“You’re not a real surfer”: unwelcome misogyny on a photoshoot

“If you want to look like a real surfer, at least use a leash!”
A random man had stomped over mid-shoot to shout this at us, uninvited and full of assumptions, all because he saw three women taking photos on a beach.

I wish I could say this was the first time something like this had happened. But it’s not. When I’m shooting in public, I’m regularly met with comments from men, ranging from sexual innuendos about my gear (“that’s a big lens”) to unsolicited advice, rude jokes and patronizing remarks. It happens so often, I’ve gotten used to flat-out ignoring them or offering a tight smile that clearly says: please leave me alone, I’m working. You get numb to it as a woman working in photography, especially in male-dominated spaces like outdoor adventure and surf culture.

But on this shoot, I saw it through the fresh eyes of my model.

We were on a beach in El Paredón, Guatemala, a small Pacific surf town known for its consistent beach breaks. The morning light here is magic. The sand is rich with volcanic iron, dark and almost black depending on the light. It’s the kind of place that begs to be photographed. I knew it would be the perfect location to shoot for one of my clients, Green Room. They make ocean-friendly zinc sunblock for surfers and anyone spending a lot of time on the water.

They’re woman-owned, zero-waste, sustainable and ocean-safe, basically everything I love. This is what lights me up about brand photography: getting to champion businesses whose values I genuinely believe in.

My friend Val was on this trip and while not a full-time model, she’s a doctor of chemistry working in clean tech, she’s a natural in front of the camera. She’d modelled for me before, and she’s also a surfer, so I knew she’d bring the vibe we were after.

We were staying at Buena Vista (highly recommend!), just steps from the beach and with boards available to rent onsite. On the morning of the shoot, before setting off with Val and our friend joining us, I picked out a surfboard. I chose a white one with the cleanest wax, I needed something neutral so that it wouldn’t pull attention away from the products. When Val asked if I wanted a leash, I said no. I thought a black leash messily wrapped around a white board would be too big of a visual distraction. The board was only there for context, not the focal point. You wouldn’t even be able to see the full board in 99% of the shots we were taking, so it was a simple styling decision. 

But apparently, that was enough to provoke a stranger to get out of the water, muttering and stomping straight toward us, to berate us for ‘faking it.’ My guess? He assumed we were doing an influencer-type shoot. He likely didn’t even notice the product we were photographing. I think people often expect brand shoots to look more formal, with lights, assistants and equipment everywhere. In reality, shoots like this are usually small and agile. 

What it looks like behind the scenes, just me, Val and the camera.

But here’s the thing: so what if we were just three women on the beach taking photos for fun? Who is that hurting? Why is that enough to make someone so angry?

In the moment, I think I just rolled my eyes and tossed ou a sarcastic, “Thanks for the advice.” But Val’s energy shifted. She went from having fun and feeling confident to self-conscious and uncertain. When another group walked by, she felt the need to explain what we were doing. They were kind and reassured her that they weren’t judging us. Still, I saw how quickly that one moment stole her ease. And it crushed me because as the photographer, I see it as my responsibility to create a safe, supportive space. But as a woman in a public setting, I can’t prevent this kind of harassment.

I think it also hit on something deeper for Val because she is a surfer. And when you’re a woman in surfing, you constantly feel like you have to prove you belong, because everything around you, from the ads to the local, male-dominated lineup, says you’re not a “real” surfer. That leash suddenly became symbolic of something bigger: the legitimacy, belonging and respect we’re so often denied.

We wrapped up the shoot and were able to laugh about the guy’s outburst later that day. But when I sat down to edit the photos (which, by the way, the client loved, Val absolutely nailed it), I started thinking about it again.

I’ll never understand why some people feel entitled to interrupt, criticize, or harass women just for existing in public spaces, let alone working or creating something. But I do know this: moments like these don’t stop us. If anything, they remind me why it’s so important to keep showing up, telling our stories and making space for each other.