For years, skateboarders have been making logos out of inverted pentagrams, doing tricks “for satan,” and embarking on Hell Rides.
Where has this allegiance to the ruler of the underworld gotten us? A red sea of rolled ankles, a famine of decreased ridership from the youth, and a Tompkins Hell Ride in ruins via fire, brimstone and permitted sports group complaints.
Quartersnacks is a secular newsroom — we make no judgements on how anyone should explain existence or live their lives so long as it does not harm others — we merely report the trends. And lately, it has felt like skateboarders are opening up their souls to something besides eternal damnation.
Just as the government follows epidemiological trends via sewage, the QS Trends Desk turns to the drains for early insights. And we first understood something to be afoot when skateboarding’s premier drain cleaner dropped satan’s endorsement from its branding.
While the site is still accessible by its SatansDrano.com URL and some products still bear satan’s name, one is left wondering whether the rebranded Drain Cleaner Hot Sauce was first to see that the ~vibe~ was ~shifting~ towards less-satanic frequencies.
There is only one thing more indicative of the people’s collective spirit than what they send down the drain, and that is, of course, t-shirts. In the 2010s, one out of every three billionaires in America was a t-shirt entrepreneur; today, the winds of vintage and the Wear It Plain movement have steered the ship in other directions. While some veteran designers have tried to adapt to the grunge and brainrot aesthetics that younger brands find success with, wiser ones have looked to Jesus for a holier fix.
Now, it should be noted that Supreme didn’t make it to 30+ years without indulging both ends of the good-evil spectrum — satanists wear clothes, too. But the most weight of any Supreme drop is held in the container of their bread and butter: the box logo. It is clear their designers knew who the Fall-Winter 2026 muse was.
Antwuan’s new pro board reveal? An attendance of One.
And finally, we arrive at the dominant narrative of New York skateboarding in summer 2026. The Hell Ride.
It is easy to convince Parks to throw out a ramp of unsanctioned height. It is even easier when the inscription on said ramp promises a milliseconds-long trip through the inferno below. The satanic panic strategy of the 1980s had arrived at Tompkins. But not for long.
The not necessarily born-again builders — by their own admission in the latest Jenkem mini doc — wanted to recreate the feeling. But they knew a third Hell Ride and its boiling rivers of blood wouldn’t be palatable to a 30% Christian planet. What if it was a Holy Ride? What if a priest from the church across the street blessed it? (Yes, that happened.) Surely Parks wouldn’t condemn a Holy Ride to the same Sodom and Gomorra-ian fate that had fell upon Hell Ride II?
Well, it did. The dude from Parks was like: “Get this thing the fuck out of here or I’m calling the cops.”
It’s a Holy Pyramid now. There is an allegory in there, but sometimes, the fruit hangs too low. All of us are just trying to pay our rent.
The world is defined by paradox. There is no light without dark. No good without evil. No Holy Ride without a Hell Ride. No kickflips without switch flips. Perhaps skateboarders are overcorrecting for their years of satanic allegiance to wind up in the eventual center.
Or maybe they’re just trying to sell some t-shirts and skate a vert wall.