Nathan Fletcher

Nathan Fletcher recalls an acrimonious encounter with his bro, weaves crazy conversational logic and flaunts a pacifist style from the land of gun-toting narcotics providores.

The eighties are dead, bub. Stone cold. Next up: nineties nihilism. Cinema’s full of arty blockbusters, Candlebox has a hot new stadium-rocker that blames the government for, like, everything, and Kelly Slater is winning championships like it was 1992, 94, 95 and 96. Sell the day-glo and invest in plaid flannel. In this economy, every little tip helps.
“I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me.” Blah blah something something blah blah ummmmmmmm, I can’t even remember what I was gonna write next because I actually just spoke with Nathan Fletcher, who is going to spearhead the new decade this time round. Wow. He blew my doors. I can out-write what anybody says. Anybody but Nathan Fletcher.
STAB: Hey, uhhh you’re the cover of Stab Style.
NATHAN: That’s fuckin’ crazy cool.
So, like, how much do you think about your style?
How much do I think about it? I think about a lack of more than not. I mean I definitely try and not, whatchamacallit, I try to do things naturally. I don’t bend my knees and do face drags consistently.
We hear you were flaunting long socks, slippers and baggy shorts in Bali recently. What was that about?
It’s just what I wear. I’ve always worn socks like that. That’s just me. I hate half-cut socks. It looks like a cholo (tough Mexican dude), but I’m only a wanna-be Mexican. I just like their morals.
What morals do they have?
Um, I don’t think they have any.
How was Bali?
Insane, till I got home. I’m still shitting yellow.
So do you live up in Santa Cruz these days?
Nah, San Juan Capistrano.
I thought you had moved to S. Cruz.
I stay in Santa Cruz a lot cuz I guess my friends are there and there’s always shit for waves here.
Surfing Mavricks?
Yeah, surfing Mavs. I mean fuck, I’ll pretty much surf forever – Backdoor Shootout. I don’t pay attention.
Do you not talk with your brother?
I wish I did. The guy is so weird. I saw him on a ferry on the way back from Lombok. He told me he had waited for me to apologise to him for three years. I was, like, sorta wanting to talk but he’s self-consumed. I probably am too. He’s still a fucking dick. Major ego fucking shit. Unfortunate. He misses a lot of friends. A lot of opportunities. He doesn’t know how gnarly he is cuz he doesn’t even know. I wish he was something enough to have a relationship.
That’s lame.
Yeah, lame. He’s on a super deal – he’s always been so incredibly talented and blah blah blah. I don’t know what to say on how to act. It’s sad to see him. Everyone wants to help him. I mean, my dad has done everything to give us a life. Someday he’ll come around.
Have you and him ever had punch-up?
Yeah, we’ve fought. A couple of years ago. It had to be done. It was 30 years of anger. He’s a very antagonistic person.
Who won?
You’d have to ask him. I’m sure our answers would be different.
Are you a lover or fighter?
I’m switching. I’m neutral.