All products featured on WIRED are independently selected by our editors. However, we may receive compensation from retailers and/or from purchases of products through these links.
Every time I travel, I pack my seven pound second-hand roller skates. I bought them three years ago at the now-closed Skateland Vermont, a rink inside of a large warehouse that was always too hot and stunk of hot dogs and feet. I sat in the DJ booth and tried on three graying pairs of skates with the help of the rink attendant until I found the right pair, formerly his daughter’s. I spent the following evening skating across the floor of the linoleum kitchen in my shared tiny two-bedroom apartment. I could fly.
My skates are not what you’d call a convenient carry-on. They’re not the most stylish, either—the laces frayed, the boots going gray. But let me tell you something: These babies have lived. My skates came with me on an ill-fated college spring break trip to Cuba, rolled along Bernie Sanders’s prized Burlington waterfront, boogied at the Brooklyn Skate Club, and soared through the Arashiyama bamboo grove in Kyoto. And before all that, they had another full life with someone else.
I don’t know much about the person who wore these skates before me, but I can imagine that when she did, skating was more of a thing. Maybe you even remember. Just like bowling alleys and Blockbuster, roller rinks were pillars of the weekend in the '90s. (Recall the popularity of a skate rink birthday party: “It’s the big 1-0 for Jeremy today, let’s play some Cameo!”) They were an institution in the '70s and a community center for generations of black families in Brooklyn and Detroit. Disco music, hip-hop, and rap all grew out of skate culture—the rink was a place for artists to release first records and eventually, a place to meet promoters. Back then, owning your own skates was less of a novelty. You could show up at a rink, slip your foot into just the right pair, and sail away that very day.
These days, buying skates is no easy task. It’s inconvenient, time consuming, and often expensive. In addition, finding a local skating rink is getting harder and harder. Search nearby rinks and you’ll find “permanently closed” to be the most ubiquitous descriptor in Yelp reviews right after “ONLY PLAYS DEVO.”
And so, for those looking for a piece of roller skate culture, there is the internet. Ebay has plenty of used skates, especially if you’re willing to test your fate with a pair of gliders that might arrive in slightly rickety shape (anyone remember skate keys?). Amazon has less expensive options, some in the $50 range, but most are for children. As the 70s roll back into style, even Urban Outfitters now carries the $299 Moxi Suede Roller Skates, designed for asphalt or pavement.
But the best guide to finding skates might be the internet’s roller derby community. Go online and you’ll discover hundreds of blogs, videos, shops, and forums. They all have edgy logos and awesome names like BruisedBoutique, Pivotstar, and DevaSkation (Devaskate the Competition!). Skaters like to review their stuff online and a quick YouTube search can give you the DL on plenty of gear, including derby enthusiasts who unpack new skates with the same reverence and sheer delight as a sneakerhead with the latest Yeezys.
Derby skates come in a variety of styles: the classic derby skate, jam skates, and speed skates. The classic style comes up just below the ankle bone and tie with laces and a Velcro strap. Jammers have all the same components but no laces at all. Speed skates are designed with the intention to be used in sprints, time trials and lap skating. However, in recent years, derby jammers (a player who scores points for their team by skating laps around the track, sort of like a Quidditch seeker on wheels) have taken to buying speed skates as they’re the lighter option.
I wear LT429 Hard Candy speed skates by Riedell, one of the more popular brands in derby. The leather boot fits tightly on the foot and has little padding, allowing for better maneuverability and freedom of movement. Like all quad skates, there are four evenly spaced wheels (attached to the boot with a metal plate) and a small rubber toe stopper in the front. The toe stopper serves as a point to push off for a quick start or, conversely, a brake.
I bought my skates after helping a friend film a documentary on derby culture. The players, later my teammates and friends, encouraged me to join a chapter of a local novice roller derby team called Fresh Meat. Every Tuesday night, we practiced our crossovers, stops, speed skating, and turns. I skated under the name “Raggedy Animal.” We weren’t very good, but we had spirit.
My skates only saw about half a derby season. While having my own skates gave me rink cred, I found that I lack the fundamental aggression requisite in competitive derby and, at 5’9,” I have a long way to fall. My skates, a bit banged up from their international travel, lost a toe stop and gained some scars. However, I remain a staunch cheerleader for roller skating and still go every chance I get. It’s the nostalgia for an earlier time and the community I’ve experienced that keeps me coming back.
When I moved to California a year and a half ago, it felt only right that my skates come with me. In San Francisco, I discovered Boosted boards instead of skateboards and Scoots instead of bikes. But somehow, roller skate culture was still here.
So this fall, I strapped on my speeders and headed to Golden Gate Park where I slipped into the weekly skate circle near the California Academy of Sciences. Just like every weekend, the tech bros and coders of Silicon Valley were gathered as Earth, Wind & Fire reverberated from a nearby boombox. Vintage skates, rollerblades, Razor scooters, and hoverboards alike sailed around together in a big loop. It was Sunday in San Francisco and we were all just trying to skate by.
