Probably sensing defeat, I decided to avoid the whole “actually trying to skateboard” part and instead started sniffing around the skate shop that had opened in my sad, suburban enclave. Here, as I entered the strange world of racked-upskating wheels and men who looked like Bobby Gillespie, I could suck in my cheeks and pretend I was Randall “Pink” Floyd or Ethan Hawke. It was all excitingly foreign, and although commodified enough to have an outlet in suburbia, it felt like a genuine subculture. This is where I first encountered the chequerboard pattern: if grunge had plaid and sad, silent crying, skate culture had chequerboard and vacant stares. Today I’m wearing slip-on shoes with chequerboard print.

Source: The Guardian September 07, 2018 12:00 UTC