This article ran in the October 2008 issue of the Surfer's Journal. It has been slightly edited.

The first time I encountered Fernando Aguerre he was dressed like some sort of crazy genie, and he was running around granting everyone wishes. It was at the Waterman’s Ball, the surf industry’s annual environmental fundraiser, and Fernando was in his element. Irrationally bidding up auction items, rallying his friends to do the same, connecting people together, pledging his support to anyone who asked—he was a one-man social and philanthropic machine. And the hugs—they kept coming all night long. He seemed to know every person in the room.

Several years later, I find myself sitting in the living room of Fernando’s oceanfront home, waiting as he finishes up some business in his home office. I settle into a large leather couch and notice a portrait of Che Guevara. Other iconic figures such as Muhammad Ali, Greg Noll, Yvon Chouinard, and Da Cat himself, Miki Dora, hang nearby—not a follower in the bunch. The decor suggests Miami, perhaps a luxury vacation home in South Beach, were it not for the lurching wedges rearing up on a reef outside the full-length, wall-to-wall windows. The wave is familiar but I can’t quite place it. Then it hits me—it’s the peak of La Jolla’s infamous Big Rock, seen from an angle mere mortals rarely get, unless they were Chris O’Rourke or David Eggers or Peter King, taking off ridiculously deep and pulling into gaping barrels.

Fernando comes into the room, all smiles and full of energy —this would become a common theme. He looks relaxed, sporting a loosely fitting button-down shirt, white pants, and no shoes. “Great view, eh?” he exclaims excitedly. “Have you ever heard of Big Rock?”

Along the walls of Fernando’s multiple-story, cliff-side abode rests what is arguably the greatest surfboard collection outside of the Bishop Museum in Hawaii. And, like a museum, each one sports an adjacent placard, highlighting its unique place in surfing history. The collection, which he began assembling in 1993, is currently at 330 boards and counting, ranging from 19th-century redwood to Kelly Slater’s world championship thrusters. The crown jewel? An unrestored, perfectly preserved Bob Simmons 10' twin-fin, circa 1950, thought to be one of Simmons’ personal big-wave boards. Or maybe it’s the 7'6" redwood from l895 . . . or the two Hawaiian hot curls from the 1930s . . . or the 1952 Kivlin 10' . . . the list goes on. “I love history, and I love surfing,” says Fernando jubilantly. “So the board collection was natural.” One can’t help but wonder what a series of boards like this would be worth.

“Priceless,” is Fernando’s unabashed answer, with a big grin.

I say arguably the greatest, because friend and former business competitor Paul Naude, CEO of Billabong USA, might have something to say about that. The two have been locked in a fierce collector’s battle for many years. “Where we’re most competitive these days is with surfboard collecting,” says Naude. “Some of the boards out there, they’re one of a kind, and sometimes neither of us want to give an inch.”

While they won’t come out and actually say it, each hints that their respective collection is better: “I think Fernando has the best collection of boards owned by notable surfers—what I call modern storied surfboards," says Naude. “I think my collection is a bit more eclectic, and I think I’ve got an edge in late ’60s to ’70s boards. With old wood boards, we’re probably in a dead heat.”

Fernando’s response: “His is larger; mine goes deeper. Okay, I'm not sure which is better. My collection is like a time capsule of the sport from the late-19th century to Andy’s world championship boards. Mine also includes three Simmons—and the Simmons that Paul owns I sold to him, and only because I appreciate him very much, since I’ve never sold any board in my collection other than that one.”

Fernando’s auction antics in pursuit of boards and other surf paraphernalia are legendary. Says longtime friend Greg Noll, “The guy is a mess at auctions; he just can’t help himself. He asks me to help him keep it in check, but then the bidding starts, and sometimes he can spend tens of thousands of dollars on crap. But at least it’s always for charity,” he says with a laugh.

Ass—let’s go ahead and get it out of the way. If there’s one thing that Fernando is known for, will be known for, it’s his colorful display of the female derriere in his infamous Reef ads. “I didn’t bring sensuality to surfing,” he says today in response to his marketing approach, “I simply displayed it.” And display it he did, in provocative ads beginning in 1991 that featured women in thong bikinis, shot from behind (pun intended). They became an instant success, despite the fact that Surfing magazine initially forbade the ads. “As soon as the ads were banned, I knew I had something,” he says with a grin.

