Cole Nowicki interview
Cole Nowicki’s right, down + circle is a timely study of the pop culture phenomenon that is the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater franchise, presenting what now feels like a missing piece of the puzzle in the history of skateboarding. With wit, insight and some wonderful trivia – see Bruce Willis’s relation to the first game, the Aussie tribute band who only play covers from the soundtrack, the mystery of Private Carrera or the competitor SkateBIRD – Cole engages with the games’ success, and their complex relation to fame, money, mythmaking and representation. This is also undoubtedly a skateboarder’s book, one that knows that the most powerful consequence of the game might be the most straightforward: to make its player pick up a real board and find their own warehouses, hangars and secret videotapes.
Interview by: Sam Buchan-Watts
Can you summarise the passage between playing Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater as a kid and reading your book on Fort Forno at Vladimir in 2023?
One of the crucial bridges is the game. It’s not technically what got me into skating – my older brother was – but THPS helped me stay in skateboarding and develop a love for its culture and the stilted way that the game presented it. You become enmeshed in the culture. And now I’m here.
‘Stilted’ is an interesting word for it.
There are those cultural touch points throughout that early series. Burnside is one of the first levels in the first game, and there are the secret tapes that you collect and watch, but you kind of have to piece it together yourself as a kid if you have no context, which puts you on that hunt.
How did video games change the media landscape of skateboarding?
It helped skateboarding reach a broader audience, beyond 720 or even Street Skater before it. And video games were just easier for non-skateboarders to access. Maybe you think real life skateboarding is something you actually want to try afterwards. Maybe skateboarding looks cool in the video game and you realize that, hey, I can just roll down my driveway on one of these things.
Skateboarding media already conditions the way that skaters move and look at each other, the huge popularity of THPS must have influenced this too.
There’s no hard evidence to back this up, but even Tony himself spoke of how skateboarding was advancing quite quickly in the late nineties and early two-thousands (in relation to the game). He credits being able to do a 360 flip crooked grind flip out in Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater, something like that, and then trying to piece those together in real life. Get your neck on.
And having broad access to the video game means that a lot more people have this base level understanding of what skateboarding is, which I think is also interesting: whether that inspires them to skate or just yell tricks at you, which The Berrics has based an entire media series after. Part of the main thesis of the book is that the game helped skateboarding break through the pop cultural bubble and just stay where it is to this day.
To what extent is this book a study of an individual, Tony Hawk?
The book is a study of him as a person, and also not just what makes him marketable, but what makes a person marketable in general. What I find fascinating is how marketing in this way really does create culture. I believe that THPS helped skateboarding grow to an exponential level, and that’s because Tony Hawk was a polished enough persona. And rightfully so, but he was marketable enough to make that happen. If it was Chad Muska’s Pro Skater would it have been as big as it is? I don’t know.
You touch on the fact that he’s a kind of father figure to an industry approaching middle age. What would skateboarding look like without THPS?
It would probably still be chuggin’ along. Maybe not with all the big corporate sponsors that it has now. But it’s hard to say because he really helped steward skateboarding to a place that was more acceptable. The X‑Games were around, so it’s not like skateboarding was in the wilderness, but he – and the video game itself – helped pull it from its death-and-rebirth cycle every seven to ten years, and helped it stay afloat. There probably wouldn’t be a Janoski shoe: that’s my hot take.
What can writing and literature tell us about skateboarding and THPS that other mediums – like filmmaking and photography – can’t?
I don’t have a very serious educational background; writing has always just been free flowing thoughts that I push together and see what happens. It’s all feelings based, so when I write about THPS, I try to tap into what it made me feel like when I was a kid playing it and chase those feelings through the years. And what it means to me now that I have become a skateboarder through the game and everything that skateboarding has brought me since.
Writing and skateboarding have parallels where I’m just working off the feelings, essentially. It’s like I approach an obstacle with whatever limited tools I have, I try to do something that feels good even if aesthetically it’s not the greatest. It’s like I’m doing back 50:50 and push it into suski and then shuv-it out: it’s not a cool-looking trick, but man it feels good. And with writing too: I find a subject that I think I can make something with, (imitates bro voice) “and then I try to shuv out of it, man”.
You’re going to be a guest in one of the Writing Towards Well-Being workshops at Vladimir this year, which consider the ways that writing, skating and mental health awareness interact. You compare both playing videogames and skating with finding a refuge, what did you mean by that?
I think for me and a lot of skateboarders the ability to just go outside, throw your board on the ground and push away from home is a big tool for finding relief and some space from what your bothers are, whether it’s school or family strife. After the passing of my stepfather and I got the news, all I needed to do in that moment was go skate. It was February, I was living in the interior of British Columbia, there was snow but thankfully someone had shovelled the skatepark. I just skated in this essentially frozen skatepark for hours, had a great time, I’d never felt as focussed on my board as I had then. Just having those moments where I could be separate from grief – or what I didn’t yet know to be grief – and to centre myself. When I was done skating and I was sweating in zero degrees I was like, yeah, I know why I was skating so hard. I think skateboarding is important in that way: definitely not a cure-all, but helpful.