In 1994 I thought I could skateboard. 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.

The shop, which was just off the high street, felt like a little slice of Americana: somewhere straight out of Dazed And Confused or Reality Bites (their hazy, sassy, disenfranchised vibe provided essential film viewing at the time). 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.

The shop was intoxicating, but the skating world was hilariously out of my reach. I couldn’t skateboard; I couldn’t even (whisper it) ride a bike; my hair was curly (despite repeated attempts, I could never master the Howard Donald curtains); and my skating patter faltered after, “Can you do an Ollie?” Not very Tony Hawk. (I would have had to Google that at the time, if Google had existed then.)

As I looked around, I saw a world that felt inexpressibly cool and odd: the strange collection of boards and brightly coloured helmets; the “Woah dude!” videos that played in the shops; the whiny pop punk that I could never get into; and the impossibly cool slacker sales assistants.

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And the clothes: the oversize T-shirts built for the kind of torso I knew I’d never have; massive shorts that I could fit two of me into; and the shoes that looked like they might be too big for Shrek. 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. It feels loud and flashy, and a bit strange on my feet – partly because the skate shoe that’s broken out into the high street and trumped the Converse is the classic monochrome Vans shoe, but also because it is the bit of my outfit that’s saying, “Wahey, look at me!” (and remember, I’m wearing a pink shirt here). I’m “foot peacocking”, which sounds faintly worrying but just about skate chic enough that I can cope.



• Priya wears pink polo top, £190, by Éditions MR, from matchesfashion.com. Trousers, £95, carhartt-wip.com. Trainers, £52, vans.co.uk. Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Grooming: Johanni Nel at S Management.

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