Whether a marketing gimmick or an extension of brand personality, the strategy worked. “When I first looked at the American surf mags, they looked like gay magazines to me,” Fernando says theatrically. “It was all men, and it was a pissing contest.” Nobody's ever accused Fernando of pulling verbal punches. Each time he blurts out something controversial, he seems to hesitate for a second and then, with a shrug that suggests "fuck it," he continues on. “Until the very end, Santiago and I chose the butts for every ad. It’s like a perfumer choosing the fragrance—we just knew what we were looking for. In Argentina, a good butt is now called a Reef butt,” he exclaims proudly.

If Fernando is anything, he’s quotable, and the snippets keep on coming, rapid-fire. I scramble to keep up.

“You don’t mold your lifestyle to your work, but your work to your lifestyle.”

“If you don’t trim the angle of the flight, you’re always going to go up."

“You have to put a tag on what you need, otherwise you’re going to work too much.

Several times, we veer wildly off on tangents that seem to take on a life of their own, including politics, war, poverty, you name it—until he realizes we’ve gone off-topic and looks at me inquisitively as if to say, “Where were we again?” Says Dick Baker, friend and former CEO of Ocean Pacific, “He's the same in business as he is personally as he is with charity. He’s almost dyslexic in his approach to life; he’s always got 400 different things going on, does them all with passion, has new ideas every hour—he’s that kind of a character.”

Santiago Aguerre, Fernando's brother and business partner, at times worries about his older sibling. “His best assets can also be his worst enemy,” he says. “He’s so smart and goes so hard that I think he occasionally misses things. He’s incredibly active socially, and sometimes forgets to go surfing."

The passion began on the beaches of Mar del Plata during the unsettling years of 1970s Argentina, which was under a fierce military dictatorship at the time—the infamous period of the 

. Born of a conservative father and socialist-progressive-leaning mother, Fernando and his younger brother Santiago began surfing in their early teens at “Waikiki,” a spot the brothers call a poor man’s beachbreak. “We were kind of rivals when we were little, very competitive,” says Santiago.

“I mean, we were two kids in an Argentinean household; we competed for everything. But we bought a longboard in 1970, and it was so big it took both of us to carry it down to the beach. That was our first partnership.”

Fernando proved industrious at an early age, founding a surfboard repair business at age 11. His social and organizing skills were revealed not long after, when he began DJ-ing and promoting parties at the local clubs.

Two events would shape Fernando’s life during this period: a military crackdown on local youth events, which effectively ended his stint as an event promoter; followed shortly thereafter by a military-led ban on surfing at Mar del Plata beaches. “They saw all these surfers with long hair, and they saw us as bums,” says Santiago, “so they wanted to take over the beach.” Fernando, in what would be the first of many battles for the underdog, responded by forming the Argentinean Surfing Association. Using events and festivals as its vehicle, the group successfully lobbied for the right to be able to surf again, which kept the fledgling Mar del Plata surf community alive.

 surf industry in Argentina, performing ding repairs, selling basic products, and eventually opening up Ala Moana, Mar del Plata’s first surf shop. They also founded the country’s first surf magazine, 

, and a surf community began to blossom around them.

Jump to San Diego, California, 1984. Santiago has set up a surfing life here and Fernando, upon completing law school back home, turns down offers from several Argentinean law firms, packs up his belongings, and flies off to join his brother. After going on a trip themselves, they partner in one of the first surf-tour businesses of its kind, flying surfers down to remote Baja.

“I didn’t go to California to start a business,” recalls Fernando. “I went to be with my brother. But being entrepreneurial, it took us about a week before we were in business.”

By 1985, perhaps dreaming of beautiful women on tropical beaches rather than barren desert and grit in their teeth, they trimmed down the tour business and launched Reef. The sandals that would make the company famous come soon thereafter, followed by the trademark butts, and boom—the American Dream. Only this dream has a Latin twist, as the two exploited their Argentinean roots to dramatic effect. They created a brand that embodied sensuality and a sense of fantasy not previously seen in other surf companies.

