Inner Circle - Ellen Caldwell

I'm Ellen, and I live in Cornwall. I spend my time between the water and building businesses within the surf industry. I run a tailor-made wetsuit company, own London Girls Surf Club, and this past year opened a surf lifestyle coffee concept store.

Coming from a design background, I'd been observing the surf industry for some time and felt there was room for evolution. The aesthetic and approach seemed to have remained relatively unchanged for years, while other industries – particularly high fashion – were constantly pushing boundaries and reimagining themselves. I was curious about what might happen if we applied that same innovative thinking to surfing.

The wetsuit business grew from a practical need, really. Finding properly fitting wetsuits as a woman can be challenging, and I realised there was an opportunity to create something more considered. With London Girls Surf Club, it started as a way to connect with other city women who were getting into surfing, something truly out of their comfort zone, however, they felt so connected to. It's grown into something much more meaningful – a proper community where we support each other's progression in the water.

The coffee shop concept came from wanting to create a physical space that reflected this idea of thoughtful design within surf culture. Rather than just selling products, I wanted to offer an experience – a place where the community could gather, where design and functionality could coexist, and where people might discover that surf culture could be both authentic and refined.

As for my spare time, I'm usually in the water. Surfing came to me later in life, which means I'm constantly learning and pushing myself to improve. There's something quite humbling about starting fresh in a sport that demands so much respect – for the ocean, for the conditions, for your own limitations. It keeps you grounded, which I find valuable both personally and in how I approach business.

The ocean doesn't care about your plans or your ego. It teaches you patience, timing, and the importance of reading situations carefully before committing. Those lessons translate surprisingly well to entrepreneurship.

My parents were quite adamant about outdoor pursuits from the beginning. No video games in our household – we were always outside, exploring and moving. My father had me on skis at one, and I have vivid memories of winter trips to the Alps and summers following him around the southwest coast of France, watching him surf before heading into the Pyrenees for triathlon training. That rhythm of seasonal sports became the foundation for everything that followed.

I found my footing in acrobatic gymnastics first, then the 800m in athletics, both at national level. Circumstances changed and I stepped away from those earlier than I'd planned, but skiing became my focus and I managed to compete at National and International levels of competition. Giant slalom was where I felt most at home – there's something about the precision, power and commitment required that suited me. The adrenaline hit and the need to hold nerve and push the performance of yourself. After starting university at Loughborough, I picked up volleyball and made the second team, which was my first real introduction to team dynamics. Individual sports had always been about personal accountability, but learning to read teammates, adapt your play style, and contribute to something larger was entirely different territory.

After university, skiing became more than just competition. I was fortunate to work with ski brands and travel companies across the Alps, creating content and exploring the mountains professionally. The racing days were behind me, but this new chapter felt exciting – turning passion into livelihood. I remember one particular project where we covered eight resorts in two weeks. Exhausting work, but with the right team, those days felt effortless. People occasionally mistook us for someone famous, which was amusing.

Then Covid arrived, and suddenly travel wasn't an option. That's when surfing really entered the picture. The ocean was accessible, didn't require flights or lift passes, and there seemed to be space in the industry for fresh perspectives. My balance translated well initially, and I progressed faster than expected, which perhaps gave me false confidence.

The ocean has a way of humbling you quickly. Physical adaptation is one thing, but reading water, understanding conditions, respecting the power involved – that takes years to develop properly. I learned this the hard way with a surfboard to the head, resulting in a fractured skull and broken nose. The following year brought a complete ACL rupture, which effectively reset everything.

Being told there was only a 10% chance of returning to professional-level sport was sobering. But it also provided clarity. Surfing became the focus – not just returning to it, but truly understanding it this time. I'm rebuilding from the ground up, both physically, mentally and in terms of ocean knowledge. The process is slower now, more methodical, but perhaps that's exactly what was needed.

A lot of surfer's in their down time play golf. Now, I might get a lot of hate for this, however, I just do not see the excitement around it. I've tried my hand at it, it's just not for me. Maybe it's because you need patience and it's a slower game. I think I just prefer the quicker paced high impact sports.

It was entirely unplanned, actually. I'd been set on moving to Scotland, but when those plans fell through, I had my sights on southwest France – seemed like the logical place to develop wetsuit making and immerse myself properly in surf culture.

Before committing to that move, I decided to take one final tour around the UK to see if anywhere might change my mind. A friend and I ended up at a festival down in Cornwall that got completely rained out – typical British summer weather. Despite the soggy circumstances, we managed to make the best of it, partied hard and networked with some genuinely good people.

Through them, I discovered there was someone here who ran what I later learned was the only completely in-house, made-to-measure wetsuit operation in the world. Everything from design to final stitching, all under one roof. When I approached him about learning the craft, his initial response was less than welcoming – something along the lines of 'F*ck Off" -being tired of people turning up with grand ideas and no substance.

But I persisted, explaining my background in tailoring and my particular interest in technical fabrics and construction. There was something about the combination of my gymnastics and skiing background, understanding of body mechanics, and genuine fascination with materials that eventually convinced him to take me on.

I still escape to France most seasons – that pull toward the continent remains strong. But Cornwall has become my base, and I've grown quite attached to this particular corner of the world. There's something about the landscape here that makes sense for this work – the proximity to the ocean that shapes everything we create, the community of people who understand why craft matters.

It's rather fitting that what started as an accidental detour has become home.

Surfing has become more than a sport – it's shaped how I structure my entire life. There's a rhythm to following swells, organizing work around tide times, and accepting that the ocean dictates your schedule rather than the other way around. I'm fortunate that my work aligns with this passion, though I still find myself surprised by how things have developed.

