Jimmy Gorecki Talks Skateboarding's Influence on JSP and Collaborating with Vans

As we begin our conversation, there’s deference in his voice, opting to talk about his concerns for the survival of small businesses and the mental health crisis impacting us all during the pandemic rather than his brand’s achievements. He speaks with reverence about his salad days skating in Philadelphia and the people he encountered who formed his views and not only the industry figures and pro skaters he aspired to emulate but each person as an individual he gleaned something greater from. 

“My biological father was never around,” says Gorecki. “I was raised by my mom. She was always working two or three jobs. It was nothing for me to wake up on a Saturday morning as a kid by myself, make breakfast, watch cartoons, then mosey on out of the house and find my friends, knowing she’d be back at night to make dinner. There was something very inspirational about that. We didn’t live in the best neighborhood—our apartment was above a funeral home—but she never made us feel like we were lacking anything."

Gorecki was an active latch-key kid, traversing the streets of Norristown playing pickup basketball games as well as organized sports before finding not only skateboarding but the undervalued Mecca of John F. Kennedy Plaza, aka Love Park, in Center City. With its marble slab stairs and ledges, and infamous fountain gap, Love Park had become an epicenter of street skating in the ‘90s, where a new approach to skating was forced into the conversation by Ricky Oyola, Matt Reason, Sergei Trudnowski, Fred Gall, and several locals, including a young African American skater then known as Lil’ Stevie (Williams). Williams and Josh Kalis would continue to draw greater attention to Love in the late-‘90s, using their sponsorship with DC Shoe Co. to bring Philly’s brand of grit and honesty to the world stage.

Like any native, Gorecki found his way to Love and quickly learned the ropes amidst the quiet chaos that surrounded the park. Intended to be a place where people could have lunch and hang out, the Love Park of the ‘90s was a  mostly neglected plaza where homeless people congregated and later skateboarders, both sharing little space and occasionally a blunt. Gorecki mentions benefiting from the attention Love Park was getting, eventually landing a coveted sponsorship in his late teens.

“I remember my Mom calling Sal (Barbier, co-founder of Aesthetics Skateboards) to make sure these big boxes of product were legit and everything checked out,” he says. “My Mom always encouraged me in athletics and because she was raised in a stern Catholic family, she made sure she could get me into whatever church she could on Sundays. She was very on top of me with academics too. When the skateboard thing started happening, she supported it but made damn sure I knew I was still going to college. I’m the first person in my family to get a University degree (from Temple University) and seeing how that made my family feel meant a lot.”

As any sponsored skateboarder will tell you, education is not encouraged by the skate industry and is often looked at as a barrier to a career. There’s a misconception that skateboarders need the freedom to travel, experience, and move at a moment’s notice in order to succeed rather than try to balance school and skating. The lack of structure not only leads to “child star flameouts” but a lot of indecision, especially during a time in skating where there was less money and a lack of larger corporate sponsorship. The average pro rarely thrived back then past their mid-20s, with a few exceptions. The drive to succeed in skating was rarely rewarded with financial stability, so personal accolades were the skateboarding's true currency. 

“I ended up taking a few semesters off to skate once I finally realized skating was what I wanted to do. I remember telling my Mom I was going to take time off to go to Californian, and she was like, ‘I’m gonna give you this, but like your ass better be right back in thereafter.’ I stuck with it and was taking communications classes and kind of fell into a marketing degree, realizing as a skater that you are the marketing tool to a company, and that changed how I viewed things.”

Though Gorecki found his focus and continued to produce and promote for his sponsors, rather than joining the pro ranks or getting lucrative sponsorships, he found himself in a holding pattern. As a small operation, despite Aesthetics' status as a beloved core brand, their business plan didn’t make sense, resulting in Barbier taking a position at Zoo York and carrying over much of the roster.

“When I first got on Aesthetics and met everyone, I realized they were made up of some of the most creative and talented people in terms of design, graphics, clothing, and the branding of the videos,” he says. “I remember having conversations with Sal and not even knowing what the fuck he was talking about. Sal was always five years ahead of the trends. I wanted to know how a company worked and what everyone’s role meant. As much as we loved Aesthetics, the partners couldn't see eye to eye.”

Acquired by Marc Ecko and later sold to the Iconix Brand Group, Zoo offered better pay and health care, but the fit wasn’t right for Barbier, who quickly left Zoo York to follow other endeavors. It was a fertile time in streetwear, where skateboarding was driving its influence often without credit or compensation. Zoo York was making bold moves that often alienated their core audience, but with mainstream big-box distribution and celebrity endorsements from Ashton Kutcher, profit, not respect was driving the brand direction. 

The team roster was made up of a prior squad, and the infusion of talent brought in by Barbier was rife with tension, like any merger. Outwardly they were one of the biggest skateboarding brands ever to exist. Still, internally there was not only division but, as Gorecki describes, a gun-shy tone cast over the operation, with every rider wondering if their contract was going to be renewed. Gorecki held on, almost abandoning the thought of turning pro, but with a higher profile, other opportunities arose, including a spot on Pharrell Williams's newly founded BBC Icecream brand. If Zoo York was mainstream, Icecream was rockstar level, with high production tours, video content, and unorthodox brand promotions such as the team skating a mini-ramp on the set of MTV programs. Nothing about it was lowkey despite the planning of former Alien Workshop team manager Nino Scalia who aimed to keep the program as close to skating as possible. Due to Pharrell’s profile and celebrity, it was an impossible task.