By Joey Colby Bernert, Graduate Student, Michigan State University

The first time I fell off my longboard, I learned something about pain. The second time, when I got back up in front of all my friends, I learned something about performance. Longboarding, for me, has never only been about rolling downhill. It has been about meeting people, reading signals, and figuring out how to play a role in a scene.

This is where sociology comes in. Symbolic interactionism is the idea that people create meaning through everyday interactions. Gestures, objects, clothing, and language all matter. A nod from a stranger, a quick joke with someone you just met, or even how you take a fall can say more than words.

Think about the longboard itself. A board with a wide, flexible deck signals dance and flow. A stiff downhill board with tiny trucks signals speed and risk. If another rider notices your Paris trucks and gives a compliment, that is more than talking about parts. It is recognition, a small moment of shared understanding.

Skateparks make this even clearer. Erving Goffman, in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, compared social life to a stage. We are all actors managing impressions. Skaters do this constantly. The way they push off, hold their boards, or even crash becomes part of the show. Did you try to fall with control, or did you let yourself tumble? People notice. Those choices shape your image and eventually your identity.

Clothing adds another layer. I have shown up to the skatepark in a white bandana, a pink Tommy Hilfiger dress shirt and slacks. They were the same clothes I had just worn to lead a group therapy session. Wearing them at the park is not random. It is a symbol that says, “I belong here,” but it also manages the impression I give off. One hour I am a therapist. Next, I am carving a hill. Performance does not stop when you change settings.

Sociologist Howard Becker, who wrote about labeling theory, pointed out that deviance is not in the act. It is in how people define it. A longboarder in traffic might be “cool” to one driver and “reckless” to another. The action is the same, but the meaning depends on the audience.

Learning to longboard is also learning a language. There is slang, but also posture, timing, and flow. That is identity work. You shape how others see you and how you see yourself. Cultural theorist Dick Hebdige argued in Subculture: The Meaning of Style that clothing and behavior in subcultures are about making meaning. It is how people carve out space for themselves in a world eager to define them.

When I think about Émile Durkheim, I see the skatepark as a place of ritual. If Hebdige helps explain the meaning of style, Durkheim helps explain the meaning of ritual. The nods, the claps, the handshakes after a fall all create what he called “collective effervescence.” We feel bound together for a moment when someone lands a trick or takes a brutal fall. Even strangers get caught up in that shared energy. I have felt it myself, and it helps explain why skate culture can feel so tight knit. It is not only about boards and tricks. It is about the solidarity we build through these repeated acts.

From a functionalist perspective, I can also see the skatepark as more than a hangout. It works like a social institution that channels energy, creates routines, and strengthens bonds. We learn patience while waiting our turn, trust when we spot each other, and discipline by practicing the same move again and again. These routines stabilize the scene. In this way, the skatepark becomes like a classroom or a team, providing structure that holds our community together.

Watch the rituals at a skatepark. A nod after a kickflip, a glance to see if anyone noticed your carve, or a hand offered after a hard fall. None of these need translation. They say, without words, “you belong.”

You can see similar dynamics in barbershops, protests, or video games. What makes skating unique is that it is embodied and fast. You cannot fake belonging. You either stick the trick or you do not. When you fall, everyone sees.

That is what makes it sociological. It is one thing to read about performance in a textbook, but it is another to live it when you are sweating, bleeding, and still getting back on the board. You risk your body, your image, and your place in the group. Theories about identity and interaction are not abstract here. They are alive.

Symbolic interactionism helps explain why these small scenes matter. It shows why one photo can capture a whole identity and why a fall can be just as meaningful as a perfect ride. The half-pipe becomes a stage. The board becomes a symbol. The self is something you build, fall off, and climb back onto again. What looks like play on concrete is also a lesson in how we make selves together.