the inchoate lurchings of an American right-wing libertarian movement

Once a skater turns professional, there are two ways things can go. As with any other sport, there are a handful of marketable names undergirded by a workman majority. At its core, personal success in skateboarding comes by winning a popularity contest, by appealing to young consumers who buy skateboards, gear, and clothing. A professional might earn royalties for years (or even decades) without releasing, for example, any new footage. (If the sales are strong, a brand has no reason to drop a skater from its team.) For those who fail to make a name for themselves in this illusory world of merit, however, careers can be vanishingly short. Injury inevitably couples with age; footage gets harder to come by; sponsors disappear. As the checks dwindle, skaters are forced, as the saying goes, to find a real job. Some seek work as team managers or pursue other roles within the industry, but the transition isn’t always smooth. High-level skateboarding can be a full-time commitment during the years most young people are pursuing higher learning or entering the work force. For a thirty-two-year-old with no résumé beyond a stylish backside tailslide, landing a job—especially one that pays a decent wage—is a challenge.

It should go without saying: there is no social safety net in skateboarding. As freelancers, skateboarders rarely obtain health insurance through sponsors. It may be the case, as Ian Browning reports in Jenkem, that certain companies (like Red Bull) offer help with medical bills or pay for physical therapy, but riders for a company as large as Converse go without coverage entirely. That the world’s largest sneaker company (Converse is owned by Nike) would fail to insure its contracted athletes, who risk life and limb to appear in its ads—in a sport that almost necessarily causes injury—is morally repugnant. It’s also proof that these corporations understand their riders as replaceable commodities unworthy of investment. [...]