Some of the scene pushed back on the Top 10 — that skateboarding shouldn't be ranked at all, and that the results were wrong. Here's our answer, and the eight criteria in full.
The List Is a Mirror
Some of the scene pushed back on the Top 10 — that skateboarding shouldn't be ranked at all, and that the results were wrong. Here's our answer, and the eight criteria in full.
We knew a list would sting. That was part of the point.
Last week, nine of the people who actually run Egyptian skateboarding — the ones who film the parts, throw the events, open the shops, and keep the sessions alive — each ranked the ten best skaters in the country right now. We tallied every ballot the same way, nobody could vote for themselves, and we published it with the receipts. Then we watched the scene react.
A lot of that reaction was celebration. Some of it wasn't. And the loudest pushback came in two flavors — both of which we want to answer honestly, because both have earned it.
"Skateboarding shouldn't be a competition."
You're right. It shouldn't. Skateboarding has never owed anyone a scoreboard. Its whole soul is that there's no finish line — no referee, no clock, no one telling you your kickflip doesn't count. That DIY, anti-authority streak is exactly why we love it, and exactly why SAHARA exists. If we ever try to turn skating into a sport with winners and losers, tell us to stop.
But hear this too: a list is not a competition. Nobody won. Nobody lost. Recognition has always lived inside skate culture — in who gets gassed at the session, whose part gets rewatched, whose name comes up first when someone asks "who's good right now." All we did was take that conversation, the one that already happens every day at every spot, and put it on the record. The list didn't invent the ranking. The scene already ranks itself. We just wrote it down and handed the pen to its own leaders.
"I disagree with the results."
Good. Disagree loudly. But be clear about who you're disagreeing with. SAHARA held exactly one ballot out of nine — our founder's, cast as a member of this scene and weighted no differently than anyone else's. The other eight weren't ours. This was not the magazine handing down a verdict; it was nine scene leaders scoring independently. So if you landed lower than you think you should have, that isn't us doubting you. It's the people building this scene telling you where you stand with them right now. That's worth sitting with before it's worth arguing with.
And here's the part nobody wants to hear: for most of you, the gap between where you are and where you want to be isn't the methodology. It's the work.
So let's make the criteria public. No secret sauce. Here's exactly what was weighed:
- Tricks — what you can actually do. The bar rises every year; so should yours.
- Activity — how much you're actually skating. Not last summer. This month.
- Variety — range. Flatground, stairs, grinds, manuals, transition. Not one of them — all of them. One trick is a highlight, not a résumé.
- Consistency — you land it, and you land it again. On the tenth try, on camera, when it counts.
- Manners — how you carry yourself in the scene. Ego drains a scene; respect builds one. People notice which one you are.
- Exposure — is anyone actually seeing your skating? Parts, clips, presence. If a switch flip lands in an empty park and nobody films it, the scene can't rank what it can't see.
- Commitment — do you skate, or is skateboarding your life? Everyone can tell the difference. So can a ballot.
- Style — the intangible. The thing that makes ten seconds of footage unmistakably yours. This one we can't teach and won't apologize for.
Look at that list honestly. Some of it is subjective — style and manners always will be. But most of it isn't. Activity, variety, consistency, exposure — those aren't opinions about you. They're decisions you make. Nobody is stopping you from skating more, filming more, widening your bag, and putting it where people can see it. The list follows the work. It always has.
If you're angry, use it. Anger is fuel. The skaters who move up next year won't be the ones who argued hardest in the comments — they'll be the ones who spent this year in the streets making the argument impossible to ignore.
Now our half of the deal.
The system isn't perfect, and we never claimed it was. We've already reached out to some of the skaters who pushed back, because a list that can't take criticism isn't worth publishing. We're listening on the parts that are fair — how the criteria are weighted, and who gets a ballot. Next year's process will be sharper because of the people angry at this one. That's not a concession. That's how it's supposed to work.
Because in the end, this was never about ten names. It's about a scene that grew big enough, and good enough, to argue about itself in public — a scene worth ranking at all. A few years ago there was no list, because there was barely a scene. Now there's a debate. That's the win.
The list is a mirror, not a verdict. You don't have to like your reflection. You just have to decide what to do about it.
Next year's list is unwritten. Get to work. We'll be filming.













Skater of the Year 2025 goes to Saif Wael — Cairo local, Zamalek-raised, eighteen years old, with style and consistency you can't teach.
Photo of the Year 2025 goes to Ahmed Nabawy (slomosk) — SAHARA co-founder and chief photographer, behind so many of the images that became the memory of Egyptian skateboarding.




