Keeping the spirit alive—that’s the core idea behind the SSFF, as envisioned by founders Luca Merli and Davide Martinazzo, whose story we told just days before the festival kicked off. It’s a shared spirit, deeply rooted in history and constantly evolving through new platforms and expressions. But it’s also a personal one—embodied in the story of Will Ocean Odiete, a 29-year-old skater and standout figure in the Italian skate scene.

Between high-energy bowl contests, screenings from across the globe, and the ever-inspiring intersection of boards and art, we got the chance to sit down with Will. From the raw urban landscapes of Reggio Emilia to becoming a pillar of Vans Italy’s skate team, his path is one of sharp vision and grounded progression. We dug into his asphalt mindset—his thoughtful approach to skating and how he balances passion with purpose.

“It all started really simply. I was eleven when my mom gave me a skateboard with Bart Simpson on it. At the time I was playing rugby, so I was already used to being active, always moving. There was this shop in Reggio Emilia called Tavola Calda—that’s where I got my first semi-decent setup. At first, I split my time between rugby and skating, but little by little, skating took over. There wasn’t some big reason behind it—it just felt right.

Back then, I didn’t think too much. I just needed to move. I guess I was pretty hyperactive. What I remember is how frustrated I’d get in team sports when things went wrong because of someone else. With skateboarding, it was all on me. If I bailed or landed a trick, it was my win or my loss. That personal accountability—that’s what hooked me. I didn’t know it then, but I’d found something that really fit who I was.

At that age, skating was pure, spontaneous fun. You’d meet up with friends after school, mess around in the streets, try tricks, hang out. All the stuff people now associate with skate culture—the aesthetics, the art, the philosophy—that wasn’t really on my radar. Maybe it still isn’t. I always approached skating more from the physical, athletic side. What I loved is the act itself—falling, getting up, and going again. I had that typical youthful recklessness, when you don’t think about injuries or limits. Later on, you realize your body does keep score.

Reggio Emilia wasn’t exactly a skate-friendly town. It’s more into rugby, football, basketball. There was a skatepark, but no public funding or support. It was just a nonprofit spot—like many others—that fades when there’s no active community keeping it alive. When the older generation started getting jobs and families, the scene seemed to slowly fade.

Around that time, I started getting my first sponsors and taking trips. I realized I had opportunities that not everyone got, and that made me want to keep going. Skating became a kind of therapy. It grounded me. Moving to Milan wasn’t an escape from Reggio—it was for a job. But Milan’s skate scene gave me oxygen. New energy. New people. It was more alive.

Skating, to me, has always been something deeply individual. Sure, you start because of your friends—you do dumb stuff together, you laugh, you bond. But if it really grabs you, you keep going even when the crew fades out. It becomes a kind of meditation. That’s what happened to me. I kept skating while many of my childhood friends moved on. I had to keep doing it—I needed it. Then came sponsors, like Vans, and more doors opened. But I don’t think it was about talent. It was about a deep, genuine interest in what I was doing.

As for style—when you’re young, you care way more about how you look. You want to be dressed “right.” But then you grow up and realize it’s not about that. Style becomes something personal, simple. At least that’s how it is for me. I ride for Vans now, but I remember when I was younger, before any sponsor, I bought a pair of Vans x Metallica sneakers—not even made for skating. I just liked them so much I skated in them anyway, because I “had” to wear them. That wouldn’t happen now. I’ve found my bubble—where style matters only as a way of expressing myself, without the pressure to look “cool.”

Skating has taken me so many places—especially around Europe. And not touristy places either. Skating shows you cities differently. You don’t go see monuments—you’re hitting rails, ledges, crusty neighborhoods no tourist ever sees. You’re checking spots on the map thinking, where even am I? Istanbul, Porto, Copenhagen, southern Italy, Morocco… Skating lets you see the world from the ground up. Maybe when I’m older I’ll go see a museum or two. For now, I’ll take the ledges.

And then there’s the human side. Skating is a passport. You show up somewhere, find a community—or even just one person—and a connection happens. Doesn’t matter if you’re young or old. Sure, these days skating’s more mainstream. There’s a lot more individualism too. People used to talk about the skate scene as a “tribe”—now it’s closer to traditional sports. Just because two people skate doesn’t mean they’ll be friends. But even so, skating is still a shared language. It’s a starting point. A bridge.

I never formally “studied” skateboarding—but there’s always been a kind of personal study. You watch videos for hours, loop the same clip over and over, zoom in on the foot placement, the timing. And then you try it your way. Your body does what it wants. You figure out your own rhythm, your own patterns. You break tricks down into pieces and build them back up. It’s a learning process, but it always felt light. It was never like school. It was natural. Intuitive.

When I was younger, there was this raw, chaotic energy—like what you see in SSFF’s films like ‘Emilia Romania.’ We skated just to skate. No pressure about landing tricks or progression. The names of the crews near Reggio Emilia and Parma said it all: Ritardo, Disagio. We’d throw ourselves down stairs with zero hesitation. That was the vibe. But as you grow, you realize: if you want to keep doing this, you’ve got to take care of yourself. That’s why I started going to the gym, stretching. I had to leave behind some of the reckless stuff.

It’s natural. I’m 29 now. I don’t have the wild energy I had at 18. What I’m looking for now is balance. Sometimes I skate freely—just having fun, no pressure. Other times, I know I have to show up like a pro. When you’re filming a part and someone’s driven to Milan from Torino or Belluno just to shoot, you don’t show up half-asleep. Still, I always try to make time for that personal side of skating—the meditative, honest part—and not take myself too seriously.

I don’t really feel the urge to pass something down to the next generation. I know myself—I’ve never had a lot of patience for teaching. And honestly, I think a passion should stay a passion. If it becomes an obligation, with pressure and expectations, you lose the magic. There were times when I skated just because I’d committed to it, even when I didn’t feel like it—and that’s not good. That’s how you ruin something that once made you feel alive.

Now that I’m closing in on thirty, I see younger kids crushing it. They’re faster, sharper, more present. And I’m happy for them. I say, “You guys throw yourselves down the stairs now.” I still love skating, touring, filming—the relationship has slightly changed, but if you’re still spending three hours a day trying to land a trick, either you’ve got a screw loose or you’re doing it because it still makes you feel something… Because it still gives back. And that’s the thing.  Skateboarding changes—just like we do.”