Pioneers of Progress: Brian Anderson in Conversation With Elissa Steamer and Leo Baker
The skateboard legend links up with generational talents to discuss the culture’s inclusion evolution, dropping out of the Olympics and ‘Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater.’
In any creative discipline, you have the standard keepers and the pioneers, those who leave behind a blueprint for progress by challenging the status quo. Brian Anderson exemplifies the latter as the world’s first openly gay professional skateboarder. His liberation wasn’t straightforward, yet the impact of his courage continues to drive change today.
“People have been so supportive,” says Anderson, displaying the unassuming humility found in the best role models. “I was at Potrero Skatepark in San Francisco recently, and a guy came up and said, ‘Brian, I just want to say thank you. I’ve been skateboarding since 1985, and I’ve never seen such an awesome, drastic change in the industry. I’ve seen a lot of cool things happen, but nothing quite like people’s respect for one another as a result of you telling your truth.’”
Anderson stresses that while his teammates were “intelligent and open-minded,” the hyper-masculine world of skateboarding remained rife with homophobia and chauvinism. “You’d hear fa---t being thrown around a lot, words like ‘b-ch,’” he says. “I grew up listening to hip-hop and rock, so it’s not like it hurt me that much, but it just put more nails and screws into the metal box I was already living in.”
He describes a feeling of alienation while his peers would be toasting their successes. “It was scary because I thought, ‘Who’s going to want to buy a gay man’s pro skateboard?’ Popular culture made it seem like coming out meant being chased away from your career. I needed to ensure I had support when coming out to friends in the industry.”
Anderson found allies in his team, Girl Skateboards, Antihero founder Julien Stranger, Ed Templeton and supportive editors at Thrasher and Transworld. However, persistent whispers about his sexuality endured. “My relationship with skateboarding changed a lot after coming out,” he says. “Before, I’d hear people say, ‘That’s the gay dude.’ Now, that’s no longer the case. It’s like living a whole other life.”
A husband, icon, artist, advocate for mental health and a gay man, Anderson’s experience continues to inspire skaters of all backgrounds and skill levels. Exclusively for GOAT’s West Coast to the World Exhibit, Anderson leads this two-part interview with Elissa Steamer and Leo Baker, uncovering the progress made in skating over the last 30 years and why there’s still more work to be done.
A guy came up to me and said, ‘I’ve been skateboarding since 1985 and I’ve seen a lot of cool things, but nothing quite like people’s respect for one another as a result of you telling your truth.’
Brian Anderson
Elissa Steamer made waves as one of the first women to gain widespread recognition in skating and was the first and only woman to appear in the legendary Tony Hawk's Pro Skater video game. She has always been an advocate for inclusivity in skating and came out as queer in 2020.
BRIAN ANDERSON: What advice would you give to young LGBTQ+ skaters navigating their identity while pursuing skateboarding?
ELISSA STEAMER: The big advice I would offer is to find like-minded people. I think it was Eddie Murphy who once said, “If people don’t like you for being yourself, then f--- them!”
That's great. Has skateboarding evolved as much as you’d hoped in terms of inclusivity?
Absolutely. I think that inclusivity has found its way into the light. But on a deeper level for society and the world of large, I don’t know if it has.
Do you think public perception of skateboarding has shifted a lot since the ’90s?
[Laughs] Come on! In the ’90s, if you rode a skateboard, you were the oddball. Now, if you don’t, you’re the oddball.
We used to get yelled at.
Or have your board stolen or get beaten up.
When did you notice skateboarding becoming less male-dominated? Was there a specific moment?
I’ve been seeing it gradually since I started in ’85 or ’87. I don’t know if I actually noticed a key moment where it shifted. I think it’s just become progressively more and more open.
There are a lot more collectives and labels now, like Unity and Leo [Baker’s] company Tacky, advocating for inclusivity. Why do you think they were missing before?
I don’t think skateboarding was ever really missing anything. I always say that while, on the surface, things might seem more inclusive now, on a deeper, societal level, that might not always be the case. Even though skateboarding wasn’t always the most inclusive, I believe it’s been far more inclusive than many other things.
True.
