Prologue: A Shot Across the Bow

In 1987, skateboarding was still under the corporate chokehold of the Big Five — Powell-Peralta, Santa Cruz, Vision, Tracker, Independent. The streets were underrepresented, and skate culture felt bottled up and sanitized.

Then came Steve Rocco — a street skater with a grudge and a maxed-out credit card. After being booted from Sims, he thought, “Why not start my own?” He took out a cash advance, printed 500 boards, and teamed up with Rodney Mullen. Together, they founded World Industries — one of the first truly skater-owned skateboard companies.

Rocco’s vision was simple and radical: break the rules, make fun of the establishment, and speak directly to the kids. World wasn’t about pleasing distributors — it was about starting fires.

Chapter One: Disruption & Cynicism

From the jump, Rocco weaponized humor and irreverence. His ads openly mocked rival brands. He baited lawsuits from Disney, the Church of Scientology, and even McDonald’s. When the cease-and-desist letters came, he framed them and laughed.

He wasn’t just talking trash — he was signing legends. Rodney Mullen brought technical credibility. Mike Vallely brought street grit. And behind the visuals, Marc McKee became World’s secret weapon — the artist who would give birth to Flameboy, Wet Willy, and Devil Man.

Those characters became icons — equal parts skate mascots and middle fingers to authority. They plastered boards, tees, and stickers, turning every kid’s deck into a canvas of anarchy.

One former team member said it best:

“Rocco’s marketing wasn’t marketing — it was warfare. He didn’t care who he pissed off, and that’s why it worked.”

By the early ’90s, World Industries wasn’t just a company — it was the pulse of underground skateboarding. It had stolen the culture out from under the corporations.

 

Chapter Two: Empire & Overreach

As the ’90s rolled on, World Industries became an empire. Rocco backed spin-offs like Blind with Mark Gonzales, Plan B with Mike Ternasky, and 101 with Natas Kaupas. It was like a skater-owned mafia, infiltrating every corner of the scene.

The videos were groundbreaking — Rubbish Heap, Love Child, New World Order, Trilogy. Each one redefined what skateboarding could look like.

World Industries licensed toys.

But inside, the cracks were forming. By ’93, Rick Howard and several top riders left to form Girl Skateboards, citing burnout and chaos. The empire had grown too fast, too loose.

Still, by 1998, World was massive. The company sold for $29 million — a jaw-dropping number at the time. But the buyout marked the start of the end. The energy shifted from rebellion to spreadsheets.

Chapter Three: The Fall

Once the suits came in, the heart started leaking out. The rawness that made World iconic was replaced by calculated branding. The graphics softened. The ads lost bite.

In 2002, World Industries was acquired by Globe International — a move that further corporatized the brand. Within five years, it was resold again, this time to smaller distribution companies. Each transfer diluted the DNA a little more.

By the 2010s, World Industries existed mostly as a nostalgia brand — the Flameboy and Wet Willy characters now decorating department-store decks instead of underground skate shops.

As one old pro put it:

“World used to be dangerous. Now it’s just a logo.”

Yet even in decline, the brand’s influence is undeniable. Every irreverent skate brand that came after owes a debt to Rocco’s chaos.

BIG BROTHER: THE MAG THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

While World was blowing up, Rocco had another trick up his sleeve — a magazine that would push the chaos even further.

In 1992, after Transworld Skateboarding refused to print one of his ads, Rocco decided to make his own publication. He called it Big Brother Magazine — a filthy, hilarious, no-rules skate zine that felt more like Mad Magazine meets Jackass.

The first issue was literally given away for free. It featured brutal humor, fake advice columns, suicide guides, naked photos, and interviews that read like drunken therapy sessions.

The mag didn’t just cover skating — it dissected it, mocked it, and worshiped it all at once. It was equal parts satire and documentation of the underground scene.

One writer described Big Brother’s mission bluntly:

“We just wanted to tell the truth — and the truth was filthy, stupid, and funny as hell.”

They broke every taboo imaginable. There were issues bound with duct tape, issues packed with cereal, even one shaped like a giant square of toilet paper.

The mag also launched a generation of chaos-bringers: Jeff Tremaine, Chris Pontius, Johnny Knoxville — names that would later become household through Jackass. Big Brother wasn’t just a magazine; it was the blueprint for a cultural movement.

But it couldn’t last. Distribution was a nightmare. No mainstream outlet wanted to carry a skate mag that ran articles like “How to Kill Yourself” or “Ten Ways to Ruin Your Life.”

Eventually, Big Brother was sold to Larry Flynt Publications in 1997 — the same empire behind Hustler. Under Flynt, the mag lost its heart. The content stayed outrageous, but the soul was gone.

By the early 2000s, it folded quietly, leaving behind one of the most legendary messes in publishing history.

As Tremaine later said in a documentary:

“We weren’t trying to shock people. We were trying to make ourselves laugh. The shock was just a bonus.”

LESSONS FROM THE RUINS

1. Disruption costs.
Rocco’s genius was chaos. His downfall was the same thing. You can’t burn that hot forever.

2. Rebellion vs. Capital.
Once investors enter the room, rebellion gets diluted. You can’t put a dollar sign on attitude and expect it to stay pure.

3. Legacy over longevity.
World Industries didn’t survive as a force — but it didn’t need to. It changed skateboarding forever.

4. Culture doesn’t die; it mutates.
The DNA of World and Big Brother lives in every raw, honest, self-made skate brand and every DIY magazine that refuses to play nice.

EPILOGUE: AFTER THE FIRE

World Industries still exists — technically. You can buy the decks, the tees, the Flameboy nostalgia. But the revolution it sparked can’t be bottled.

Big Brother is gone, but its spirit is everywhere: in YouTube chaos, in Jackass, in every skater who’d rather film a kickflip on their phone than chase a sponsor.

Rocco once said the whole thing was a joke — that he just wanted to make fun of an industry that took itself too seriously. But in doing so, he flipped skateboarding upside down and forced it to look in the mirror.

For a moment in time, World Industries and Big Brother weren’t just part of skate culture — they were skate culture. Loud, obscene, brilliant, broke, and totally alive.

As one former Big Brother staffer put it best:

“We didn’t set out to change the world. We just wanted to fuck with it. Turns out, that’s the same thing.”