Olan Prenatt
For Olan Prenatt, skating isn’t something he does to escape life. It’s where life makes the most sense. “On board is one of the most comfortable places to be in life,” he says, and that comfort shows in how he moves, how he speaks, and how he carries himself. There’s nothing forced about it. Skating isn’t performance for him. It’s grounding.
When he’s on the board, Olan feels closest to himself. It’s where he remembers who he is and who he’s surrounded by, the people and places that shaped him long before cameras or recognition entered the picture. Falling doesn’t break that rhythm either. If it happens early in a session, there’s no frustration, just a familiar thought every skater understands. Sometimes it feels good to lay down. The pavement becomes part of the ritual.
Skating keeps Olan honest. It strips things back to movement, balance, and instinct. No image to protect. No expectation to meet. Just momentum, muscle memory, and the quiet clarity that comes from doing something you’ve loved for most of your life.
A Day That Feels Easy
A day with Olan Prenatt doesn’t feel scheduled. It unfolds. He shows up with his board, that unmistakable hair, and a laid-back energy that settles the room without trying. Nothing feels staged. Nothing feels rushed. You get the sense that this is simply how he moves through the world.
By his side is Brittany, radiant and grounding in a way that subtly shifts the atmosphere. Together, they create a natural rhythm, like spending time with friends who happen to skate, create, and inspire without needing to announce it. There’s ease in their presence, a softness that balances Olan’s raw edges.
Brittany brings him into a world far from skate spots and concrete. Hiking trails, coffee shops, quiet moments looking at flowers and views. “I’d probably never do any of this if it wasn’t for her,” he admits. The contrast refreshes him. It stretches his perspective and adds space between the intensity of skating and the rest of life.
Those moments matter. They slow things down. They remind him that identity doesn’t have to be singular, and that balance doesn’t weaken passion, it deepens it.
Between the Camera and the Concrete
Being part of Mid90s changed how people saw Olan, even if he didn’t immediately feel it himself. The recognition was subtle at first. A shift in how others responded. A widening of possibility. It wasn’t until filmmaker William Strobeck told him he should keep acting that something clicked. That was the first time Olan thought, maybe this is something I can really pursue.
Acting didn’t replace skating. It sat alongside it. Another space to explore honesty and presence. In front of a camera, Olan carries the same calm confidence he has on a board. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing artificial. He shows up as himself, trusting that authenticity will do the work.
Now he’s developing new projects, including Lotus Point, a comedy centered on gentrification. It reflects his interest in stories that feel lived-in and real, narratives rooted in place, history, and social tension. Acting, like skating, gives him a way to observe the world while staying part of it.
He doesn’t chase labels. Skater. Actor. Model. Those are just words. What matters is staying true to the energy that got him here in the first place.
Grounded Where It All Started
For all the places Olan Prenatt has been, what grounds him most is returning to where he came from. Pulling up on his brother in their old neighborhood. Seeing friends from high school. Being around people who knew him before anything else mattered.
There’s a misconception that follows him, one he brushes off easily. People assume he’s rich. The reality is simpler, more human, and more fragile. The most real moment he’s had recently wasn’t public or cinematic. It was hearing his mom cry. Moments like that cut through everything else and bring priorities into sharp focus.
When asked what matters most, his answer is immediate. Family. Laughing. Friends. Skateboarding. Brittany. No hierarchy. No explanation needed. These are the anchors that keep him steady when life speeds up.
Success, for Olan, isn’t measured by status or perception. It’s measured by whether he’s still connected to the people and places that made him who he is.
Art as Something Spiritual
Olan Prenatt doesn’t call himself a serious artist, but he also can’t stop painting. Even when he tries. Art isn’t something he plans. It’s something that keeps pulling him back, quietly but insistently. His first finished painting was abstract, and he spent a long time sitting with it, reading into it, letting it speak.
What he saw stayed with him. A vision of something spiritual. God picking up a fallen member of a family huddled along PCH. Six months later, something eerily similar happened in real life. That moment shifted how he understood painting. Since then, art has carried a spiritual weight for him, less about aesthetics and more about intuition and meaning.
He once wanted to separate skating from his art, to keep the worlds distinct. But over time, he realized how deeply they overlap. Skateboard graphics became some of his favorite paintings. Logos like Zephyr felt iconic, timeless, and emotionally charged. The same raw honesty he brings to skating shows up in his art, whether he intends it or not.
For Olan, art isn’t about refinement or polish. It’s about listening, trusting instinct, and letting something move through him. Like skating, it’s another way of remembering who he is.