Because I’ve experienced diversity through the ages growing up. I grew up in Florida, and I’ve seen what racism looks like, and I’ve seen what non-inclusivity looks like. Amongst my friends, it’s been nothing but diverse and inclusive.
My friend Dan Rojas and I were talking the other day. Our squad was me, Dan, who is a Cuban man, and my friend Levy, who's black. And so the three of us rolled around; we were the click, right? He was telling me a story about him and Levy getting pulled over one time and having guns put to their head, and he was like, "We were on the forefront of diversity."
I’ve experienced diversity through the ages growing up. I’ve seen what racism looks like, and I’ve seen what non-inclusivity looks like. Amongst my friends, it’s been nothing but diverse and inclusive.
Elissa Steamer
Hell, yeah. What about on the West Coast? How has the West Coast skateboarding community supported you throughout your career?
California welcomed me with open arms. I didn’t come from wealth, so I didn’t have a camera for sponsor-me tapes, but the West Coast embraced me. Do you remember when we went to San Diego? I mean, it was nothing but love.
What role do you think the West Coast has played in the evolution of women’s skateboarding?
Everybody is out here. The West Coast is the epicenter of the skateboarding industry. Skateboarding is global, but this is where it all happens. While other places have contributed, this is ground zero.
People talk about Florida’s significance in skateboarding too.
I mean, there are these big debates that I see people having online about how Florida is actually the missing link in skateboarding. But it’s just people saying things. I love Florida, but the West Coast has contributed at maximum capacity.
What does the West Coast offer that nowhere else does in terms of skating
The weather, for one. When I moved to LA, it didn’t rain for two years! You can skate year-round here, which makes a big difference. So you're never off-limits.
How important was your exposure in the Tony Hawk video game to your career?
There were several reasons why it was so important, but mostly it put me alongside some of the greatest skateboarders period. It made people who didn’t skateboard recognize me. And monetarily, it was my only time getting paid equally to my male counterparts, which was a beautiful thing.
And young girls got to pick you in the game, which is wonderful. Do you have any future projects or goals for Gnarhunters or skateboarding in general?
I’ve taken a break from Gnarhunters after 10 years. Right now, I’m focusing more on my skateboarding career. I’m not that inspired with Gnarhunters at the moment, but that might change in the future.
Which is fine, because you’ve got it established and are focused on skateboarding with Baker, Nike SB, Thunder, Spitfire…
Exactly. We’re still going on tour, and I don’t ever want to stop doing that.
Looking back, what do you consider to be the most significant milestone in your skateboarding career?
At one time, I think it might’ve been 2004, I was a girl’s make-a-wish. Her dying wish was to meet and hang out with me. That’s my milestone.
That’s beautiful. Thank you.
How far you get depends on your gender, identity and sexuality. But when I’m skating, it’s not like that.
Leo Baker
One of the most respected contemporary skaters in the world, Leo Baker resigned from the U.S. Women’s Olympic Skateboarding Team in 2020 to medically transition. Today, he skates for Nike SB and his own board company, Tacky Joy Factory.
BRIAN ANDERSON: It's been four years since you decided to leave the Olympic path to embrace your identity as trans. How has your connection with skateboarding changed during this time, if at all?
LEO BAKER: Since I made that decision, it felt like a homecoming, because the contest world and industry is what slowly tore me from myself for all those years. Deciding to leave that world was coming back to skating as I fell in love with it the first time. Everything just feels aligned.
Since I came out, I’m just like, “Okay, I can skate and film video parts and learn tricks. I don’t ever have to think about a contest again. I don’t ever have to do anything super uncomfortable ever again.”
Great. I’m glad. Looking back, are there any key moments in your skateboarding career that were especially affirming or challenging in relation to your gender identity?
My whole skate career felt awkward because, even as a kid, I knew I was a boy. But as I got better, people would say, “You're really good for a girl,” which made things feel strange. In my early 20s, I started exploring my gender, unsure of what to do. A big chunk of my life, from age 10 to my late 20s, was awkward. Eventually, I came out and got top surgery.
What have been the most significant challenges you've encountered as a non-binary skater in an environment that often emphasizes traditional gender roles?
