The ocean is a sea of oily black. A monotonous montone infinity. It ain't pretty. But there it is. Regard, look, consider.
With only a few exceptions, we sit out the back in our black rubber costumes like mute seals. Where's the colour? There's no connection with the colours of the animal kingdom, the marine food chain, of which we are a part.
Now, come with me, let's affix our masks to our faces, tanks to our backs, and let's dive! We're in the tropics, now, so trunks are plenty. If you're a gal it's a bikini bottom and white tee.
Can you see the little animals in their bright coats? Look! A mandarinfish, outfitted in luminescent blues and oranges and greens. And now! A clown trigger fish, black with white spots and hints of orange. And the rainbow parrot. Purples and greens!
So why do we wear the dreariest, the drabbest of wetsuits?
Rip Curl dips into the rainbow with it's lime and grey Fanning outfit. And that was kinda it.
Lately, howevs, it's been the all-green and all-iridiscent blues of the Hurley rubber that's giving surfing its chic. Did y'see Julian electrify gloomy San Clemente in his neck-to-toe Hurley blues and limes? It was something.
Who needs black? It ain't New York. It ain't Melbourne. It ain't Prague.
Surfing celebrates, it doesn't mourn.
Choose Colour. Choose Life.