“You Used To Call Me A Pussy, Now I’m Riding That Pussy”

Jaleesa Vincent is an unstoppable creative force and a pro freesurfer to boot.

From Juju the Surf Musical to her surfboard label Pussy Surfboards to her band Cupid and the Stupids, she’s already built a body of work — still shy of 27 — that stimulates every sense node, stitched together by her considered, authentic, and wildly original art. Painting, singing, dancing, animation, shaved polyurethane — it’s all interlaced.

Originally from the Sunshine Coast, Jaleesa described her younger self as a “sassy, mermaid-and-dancing-obsessed gal.” She chased the QS for a year in her late teens, lifeguarding and working in cafés to fund the next flight to whatever grindy contest beach was calling. It got old rather quickly.

“I was spending all my money to surf crowded, shitty waves against people hassling each other,” she says. “I’d rather spend that money on a real surf trip.”

So she did. She went to Indonesia, paid Luka to film with a pouch of tobacco, and together they made their first little surf edit.

Around that time, Jaleesa got picked up by Rage as a freesurfer — no jerseys, no heats, just doing her thing. “The freesurfing thing just seemed to be falling into place naturally,” she says. Shortly after, Billabong signed her to the roster, just after her 20th birthday.

In a world obsessed with child prodigies, Jaleesa is proof that doing things your own way, even if it takes a little longer to click, can lead to deeper, more lasting fulfillment — much like Ricky Gervais, Samuel L. Jackson, J.K. Rowling, and Steve Carell, who all found their breakthroughs after living relatively ‘normie’ lifestyles as adolescents.

It’s a refreshing contrast to the burnout cycle that haunts surfers NASCAR’d to the nines since toddlerhood — kids turned billboard mascots before they ever had a chance to form a real self. The ‘pro surfer’ identity, ironed on too early, flattens curiosity and dulls the edges. The seed never fruits.

But I digress.

Since flying the Sunny Coast coop, Jaleesa has kept her places of residence low-key and hidden, spending a few years deep in the lush, mystical arms of Main Arm, a hinterland pocket past Mullumbimby, before a more recent move to a small town near Coffs Harbour: with fewer than 700 residents, a buffalo farm, and exactly one general store.

While being a sponsored surfer came with its own pressures — expectations to assimilate into the boys’ club — Jaleesa says she’s finally arrived at a point of total unmoored freedom.

“I guess I’m just becoming more and more myself now,” she says. “At first, hanging with the boys, I always tried to hide my sparkly, feminine side. I didn’t want anyone to think I was ‘just a girl.’ But now? I’m so proud to be a woman. Pussy Surfboards is everything — the hardcore and the glamour. The strength and the softness. No hiding.”

I’ve always believed staying inspired meant living in the crosshairs of culture, something big city life serves better with its constant throbbing pulse of galleries, live shows, and human energy. Jaleesa, however, is the stick in the spokes of that theory. When she’s not on the road, she thrives and recharges in quiet isolation, where distractions are few and entertaining oneself is a DIY affair.

“For most of the year, I’m traveling, getting blasted with people and noise and stimulation. Being home, isolated, it gives me time to process all that, to work on stuff, to actually make things. I could easily not leave the house for months — just painting, writing music, shaping boards.”

Recently, Jaleesa has been deep in the editing cave, helping her equally creatively blessed partner Luka Raubenheimer — who looks a little like Leonardo DiCaprio yet wrangles wildlife like Steve Irwin — piece together a new documentary titled Snakes and Surf Breaks. “We’ve been in there all day,” she laughs. “It’s easy to get over it sometimes. You film so much because it’s fun, and then you realize, now you actually have to edit it.”

They’re a power couple, and absolute steamboats when it comes to getting shit done.

But back to Pussy Palace, a “core surf film with a bit of sass,” shot entirely on her Pussy quiver, which she’s refined with the help of Ellis Ericson and his pops. Expect the signature Juju dreamy interludes, big BITCH board sprays, trippy musical cuts recorded on GarageBand, and coconut-drop slapstick skits.

It feels like they must plan these things out; they don’t. “Most of the time, we’re just filming because something feels funny, or beautiful, or dumb. Then later, we stitch it together and it becomes a story. It’s just… flowing with it. If you overthink it, you lose it.”

That playful but defiant, polished but punk energy is the lifeblood of Pussy Surfboards.

Her mom, a longtime school uniform factory worker, now sews all the Pussy Surfboards merch by hand. “She just retired, but she was like, ‘I need something to do,’ so I put her back to work,” Jaleesa jokes. “It’s pretty special. Growing up, she used to sew all my boardshorts and swimmers. Now we’re doing it for real.”

When I asked how she ended up with a surfboard brand, Jaleesa credited her RAGE teammates, Beau [Foster] and Ellis, for giving her the bug.

“I loved it so much — shaping felt so fun, and the idea of starting a feminine-centered surfboard brand just clicked. Surfboard culture’s always been super male-dominated. Even ordering a board can feel daunting if you don’t know what you’re asking for — I always used to rely on an older brother or boyfriend. I wanted to make something that felt more welcoming. Less scary. A space where you could just be you, and get a board that suits you.”

As for the name?

“I was listening to Cardi B’s ‘Wet Ass Pussy,’ and I just couldn’t shake it,” she laughs. “There were other names — Darling, Girls — but Pussy was just straight to the point. It flips the meaning. Being called a pussy used to mean you were scared. Now it’s about charging, power, glamour, tomboy-ness — all in one. It’s not just for girls either. It’s for anyone who vibes with that energy: fearless and playful at once.”

Each surfboard model carries a name that matters — Britney, Paris, Dolly, Grace — references that shimmer with layers of meaning.

“Obviously Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Dolly Parton — icons. But Grace is kind of double — Grace Jones, and the idea of gracefulness on a longboard. It all ties back to disco, performance and unapologetic glam.”

That same energy pulses through the brand copy: tan lines, tap noses, tomboy princess fairies. Defiant, but never self-serious.

“I didn’t overthink it,” she says. “It’s all instinctive. Pussy Surfboards is about doing whatever you want — wearing a G-string or boardshorts, being girly or grungy. There’s no box. ‘Fuck it.’ That’s the whole spirit.”

It’s an ethos that echoes through everything she touches — from the boards to the edits to the merch, Jaleesa’s creative world is a tapestry of her own making: tactile, imperfect, real.

Ride Pussy here.