“I never felt like being a foreigner was going to be a liability in business,” says Fernando today. “I always thought that it was an advantage.” The brother duo set about creating a company that joined together the best of both worlds: American business combined with Latin panache. “We brought a human aspect to surfing, not just sensuality,” asserts Fernando. “Latin is loud, Latin is irreverent, and Latin is sensual. These aspects became the DNA of the Reef brand.”

“We sold a dream, and the dream included a beautiful woman on the beach,” concurs Santiago. “We always thought that was part of surfing.” The philosophy stirred things up in the male-dominated surf world, where female surfers were struggling for credibility. The pair drew fire from feminist groups and other women who cried sexism. “There is no branding without controversy,” shrugs Fernando when asked about the issue. “I mean, the fashion industry always promotes sex, why not the surf industry?

"We didn’t show anything you didn’t already see on the beach,” he continues. “In fact, my brother’s wife was the second Reef girl. These were women who were girlfriends, sisters, and daughters. I guess there are always people that are going to take exception to what we did, but I’d say many of those people probably have issues with their own sexuality.”

In the midst of the controversy, with a stroke of pure marketing genius, Reef turned the tables and ran an ad that featured Lisa Andersen surfing in boardshorts in one panel, and Peter King posing in a thong in the other. While the image of PK in a thong might have caused permanent scarring to some readers' psyche, the statement was clear.

“Fernando’s approach in the U.S. was always a maverick approach,” says Paul Naude. “He and his brother were never afraid to take risks, and that was one of the keys to their success.” On his flamboyant personality, Naude simply says this, “His Latin flair has been a good thing for the industry. It’s added some fun and creativity.”

Fernando’s brash style hasn’t always gone over well, but he seems to win people over in the end. “Anybody who has his kind of attitude is going to piss some people off,” says Dick Baker. “I think Fernando has probably had his share of that. He’s very emotional about everything he does in his life, and along with the good comes the bad.”

“Passion and honor are key pillars to his character—he always honors his commitments,” says Naude. “But I don’t want to sound like I’m simply gushing over Fernando. He’s an amazing individual, but there are a lot of times when he can be a real pain in the ass.” Naude points to Fernando’s occasional overzealousness. “His emails are infamous. When he believes in something, even if it's totally off the wall, he'll put it out there, not in a couple of sentences but in a multi-page pitch. As usual, his passion comes literally jumping out of the computer. I think everybody who’s on those emails has learned to take them with a pinch of salt, but at times they can require a bit of damage control. When I see a message from Fernando that’s going to a block of people, I kind of go, ‘Oh, no, what's he saying now?’”

The brothers Aguerre also imported other Latin values to the company’s operations. “In the U.S. there are a lot of corporate politics,” Fernando says. “I hated all that bullshit.” Employees were treated like family, and loyalty became a Reef hallmark. “The company parties were at my house; I opened my home to my employees,” he continues. “I didn’t want robots working for me; I wanted gladiators.”

They quickly built up a surf and sandal juggernaut, capitalizing on an underserved beach footwear market that they turned into a $75 million a year business. Revenues grew every single year, and the company was always profitable. The wild 20-year ride culminated in the sale of the company in 2005. They cashed out, in part to focus more time with their respective families, but it was clearly a difficult decision: “When we sold Reef, we lost part of our family,” says Fernando. “You wake up in the morning and find out you don’t have a business family anymore, you don’t have a business home, and people don’t treat you as the boss anymore. Suddenly you’re uprooted. My biggest concern was: will Fernando of Reef survive and become Fernando without Reef?”

According to Santiago, one of the reasons they got out of the business was because the relationship between the two brothers was suffering. “What’s more important, business or family?” he asks. “We chose family, and lifestyle, and decided to sell.”

When I ask about regrets, Fernando responds decisively, “No regrets. You know what they say, the two happiest days of a boat owner’s life are the day he buys it and the day he sells it.” Then, he adds for effect, “I'm more relaxed now. When you don’t have a girlfriend, you’re not worried that some guy is going to fuck her.”

While selling Reef made them both wealthy overnight, there’s still some guilt that lingers. The company was sold to VF Corporation, the largest clothing conglomerate in the world. Fernando calls it the lone black spot on his business career. “It made me feel like, at the end of the day, I wasn’t much different than the pure business guys,” he says in a subdued voice. “It wasn’t my plan. My plan was always to sell strategically, to a company of our choice, like Quiksilver or Billabong.”

