On Perfection and Permission: A meditation on Kazu Kokubo’s mystery, mastery, and refusal.

  |   Stan Leveille

The following article was originally printed in the November 2025 Issue of Slush. To get more articles and subscribe, click here.

Photos: Tyler Ravelle

The importance of this piece comes from how deeply rooted my belief is that Kazu Kokubo is one of the top five snowboarders to ever exist. And while we’ll get into the specifics that lead to that conclusion in due time, I want to start by saying the intention here was always to run a Kazu Kokubo interview.

In the modern era of magazines—especially if you talk to people who were around when print was king—budgets were big. Photographers had salaries. Magazines had offices and staff shooters, sometimes six deep. You could really own the image you were presenting to the public.

Nowadays, we live in a sort of post-apocalyptic landscape when it comes to the power of print media. As far as I know, not a single one of us still has an office—let alone senior photographers. What happens now is that magazines work with photographers who are already working with brands. We all barter and trade in a kind of creative scavenger economy, trying to make everyone happy. From hunting on our own to sharing scraps.

There are all sorts of reasons why things ended up this way, but that’s not the point. It’s just an important context for this Kazu piece.

When we received these photos of Kazu, I audibly exclaimed—an “Ah, finally!” moment if there ever was one. Something new from a rider we hadn’t seen in a while. A glimpse into a past era: big, unapologetic airs from Kazu, untouched by the obsession with spin counts or trick nuances. This was it—the perfect Kazu interview.

But in what I can only describe as true Kazu form, he replied that while he appreciated the interest, he didn’t feel his photos were good enough. I laughed. I had to. The number of submissions we get that barely qualify as a C-grade photo, and here’s Kazu—someone whose style has literally defined generations—telling me his photos don’t make the cut.

I was defeated.

Some of the best photos of the year, and they wouldn’t be seen.

Unless, I thought mischievously… we ran them anyway.

Is that unethical? Maybe. But what about an artist so critical of his own work that he won’t let the world enjoy it? Surely that falls under a different category.

There are certain things we know about Kazu—facts. But for each one, there’s a follow-up question that no one seems to have the answer to.

He threw the double middle finger down the pipe at the 2013 X Games semi-finals. That’s the fact. But why? The stories spun fast—some said it was a statement about judging, others that it was self-directed frustration, a reflection on his own riding.

Photo: Tyler Ravelle

This kind of myth-making, this rumor-fed anti-heroism, is part of what’s made Kazu legendary. And maybe it’s justification for not getting the interview. Or maybe, after reading enough of his interviews to know how little he offers up, it’s just fitting. Because what’s best about Kazu has never been something he said. It’s what he’s done.


Actions louder than words. Always. And if the guy who got benched from the Olympic opening ceremony for sagging his pants and wearing his tie loose isn’t the one for the job, I don’t know who is.

I wanted to get an update—about the fallout with the Japanese government, about his renewed filming in Canada, about whatever comes next. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe the silence, the mystery, is what makes the photos feel even more alive.

Because what we do have are some incredible photos—and sometimes, that’s enough.

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