When you’re skating with other skaters, nobody’s stressing out about traditions or whatever. That comes into play when it’s something related to the industry and success. It becomes this political thing when it becomes a possibility to have a career with it.
How far you get depends on your gender, identity and sexuality—that’s just how politics work. But when I’m skating, it’s not like that. Skaters are weirdos, so no one’s weirded out. It’s the industry and capitalism that make it weird.
Pop culture advertising.
Exactly. They emphasize it. They’re the ones making it a thing.
How could the skateboarding community support non-binary and transgender skaters even more?
Here’s the thing, when there’s a company or any corporation or establishment, it’s typically run by men. And the skate industry has been run by men forever. The best way to support would be to diversify from within, so when we have a contract negotiation, the people at the table understand our experience. If they don’t understand the experience, they can’t understand the value.
So if there was a diverse set of people making decisions when you climb up the ladder in these big corporations, that would even out the playing field. We got to be on both sides of the table.
Not just us.
It doesn’t even have to be somebody who came from skating. Just somebody who’s queer or POC, Black, trans; just different types of people. Being able to see the value in diversity versus a bunch of white people being like, “Should we give them this opportunity? You should be so grateful.”
Can you share how your understanding of your gender identity has developed over the years and impacted your journey in skateboarding?
It’s still as simple as it was when I was 3, 4 or 5. There’s not a lot to discuss. I’m just like, “I’m a boy.” There’s no more conversation from that point. Facing the world can be challenging, especially when it’s filled with transphobia, homophobia and other forms of prejudice. We’re not the ones making it uncomfortable—they are.
Exactly.
The hardest part for me was getting sponsored and being told I had to wear “girls” clothes. I remember thinking, “For real?” They just didn’t work for me—pants didn’t fit right, and I couldn’t skate in them. Then I hit puberty, grew boobs and had to wear low-cut tank tops. It was so uncomfortable. Now, I’m back to wearing baggy pants, a T-shirt and skate shoes, like I did when I was younger.
It’s simple, and it makes me wonder why I ever strayed. What I wear affects my skating—when I feel cool and comfortable, I’m ready to skate and get clips. I didn’t want to deal with things like my chest bouncing around while skating. Getting top surgery and starting hormone replacement therapy was huge. Now, everything’s slowly aligning, and it feels right.
It’s about aligning with what feels comfortable for your body, practically.
When you’re a kid and you watch skate videos, you’re like, “That's so sick.” It’s like baggy pants and whatever. I was living the dream, but the correct dream, not the dream that got sold to me.
What are your aspirations for the future of skateboarding regarding inclusivity and representation of non-binary and LGBTQ+ individuals?
I see a future where it’s inclusive without flaunting the word. Establishing communities and bridging the gap. I’m starting a brand and, of course, there are going to be queer people involved, but also people who aren’t. It’s about bringing together awesome skaters. I want to bridge the gap and make it something that doesn’t have to be so taboo. “Oh, you’re trans,” or, “Oh, you’re gay.” It’s like, who cares, dude?
How helpful was the Netflix documentary in telling your story?
I've received a lot of positive feedback, with people DMing me saying, “Thank you for putting yourself out there.” It feels good knowing I’ve impacted lives in some way.
When I started the documentary, I didn’t expect it to take the turn it did. We pitched it as a story about a non-binary skater on their way to the Olympics. Obviously, that’s not how things unfolded, but it got documented. Looking back, there are people in the doc I don’t talk to anymore. It captures a brief moment in my life, and it feels like so long ago, but that’s part of what transitioning looks like, and I think it’s helpful for people to see.
I want to be a good leader, role model and guide for the kids. I’m really interested in their vision for their lives, both in skating and outside of it, and seeing if I can help in any way. I’ve experienced so many different versions of a skate career: fun, colorful moments and bleak ones. I’m trying to cultivate the parts of skating that are the most fun.
West Coast to the World uncovers how the subversive spirit of skateboarding resonates stronger than ever from its disruptive epicenter. Discover the exhibit here, explore skate aesthetics through the medium of art, meet the culture’s pioneering creative misfits and view Sandy Kim’s candid shoot with a new wave of skaters.