In reality, the decision on the buyer was not left up to the brothers, as they had already sold a controlling interest in the company to a financial group back in 2002. After the purchase, VF went on to lay off all 120 employees at Reef’s brand new distribution center in San Diego.

Not one to sit idle, after a brief stint of relaxation, travel, and, of course, surf, Fernando focused his boundless energy further into the world of philanthropy. “As much as I love business, I realized that if the only thing someone does is make money, then they are still poor,” he says. “After the sale, I had two options: I could retire, buy a big boat, a plane, travel, watch sunsets, whatever—all the shit rich people do when they retire. Or I could stay in the industry and use my experience to help others. So, suddenly money, which used to be an end, became a means.”

Fernando’s experience growing up with tyranny in Argentina left an indelible impression. “He’s always looking out for the underdog,” says Greg Noll, “he’s always trying to help people who are less fortunate.” Indeed, he seems to live for the battles and readily seeks them out. “I love to embrace impossible or lost causes,” he says with a laugh. “So that’s what I do, find causes that don’t have a defender and jump in—Fernando versus the windmills.”

His support of environmental causes is renowned. He’s been a longtime crusader for the SIMA Environmental Fund and helped establish Surfrider Argentina in 2003. He rallied behind his brother Santiago to establish the Liquid Nation Ball, an annual fundraiser for surfing-related humanitarian causes. Each year, Fernando opens up his home in La Jolla to host the ball, which last year raised over $250,000 for the SIMA Humanitarian Fund (for which he also serves as vice president).

Not since the days of Peru’s Felipe Pomar has there emerged a Latin icon like Fernando. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, many of his causes tend to focus on promoting Latin American surfing, as well as that of other lesser-known surfing nations. For example, he campaigned relentlessly to get SIMA to award Eduardo Arena, the 80-year-old pioneering Peruvian surfer and founder of the International Surfing Federation, with a Lifetime Achievement Award at the 2008 Waterman’s Ball. According to Fernando, it was the first time a non-Anglo surfer has been given an award at the event. It was an emotional surprise for Arena. “This is what life is about,” says Fernando about the award, “touching the heart.” Given his social nature, perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that Fernando has founded or headed up or otherwise participated in dozens of organizations, dating back to his childhood. The list is dizzying: SIMA, the Mar del Plata Surfing Association, the Argentinean Surfing Association, the Pan American Surf Association, the International Surfing Association, Surfrider Argentina, and the list goes on. With all the associations, perhaps Fernando does know every single person in the surf world.

One of his steadfast causes has been the International Surfing Association, for which he serves as president. "Fernando’s role in the ISA should not be underestimated,” says Paul Naude. “He’s the cornerstone of that organization and doesn't always get proper credit. His energy and effort are such a benefit to young surfers around the world. The ISA provides the opportunity for smaller countries to compete and socialize with the bigger surfing nations. This helps bring together the global surfing tribe. It’s a really healthy thing for the sport.”

As part of his ISA leadership, Fernando has been pushing for the inclusion of surfing in the Olympics for over ten years. The challenges, of course, are daunting. How do you fit an international surf contest into the rigid schedule of the Olympic Games? And what if the host country happens to be landlocked? While the thought might make purists cringe, wavepool technology might change all that. “I think that it will eventually happen,” says Naude, “and I think that will be driven by the ISA.”

So what’s next for surfing's Don Quixote? A book, for one. In collaboration with writer Drew Kampion, Fernando is close to completing his biography, tentatively titled 

Surf, Sex and Sandals: the Latin Art of Mixing Business with Pleasure.

 “It’s been a journey,” says Kampion with a laugh. “It’s voluminous.” Rumor has it they’ve been slowly whittling down the manuscript from over a half-million words.

The ISA also commands a large part of Fernando's attention, as he continues to push for a more global surfing world. And don’t forget family: He plans to spend as much time with his wife, Vicky, and their three children (12-year-old triplets) as possible. That, and probably a couple hundred other projects.

One thing is for sure, there’s no cause too small or too obscure for Fernando, and the battles will go on. As Che Guevara once mused, “Let me say, at the risk of seeming ridiculous, that the true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love."

"EL OTRO CHE: AT HOME WITH FERNANDO AGUERRE" BY DEAN LATOURETTE (2008)

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