So you wanna be a local?

No one wakes up thinking: “Is today the day I finally become a local at my surf break?” But in case it is, here’s how it tends to happen.

Most surfers agree that being a local isn’t about where you live—it’s about showing up. Consistently.

⏰ How much you need to put in

Unsurprisingly, surfing the same spot in all conditions builds a kind of familiarity with others who do the same. You see the same peeps in the parking lot or bobbing up and down in the lineup. Maybe, just maybe, you even strike up a conversation!

Being in the water day after day shows that surfing is important to you. Plus, other surfers get to know what kind of surfer you are. They feel more comfortable around you, and a certain level of trust builds over time.

Consistency definitely trumps “residency”. Living two blocks from the beach doesn’t matter as much as being seen in the water day after day. There’s sometimes some mocking of people who live beachside, but only paddle out on sunny weekends. I can be one of these people, just not on the weekends.

How long does it take to become a local? That’s when it becomes fuzzy. Some say a year of regular surfing might do it, others suggest several years. But there’s no fixed timeline. It also depends where you surf—if it’s crowded, you’re simply less visible. And as we’ve determined, you gotta be visible to be considered a local.

And if you are not able to surf consistently, can you ever really become a local? Or perhaps, we should be asking—why does it matter?

What you get out of it

For many surfers, being considered a local is about being seen—being acknowledged as part of something. It’s nice to feel like you belong, for sure. And that’s how it works at most surf spots. You know, you can go into the lineup without having a major panic attack.

Now, if you want to dive into the social psychology of localism at more contested breaks, that’s a different kettle of boiled crab. Because it becomes more about social currency and informal hierarchy.

If you have allies in the water, you can get away with more. If not, you’re just another body in the lineup. If no one has your back, surfing can become harder, and a lot less pleasant.

Now, there’s another school of “surf thought” that values “being born somewhere” above anything else, no matter how good or committed a surfer is.

I want to say it’s a complicated issue, but it’s not. Honestly, if you surf at surf breaks appropriate for your level and you adhere to surf etiquette, local gatekeeping is stupid.

No one owns the ocean the last time I checked. Being nostalgic for an era of surfing that no longer exists doesn’t make it right.

Where you surf matters too

This is based on what others have said—not firsthand experience—so take it with a grain of sea salt. Although, it does ring mostly true.

In SoCal, many say localism in its ugly form is dying or only exists at a few crowded spots. Lineups are too transient and saturated for any single group to “own” the peak.

Certain spots in Hawai’i and Central America where you encounter excellent waves take localism seriously, where surf breaks are enforced by a tight crew, citing both cultural and safety-related concerns.

In small, coastal communities where there are few tourists, everyone really does know everyone, which helps. And in cold-water spots, showing up in winter earns you more credibility than any claims about residency ever will.

But is it even worth it?

You may never feel like a local, and that’s ok. There are plenty of surfers who admit they surf alone or quietly because of anxiety or because they’re introverted—even if they’ve surfed a spot for years, they don’t feel like locals because they’re not socially connected.

Also, being a local doesn’t make you a better surfer. Well, it could actually make you a better surfer, because of the consistency bit, but especially when you’re just starting out—or when life gets in the way—you don’t need that kind of pressure.

Here’s where striving to become a local wins out: Having someone in the lineup to talk to, cheer you on, share a wave, and pay attention to whether you’re drowning is very welcome. And that happens more often if you’re usually hanging out around the same people.

As for localism, there’s hope. We’re hearing stories that our hearts may grow three sizes and it’s not even Christmas. Surfers who made friends in the lineup. Surfers who got helped by the locals when they were out of their depth. Surfers who prefer to be seen as regulars rather than locals.

As Turi from Girls Who Can’t Surf Good put it:

“It is such a positive shift when we move to support and encouragement instead of gatekeeping and exclusion.”

There’s something comforting about being a familiar face. Even if no one calls you a local.