Standing out
Unfortunately, my skiing habits can hardly be described as ‘nomadic’. As much as it pains me, I’m largely confined to the same 200 trails. With time, I’ve grown familiar with each, to the point I’m confident that I could identify any one from a photo. While trail layouts are static, conditions are everything but. They change day to day, and can deteriorate within an hour. The people are similar. Each and every one has, in choosing their accessories, picked some message that they intend to broadcast. The omission of poles might symbolize a park rat; the inclusion of a backpack speaks to the wearer’s sense of adventure; bright colours are indicative of a bright personality. This revelation — the idea that clothing can convey identity — is not unique, we’ve been using it for centuries. The thing is, in the great sea of fish, even the most inordinate examples of garments fail to captivate a prolonged interest. Where there are thousands, not one stands out. Each and every person, each with their own relationships, goals, and dreams, find themselves reduced to a fleeting moment, maybe observation if they’re lucky, in the skier’s mind.
Despite all this, there are exceptions. In the years I’ve been skiing here, a couple of people have stood out.
One woman, “pink pants”, seems to be everywhere we ski. She can frequently be found with groups of various sizes and skill levels. She herself is an excellent skier, but seems content with whatever the group is doing. Her memorability seems simply tied to regularity. I’m not positive when we began noticing her, but she has since become a regular character in our expeditions. She’s the only one here who doesn’t seem to have some distinguishing feature, but it felt unfair to exclude her.
My favorite character must be “mall guy” (his name is actually Jeff)! He exclusively skis a trail titled “The Mall”, which runs underneath a lift. With time, he’s gained a certain fame in the community; I’ve heard mothers point him out to their children a great number of times. “Look! There’s the mall guy” they shout with delight, and so do I. His notability is not exclusively a symptom of his trail selection, he has a certain charm about him. The trail, one fraught with moguls, compels skiers to preform as they dance between bumps (The name is apt, the trail is comparable to the olden malls where people would go to see and be seen). Jeff doesn’t do this, rather the opposite. He frequently appears jostled by the bumps, almost tumbling down the trail. It’s hard to describe, but I’d say his skiing style is more akin to a falling bolder than to the flowing water ideal. Additionally, his choice of wear is anything but ordinary. He omits a hat and helmet, and wears his googles the wrong way. He skis with headphones, ones of the wired variety, and his skis look straight out of the 90s. Certainly, he’s crafted an aesthetic for himself that is everything but ordinary.
A couple others: J’Lynn always skis with a Tutu in a variety of colors. There’s this one guy I saw a couple of years ago with a dog in his backpack.
I’ve had a claim to fame. On one particularly warm day, I wore shorts, and elicited smiles from no less than 50 people. It was really, really great to have the opportunity to bring happiness, even momentarily, to complete strangers.
Overdoing it
It’s very easy to go too far, and I frequently find myself internally judging people for it. Full bodysuits, shirts over jackets, and helmet costumes are among the large list of cloths I don’t believe any experienced skier would dare set foot in. It’s hard to place my exact opposition to them. Perhaps, extravagant costumes are a symptom of general unfamiliarity with ski culture, and hence reflect poorly on a skier’s aptitude. There is certainly a general correlation between familiarity with skiing and the absurdity and/or general inappropriateness of the cloths they wear.
Interestingly, I don’t consider these people to be particularly memorable. They don’t make me smile, they are just there, a little different than the rest. What they do is common enough that I’ve grown numb to it.
Effort
Ultimately, I think the success of a makeup is directly proportional to the apparent effort extorted by it. Skiing is largely a solo sport, so trying too hard to attract the eyes of others seems frowned upon. It’s best to do one’s own thing, and if that thing is creative enough, it’s more than welcome. These sparks of creativity should only be drastic enough to catch the eye of someone looking for it. Anything else feels boastful and obnoxious. It should be apparent that above all else, what you do is done for you.
Relevance
There’s a lot of fish in the sea, and everyone thinks they are real unique. It’s a dangerous line to walk, too much glitter and you come off as self entitled. Too little, or frankly, the right amount, and you fail to distinguish yourself from a high level. Do crazy, creative things. Do what others wouldn’t even think of. Do it for you.