Skiing: A Cultural Analysis
By: Chloe Zeller
Tags: Culture, Humor, Skiing, Language, Fashion

Other than the actual words we use is the fluency with which we can use them. As I sat on the lift earlier today, I felt like someone who had just arrived in Paris with a high-school level education in French. It takes a few rides up the lift to fall back into the patterns of speech, the prosody, and prose of “ski speak.” And the more fluidly you can use these words, keep your tone of voice low and casual, the more you get to talk with the more experienced members of this culture. Your sociolectic mastery over ski vernacular is a ticket to getting tips on your turns, talking shop, and improving your gear with the guys (for free if you’re really skilled), or getting the inside scoop on sweet deals or sales that are “only open to locals.” I asked a few of my friends and family members if they agreed with this. My cousin admitted that she avoided technical conversations at the risk of looking incompetent.

So now, we have a sport that is only easily accessible to the wealthy, and by nature of engaging more and more with this vernacular, privileged individuals have increased access to the information, equipment, and connections that could have been provided to those less wealthy. This, in turn, makes the sport more elitist. This is the power of ski vernacular.

Fashion (or, “Steeze’”)

Me in my steeziest outfit to date.

“Steeze” is a word that refers to an effortless air about you, where you ski and dress like you really know what you’re doing. The equivalent of “elan” for skiers. When I was little and I used to ski with my instructor Billy, he used to say, “Chloe, you’re the steeziest girl on this mountain.” And it used to make me beam once he explained the meaning. It made me feel beautiful, not just physically, but technically too.

When you’re little and learning to ski, “the look” you don isn’t too important to you. Everyone under the age of 10 is mostly bundled up with so many layers and puffies that you just look like a waddling technicolor marshmallow (see image below). However, I distinctly remember when I became a teenager and began to feel like my ski outfit was a form of expression. And that if I didn’t have a cool outfit, I was not a cool skier. Every Christmas after that point, I started asking for cool new ski jackets, pants, even skis that had interesting prints, or goggles with reflective lenses.

This image was kindly borrowed.

And when I was about 16, I realized that boys looked at me differently when I wore one jacket over another (or at least, that’s what I convinced myself). I started to agonize over whether I should get a shiny or matte helmet, or buy skis from Atomic instead of Head because my Head skis were all white, and the Atomics had these cool mountain patterns all over them. Then, I started looking around and noticed that all the pretty girls were pulling exactly *two* strands of hair out in front of their helmets to frame their faces. “Shred strands” as we call them. But their hair was pin-straight, and mine was frizzy and curly. Should I still pull them out??

This is Angel Collinson, one of my female ski idols, proudly sporting shredder strands. This image was borrowed from Wagner Skis.

Then there was the issue of ski fashion trends changing over time. When I was in middle school, it was all about patterned jackets and solid-colored pants to match. Then, it became all about the texture of your jacket, how it was stitched. Now, it’s all about solid colors, as minimalist as possible.

Steeze is expensive. There is a premium to look cool while you ski. And so again, this divided me from other kids while I was growing up. If I wanted to be a “hot ski chick” and turn the heads of the “hot ski bros,” then I felt I had to dress a certain way. And the “hot ski bros?” They were also white and privileged like me, even grew up in the same neighborhoods. My aspiration to turn their heads (instead of a gaper or a Jerry) was a primitive desire to mate within my social strata.

Values

Like in any culture or society, there are positive and negative values that define ski culture. I’ve only identified some that easily come to my mind, but feel free to share if you think of others. Let’s start with the negative so we can end on a high note.

Negative Values

You should ski as fast, confidently, and in-control as possible. If you aren’t trying to ski like this, you’re afraid.

When you put on skis and point them downhill for the first time, you will learn that the most difficult part of skiing is controlling your speed. I think that this is one of the reasons that the ability to ski fast while still in control is indicative of high skill. And your body weight drives your ability to go fast. Now, this makes it a bit easier for men to be elite skiers than women because they tend to be heavier.

A few years ago, I went skiing for a first date with a guy I met on Tinder, let’s call him Kenny. Kenny and I rode up the gondola, and he said “how about we go shred the trees over on Bivouac? I bet there’s some great powder; my buddies are too pussy to go in there.” Bivouac, by the way, is a double-black diamond rated run (advanced skiers only due to dense trees, steepness, and choppy terrain). Which I can ski, very well, I may add. I politely reply, “you know, I think I’d prefer to do something easier, maybe a groomer while we get warmed up? Then we can go down it the next time we go up the lift?” A condescending look glazes over his face and he says, “oh are you afraid of going in the trees? Afraid you’re going to be shown up by a real skier?” I know Kenny was pushing my buttons, maybe even trying to flirt with me, so I agreed and we went down Bivouac. I fell and twisted my knee on that run, not badly, but I was frustrated. And even after falling, popping off one of my skis and having to put it back on in the trees, I still made it to the bottom before Kenny, who had clearly chosen a run out of his comfort zone. I tell this story not to highlight Kenny’s inadequacy, but rather to show the imposition he placed on 1) me and 2) himself to adhere to these cultural values of strong and confident skiing. Even when doing so was in neither of our best interests.

