave surf competition. It's difficult to express how insanely challenging this event is, and how humble and appropriate the 10th ever winner is. I can think of no other sporting contest quite like The Eddie, and this year's may have been the best in its storied history. Von Rupp sums it up like this:Luke Shepardson winning the event was one of the most heart warming experiences I’ve ever had. It was the ocean and Eddie giving back to someone who has given so much to the community. I’m just grateful to be a part of the event, grateful for the recognition, grateful to be able to represent my country, it’s very emotional walking down the beach… having everyone’s support. I saw a flash of my career, where I started, where I was now. The same flash you see when you’re about to die! It’s been a long road, I can’t believe I’m here, the first time competing in The Eddie and it ends up being the best in forty years… I’m grateful to be doing what I love.The next day, our surf here in Costa Rica was small. The swell that had made The Eddie happen wouldn’t reach us for a few more days. The Pacific coastline here is dangerous, infamously known for a combination of strong swells, treacherous rip currents and unwitting tourists. Our local lifeguards are a volunteer force who come from around the world. Despite the meager swell there was a buzz on the beach—you could feel the extra stoke of knowing that one of their brothers had just been crowned King of The Bay. I spoke with some of the senior lifeguards, and they agreed that it was an important moment for people to recognize the quality of the lifesavers and the dedication they have to the ocean. As the Santa Teresa Lifeguard founder Tomas Ritchie told me: We are not divided by borders, but surrounded by oceans. Luke winning embodied not only what it’s like to be a winner but to be humble enough to go back to the tower. The next morning he was also working. Taking time off for two heats that changed history is unprecedented and is a reminder to professionals and surfers around the globe what it really means to be a waterman!! Being dedicated to keeping people safe is what saves people 24 /7, for some it never stops. (EM)—Thanks for reading,Noah (NRB) & Colin (CJN) & Eric (EM) —Why is this interesting? is a daily email from Noah Brier & Colin Nagy (and friends!) about interesting things. If you’ve enjoyed this edition, please consider forwarding it to a friend. If you’re reading it for the first time, consider subscribing.