How Chucky Lane turned struggle into style and earned his spot in New York’s skate scene

by Matthew Becerra

Lane performing a back smith at Supreme taken by Sam McKenna

Authenticity can’t be faked. You either lived it or you didn’t—and Chucky Lane is living proof. From growing up in Florida’s projects to skating at Supreme’s latest grand opening and getting boards from FA, his story is one of, perseverance, and pride.

Lane grew up in Robles Park, Tampa, Florida, in the projects. He describes his hometown as a place where success wasn’t encouraged. "Back home was like a gate. Nobody wanted to see you doing better than them. Everyone wanted what you had."

Life there was a constant competition, and it wasn’t the type that pushed people to grow. It left him feeling left out, discouraged. "You start questioning yourself. Then you realize, the folks you’re around ain’t who you wanna be around."

Eventually, the pressure at home forced a change. Lane left Florida after being taken advantage of by people he trusted. 

He was working as a McDonald’s manager, saving up, when things went sideways with a close friend’s family. Without warning, they were gone, and he was left to navigate the fallout on his own. Alone, he headed west.

He ended up in California for a little while, figuring out his next move. That move became New York. 

When Lane first came to New York, it sparked a new drive in him, something about the city pushed him to grow. 

“It’s like the city told me, ‘figure out your true talent.’ So I did.” He started skating the Supreme bowl almost every day, keeping to himself and staying humble. Though unfamiliar with the scene, he quickly found his rhythm popping up on Thrasher, Quartersnacks and more while filming.

Naquan Rollings video featuring Lane

Before anything came his way, Lane was already skating FA boards. "That’s all I rode when I moved out here."

His consistency and self-belief eventually drew attention. Through friends in the warehouse and word of mouth, his clips made their way to the right hands.

"Every time I got a clip, I sent it in," he says. That hustle paid off. "Fletch called me, said he was gonna be my TM. I was at FA crying. For real."

Getting picked for Quartersnacks top 10 Snack series hit deep. "I was number 10, and people were like, 'Why not number 1?' But I liked being 10. It made people ask, 'Who’s this Black dude?' That moment—I called my mom crying. It was real."

Quartersnacks top 10 feturing Lane curated by AVE

His relationship with Supreme followed. "I can’t say too much, but I’ll say this: just be yourself. Your energy matters." For Lane, Supreme was more than just a job. It was an affirmation.

“When they flew me out to Miami to skate the bowl, I couldn’t believe it,” he says. “They hit me up like, ‘We know you work for us, but we want you to skate.’ I was like—me?”

Staying in a high-rise hotel, skating in his home state for the brand he worked for—it was surreal. “It felt like a movie. I didn’t sleep for two days. I was just proud of how far I’d come.”

Supreme Miami grand openeing photographed by @drives on Instagram

The experience made him reflect on his journey. “I came from the street, I was homeless. Now I’m skating bowls for Supreme. That’s not lost on me, ain’t nobody telling me nothing.”

Skating isn’t just a hobby to Lane—it’s therapy.

He says. “I was homeless at 14. My board says what I don’t."

One of his closest friends—someone who believed in him when others didn’t—died by suicide. It’s a loss that weighs heavy, one he still carries with him every time he steps on the board.

"I skate for him now," Lane says. "He didn’t get the chance to live the life he wanted. So I’m living mine with everything I got."

For Lane, skating is sacred. It’s not a social performance. It’s not about who’s watching. “It’s just me and my board. I don’t see other people. I block them out.”

He’s not chasing clout or competition—he’s moving from something deeper. “I want people to remember me as someone who never gave up. I came from the street. I changed my environment."

His skating isn’t just style—it’s a statement. Every push reflects the struggle he’s overcome, a raw energy rooted in survival. “When I skate, people can feel it” he says.

And maybe that’s why his skating resonates. It’s not polished or posed—it’s real. Every push, every slam, every make is a reminder: he’s still here, still going.

Lane’s path has been guided by skaters who inspired him and those who became his peers. He names Terry Kennedy as one of his first icons.

"Back in 2007, I saw TK on Tv. That was the first time I saw a Black man on a board on TV. I thought, 'I can do that.'" he said.

He also shouts out Caleb Barnett, Na-Kel Smith and KB. "They’re my big bros, for real. They taught me things I never thought I’d learn. They gave me direction, energy, and belief."

“I really appreciate them, you know, even giving me a word, a reason, the strength, the energy” he said

Watching them from a distance and eventually growing close gave Lane a new lens for what was possible. 

He talks about growing up watching skate clips in his room, dreaming of something bigger. “I used to just be in the house on the computer, watching videos for hours. Then on the weekends I’d go skate. That was all I had.”

Now, he’s in those same rooms he used to watch. "Me and Caleb be rapping at his house, just on some funny shit, but it’s inspiring,” he said “Caleb’s like my big bro for real. He’s someone I look up to beyond skating."

More than anything, Lane sees their journeys as proof that this life is possible. “There’s more than just skating. There’s more money out here, more ways to create. I care about the love of the game—everything can come later.”

He’s aware of how some people talk about the industry or say skating’s fallen off, but he’s got his own response: “It’s still alive—because I’m here.”

Right now, Lane is stacking clips for multiple projects, One of them, dropping very soon.

"It’s not my best work, but it’s my first in this area. I’m still learning New York. Still figuring it out," he said “Filming hasn’t been easy. "The weather out here is cold and rainy. But when I get a clip, it feels good. It’s a fight."

Even in the midst of progress, he admits he’s his own biggest critic. 

“I’m always second-guessing my shit. I can’t ever stop doing that,” he says. But that’s where friends like Caleb step in.

“Caleb was telling me, like, ‘Nah, *****, you got clips—you’ve been doing your shit.’” 

Above all, Lane wants his story to inspire others. "I want kids in the hood to know you can come out of it with a piece of wood. I didn’t earn respect through violence—I earned it through skating."

"I want to be remembered as the truth," he says. "A genuine character who stood on business. Who never gave up."