Every year as we prepare for our annual ski trip, Dad gets out a bag of our snow gear from under the house and we stage a fashion parade in our living room. Various jackets and pants from bygone eras are pulled out and admired, while gloves of various colours are used in mock boxing ring scenes. My dad again struggles into his ski pants, claiming he has been wearing the same ones since before I was born, while mum watches on and laughs. My brothers’ gear still swims on him but he refuses to trade in his vintage overall hand-me-downs for something newer – these ones have history. I always put on my pants and think ‘God, must go on a diet’, but year after year they continue to fit, and I simply adjust the layers worn underneath.
I have been skiing since I was knee high to a grasshopper and every year, the fashions on the snow field never cease to amaze me. As a pretty serious fashionista, I try to be on trend most of the time; the ski field is however, a stage that has always eluded me fashion wise. Beanies make me look like a balding midget while ski jackets and pants add 10 kilos to an otherwise average frame.
I own my plain black Rip Curl ski pants and black gloves, and always try to accessorise with more black, maybe a pink trim or some glitter on a beanie or headband and perhaps a grey or brown scarf. I fail to see the point in spending upwards of $500 on a ‘good’ jacket, which will be outdated 6 months after I buy it, so I borrow jackets from a group of friends which always come in the basic shades of black, blue or white. While I accept that no ski gear is going to make me look like a model, I have always tried to stick with these colours as to not draw attention to myself on the slopes, and if by chance Brad Pitt happened to fall over me, I could always quickly whip off the beanie and hope for perfectly coiffed hair below.
This however is another thing that fails me at the snow. Any kind of beauty regime you currently undertake is out the window in subzero temperatures. Skin is dry and blah, unwilling to accept any kind of make-up or even moisturiser in some cases. Hair dries out or freezes at the click of your fingers, and styling is not even worth the hairspray. My face takes on a rather unpleasant shade of red after a bit of windburn and Carribean-esque temperatures in the lodge, while bruises pop up at the mere thought of a fall.
Victoria Beckham may look brilliant in her ski getup, but for the most part, if you want a break from fashion and beauty, head to a ski field. The ski fields are another dimension where fashion goes to holiday. Highlighter yellow and army green join stripes and prints of all mismatched mayhem in a disastrous mix of teenage snowboarders and veteran skiers. Hats with dreadlocks attached and snowboards painted with naked ladies, the occasional all-in-one suit and grandpa on ski’s made in the 1960s make for an interesting fashion mix and plenty of fodder for a fashion blog.
Even a night out on the town brings out the best and worst of people’s wardrobes. A week in the snow makes for limited packing opportunities, and clearly the gentleman I saw out last night had run out of gear – he was frequenting the local watering hole in Superman pyjamas, complete with broken arm and slippers. I’d like to add it was about 3 below zero and for a guy already in plaster, his moves on the ice indicated he wouldn’t mind a leg cast to match.
Returning home, our gear gets packed back into the bag to be put under the house, awaiting next years fashion parade in the living room. As I unpack my bag again, I wonder: Will this be the year I take the plunge and buy something new instead of begging and borrowing from friends? Could I possibly ever look at good as Posh on the slopes; cool, calm and classy? And, if the miracle of Brad Pitt appearing at my local mountain is possible, then just maybe, just maybe, one day I might look half fashionable in my ski gear.