The MAN squanders the identity of ski towns by making them more commercial, but at the end of the day, he turns the lifts, employs the locals, and pours the après ski drinks.

There is a strange dichotomy of understanding the capitalism that drives ski resorts. On one hand, everyone is on the same page: we hate the MAN (what we call the big corporations running the resorts, big brother) because he is changing the culture of small ski towns, perpetuating the exclusion of the sport, and draining out the quirkiness that the locals have cultivated for many years. For example, I recently realized that my favorite tree, adorned in bras and lacy underwear (christened “the underwear tree”), was chopped down by the resort over the summer. I was fuming. The MAN also sells out tickets to overcrowd the resort, jacks up prices to maximize profit, and consequently exclude lower-income families, and eventually outpace independently owned ski shops to gentrify their own resort. However, on the other hand, every one of us tolerates the MAN. It is he who turns the lifts. And it is he who employs most of the people you see skiing around us. It is he who employed all the people that taught us how to ski. And it is he who pours our beers during après ski.

There’s a moment when there is no possible way to remain ignorant of the inequities around you. You either ignore them, or you work against them.

Finally, if you ascend into ski culture, there’s a moment when there is no possible way to remain ignorant of the inequities around you. It’s not hard to observe the lack of BIPOC on the mountain or the ostracization of underprivileged skiers. This means, at some point, it’s expected that you will choose to ignore this inequity to keep participating in the culture, you will be expected to shed ignorance in lieu of complacency. This is the value that we as a community must absolutely obliterate.

Positive Values

The “stoke” is always high.

There is no denying the absolutely immaculate vibes as soon as you set foot on the ski hill. People are dancing, drinking, being merry. And when you screw up, the repercussions are never serious, because “at least we got a few runs in.” I can’t have an angry ski day, I’ve never been able to pull it off. Something about the feeling of snapping into your bindings and putting all your faith into your legs to carry you down a mountainside can do nothing but make you smile.

Sustainability is really important.

Skiing requires snow, and snow is likely to dissipate as the climate warms. Plus, most of us also like to backpack, fish and bike in the summer, making us well aware of National Park etiquette, like Leave No Trace, which seeks to leave ecosystems undisturbed by humans. So, maybe for selfish reasons, the community feels very motivated to participate in advocacy around sustainability. Many of the resorts are now running carbon-neutral and using renewable energy sources, and you’ll get a straight talking-to if anyone sees you littering on their mountain.

We make our own gear.

Skiing, much like beer brewing, is fairly good at supporting local brands. My ski equipment comes from brands like Stio (a local Jackson Hole brand), Flylow (out of Denver), and Strafe (based in Aspen), and I am one of the thousands of local, faithful followers of these brands. While the gear is expensive, it is locally owned and manufactured, and for the most part, is also sustainable.

Norms

The norms in the ski community are where I think where we show an opportunity to grow and change, to welcome more people into this community, and empower them to try something new.

This image was kindly borrowed.

First, there are a lot of really fun norms in the ski community. For example, the universally accepted credo: no friends on a powder day. This phrase implies that when the snow dumps, it’s every woman for herself. Yes, of course, we’d all rather shred powder with our friends than be alone, but there is no. way. in hell. that we would miss out on even a minute because your buddy is running late.

There’s also the entire concept of après ski, which refers to whatever happens after you’re done skiing for the day. Après ski is when you all go out, binge on bar food and alcohol, and usually end up partying all night long. Ski towns and resorts plan winter concerts, many of which are free, to keep the hype going as long as possible. It’s jumping in the snow in your bikini and then diving into the hot tub, drinking a beer by an outside fire, and feeling the true camaraderie of the sport. Après is when the exclusion falls away, and everyone gets to revel in the work they put in for the day, regardless of your outfit, technique, or how many strands of hair you pulled in front of your helmet. If you need more examples of après ski, I highly recommend the #SkiTok hashtag on TikTok, this one in particular.

Skiing, although exclusionary at times, is also steeped in care for one another. Someone might snicker about a Jerry as they watch them make small pizza-style turns down the mountain, but as soon as someone falls, or has a yard sale, it’s expected that you do whatever you can to help. Stop, pick up their belongings, make sure they’re ok, call ski patrol if necessary. And, if you see someone really eat it while you’re riding a lift, yell down and make sure they’re ok. I’ve been injured many times on the mountain, and I’ve never waited more than 20 seconds for someone to come check on me.