My first real breakthrough came when Surf Girl magazine approached me for a modeling shoot. They mentioned there was also a lifestyle surfing component and asked if I'd be interested. I was torn – I wanted the modeling work but felt completely out of my depth joining a surf shoot with accomplished international surfers when I was still very much a beginner. In the end, I accepted both, then frantically borrowed a longboard from a friend, hoping I could manage not to embarrass myself completely.

That shoot appeared in one of the world's leading surf publications – the same magazine I used to read during those long van journeys as a teenager. Seeing myself in those pages was surreal, but more importantly, it marked a real turning point in my commitment to the sport.

From there, opportunities began to present themselves. I've worked as a stunt double, which took me to the Hebrides for two weeks of filming in some genuinely challenging Scottish conditions – empty breaks, perfect A-frames, just me and the camera crew. I've competed in WSL qualifier events, finding myself in lineups with surfers I'd previously only admired from shore.

Most surfers tend to specialize in either longboarding or shortboarding, but I've always felt that approach limits what the ocean can teach you. The techniques, body positioning, and wave selection are completely different between the two, but I think that's precisely what makes switching between them valuable. When conditions call for power and precision, I'll take out a shortboard and focus on driving through turns. When the waves offer those perfect pockets, I'll grab the longboard and work on cross-stepping, chasing that weightless feeling of hanging five.

The real exploit, I suppose, has been finding ways to merge this progression with building something sustainable – creating work that extends my time in the water rather than competing with it.

The longevity aspect is what initially drew me to surfing differently than other sports I'd pursued. Having experienced early exits from previous sporting careers – some due to circumstances beyond my control – I'd become acutely aware of how finite athletic windows can be. There was something unsettling about that pattern of not reaching the sustained level I'd envisioned before having to step away.

With skiing, I could see a relatively short professional lifespan ahead of me, perhaps a decade at most before the physical demands would become unsustainable. Surfing presented something entirely different – the possibility of decades of meaningful engagement, whether directly in the sport or within the broader industry. The physical impact is gentler, the learning curve extends much further, and the culture seems to celebrate progression at any age.

There's also the question of what constitutes success. In previous sports, I'd been driven by traditional competitive metrics – podium finishes, rankings, measurable achievements against other athletes. I knew from the start that I wouldn't reach those same heights in surfing, but I discovered there was something more fulfilling about the personal progression and the way the sport integrates with life rather than dominating it.

The business opportunity was equally compelling. Surfing felt like a relatively insular industry when I entered it and hard to break into the market, perhaps less structured than some of the sports I'd come from. That presented an interesting challenge – could I bring perspectives from other disciplines and create something meaningful and become integrated? The combination of design, function, and lifestyle elements aligned with interests I'd developed outside of pure athletics.

Perhaps most importantly, surfing offered a different relationship with performance. Rather than chasing external validation, it became about understanding something vast and unpredictable, developing skills that could deepen indefinitely. That shift from competing against others to engaging with the ocean itself has proven more sustainable, both in the physical sport and developing my business to include those I would usually compete against. To move forward being driven by community, not winning. Learning that a win is when the community is fulfilled.

I spend most of my time in wetsuits – I've accumulated over thirty, which is excessive even by surfer standards. Most people wear one until it's completely done, but given my work, I'm constantly testing different constructions and fits.

When I'm out of the water, I gravitate toward classic European aesthetics. There's something appealing about muted palettes and the simplicity of black as a foundation. Occasionally I'll introduce color, but I'm generally drawn to clean silhouettes and well-constructed pieces – quality materials that hold their shape and age well.

My approach is quite practical, really. Coastal living means you need versatility above all else. A well-cut tee in good fabric, tailored linen trousers, leather slides, and a dependable everyday bag form the foundation. From there, you can shift direction with a statement jacket for evening or an overshirt for something more casual. The goal is pieces that translate easily between checking surf at dawn and meeting suppliers for dinner.

For technical wear, I'm quite particular about construction and performance. A properly waterproof jacket is essential for those winter surf checks, and I still rely on quality down pieces for warmth from my mountain days. Function has to come first, but there's no reason it can't look considered as well.

This philosophy extends to what I curate in the concept store – pieces that serve the everyday surfer but can easily transition to urban environments. The coastal lifestyle shouldn't mean compromising on design or fit. Whether you're coming straight from the water or heading to the city, the clothing should work with you rather than against you.

This year has been intense in the best possible way. All three businesses have experienced significant growth, which has been gratifying but also challenging to navigate. The surf industry here lacks some of the established infrastructure you might find in other sectors, so there's been a steep learning curve in developing systems and processes at pace. It's exciting territory, but the absence of clear roadmaps has required a lot of problem-solving on the fly.

That rapid expansion meant my own time in the water became secondary to ensuring the businesses could flourish. Now that we're past the summer season, I'm keen to recalibrate that balance. Getting back to regular surfing sessions and focusing on my own progression feels essential, not just personally but for staying connected to what drives the work.

The foundations are solid now, which means the next phase is about developing the personality behind each brand and letting that authenticity come through more clearly. I'm particularly excited about showcasing the team we've built – everyone brings something distinct and valuable, and I think our next marketing efforts should highlight that collective talent rather than focusing so heavily on individual stories.

We have several trips planned with London Girls Surf Club, partnering with brands that create genuinely useful technical products for surfers. There's something satisfying about working with companies that solve real problems in the water, and these collaborations should create some compelling content while introducing our community to equipment that actually enhances their sessions.

On a personal level, I'm craving some pure surf time – finding empty breaks, experiencing different wave conditions, and focusing solely on developing my own style and approach. The business side has been consuming, and I need that reset that only comes from being alone with the ocean.

I'm also planning to get back to the mountains for a few weeks this winter. Skiing remains a significant source of inspiration, and those roots feel important to maintain. There's something about the precision and commitment required in both sports that keeps me driven.