For those who may not know, Terry Holster is the alias used by Jeremy Colonero to create and promote his surf craft.

What started as a tongue-in-cheek nod to the early-’60s surf labels that shaped the counterculture scene, somehow gained momentum during the Covid years – and just stuck. It’s always been a word-of-mouth thing – a completely DIY operation that refuses to become a “brand.” Punk rock from the start.

Think of Terry Holster as a fluid concept – a mix of all the kustom kulture touchpoints – old Harley choppers, period-correct hot rods, and 30-pound leashless noseriders.

Of course, the surfboards themselves are Jeremy’s own. Each one is shaped by hand, most glassed and finished in his modest 150-square-foot shed tucked into the northeastern edge of Los Angeles – about 27 miles from the Malibu Pier.

Ask where the name came from and you’ll get a different story depending on the day. Catch him in person – at the right time – and maybe he’ll tell you the long-winded, half-true version. But the name was never the point. The boards were always meant to speak for themselves.

For Jeremy, craftsmanship and function are everything. He hopes that comes through in every board that leaves the shed.

Growing up in New England, surfing wasn’t exactly a way of life. It felt exotic – something that only existed in Hawaii, California, or maybe Florida.

The first time I saw real surfing was at Point Judith in November 1992. I was in fifth grade at a week-long “Nature’s Classroom” camp. We were supposed to be studying tide pools, but I was transfixed by two surfers trading perfect right-hand peelers. Down-the-line surfing – just like in the magazines. I was stupefied. The seed was planted.

Back then, surf culture in New England wasn’t exactly visible. In the ’80s and ’90s, it was a quiet, underground thing – a summer or fall pursuit for the adventurous few. Places like Old Orchard Beach, Rye, Ogunquit, Newport – those were the spots. There were hardly any surf shops, no surf cams, no internet. Just Sid’s Surf Report: (401) 848-WAVE.

So surfing took a backseat to BMX, snowboarding, and car shows – things we could do every day, right outside our front door.

Years later, surfing finally took over my brain. Boston winters and too many close calls working as a bike messenger pushed my girlfriend (now my wife) and me toward greener pastures. Los Angeles felt like the place – a city where anything seemed possible, where progress and new ideas were the norm – but always with respect for the past.

I landed a job in the art department of the film industry – and that’s still my main gig today. It’s work that gives me creative freedom and a flexible schedule – not something many jobs offer. It also teaches you how to make tangible things out of vague ideas.

Like – “build a six-foot sandcastle a model can dance on,” or “make LeBron James walk on water.” Sure thing.

Those projects pushed me to experiment with materials, to make props and set pieces, and to build confidence in bringing ideas to life. That mindset naturally fed into surfboard building. I wanted to learn every step – laminating, fin-making, pinlines, even shaping entire agave boards from scratch, milling the stalks myself.

I surfed as much as possible and became obsessed with vintage boards – transition-era oddities and late-’60s noseriders – the “alternative” shapes then that are now totally normal.

I started ordering boards from Scott Anderson, and over a shared love of custom cars, we became friends. His chopped ’51 Dick Dean Mercury blew my mind – and I think it earned me a few points.

Scott was generous with his time – something not always found in the surf industry – and I owe him a lot. Though I’m self-taught and never climbed the traditional surf-factory ladder, he was my biggest influence.

He helped me understand the lineage of modern surf culture, especially LA’s role – and the craft of board-making itself. I hold him in the highest regard.

My short list of heroes – Joe Quigg, Matt Kivlin, Pat Curren, Renny Yater, Donald Takayama, Harold Ige, the Morey/Pope crew – they built the foundation we still stand on. And among today’s shapers, guys like Gene Cooper, Tyler Hatzikian, and Adam Davenport carry that same torch of innovation through tradition.

As time goes on, the link between counterculture, kustom kulture, and surfing remains at the heart of what Terry Holster is all about.

It’s a reminder that surfing can – and should – be done on your own terms. No pressure to produce, no need to chase trends. I can make 20 boards a year or 200 – the only rule is to be proud of every one. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Surfing has always attracted every kind of person – punks, poets, athletes, outlaws, lawyers, felons, celebrities, the down-and-outers. Everyone’s approach is different, and that’s the beauty of it. The only thing that matters is keeping it personal and staying true.

Moving forward while honoring the past – that’s the sweet spot. Offering something that brings people joy – that’s what keeps me going.

Fifty years from now, if someone finds one of my boards in a dusty garage and feels the same stoke the first rider did – that’s success. Whether it’s in California, New England, Baja, or France – I hope that same feeling from Point Judith in ’92 still runs through every board: Wide Fucking Open down the line.

— Terry Holster

@terryholstersurfboards
terryholstersurfboards.bigcartel.com