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Bougie activities are my middle name. My bread and butter. Or should I say, my homemade paleo bread and pasteurized ghee. There’s some sort of weird high I get by only shopping at boutiques that have the words “cupcake,” “frosting,” “hummingbird,” or “almond” in them. Or by drinking frosé all year round and microblading making my face bleed like Kardashians. But if there is one bougie activity that I absolutely loathe, from the deepest crevices of my icy heart, it’s skiing.
Real talk here: only privileged people ski. But only privileged people eat fish eggs and teach their offspring to suppress their feelings, so it’s not totally uncanny for the top 1% to do weird, masochistic shit. So I guess it makes sense they think shoe-sledding down icy, rocky mountains in sub-zero temperatures is “fun.”
Let’s break it down.
First, is the absolutely astronomical amount of money being spent on the entire excursion. You obviously buy the good gloves for a mere $80, knowing good and well they won’t keep your hands warm – by any stretch of the definition. Then come the snow pants that will put you down an additional $300. Don’t fret though, the biggest camel toe known to the modern world comes free with purchase. You’ll dig up a teal neckwarmer from the good old middle school days convince yourself that it will be good enough for a weekend despite being stained with blood and smelling like wet clothes lost in a hamper for two months. But then you’re reminded the type of people you’re skiing with and begrudgingly order a Canada Goose Neck Gaitor that’ll rid you of another $60.
And that’s only the clothing. After spending all of your mental capacity and patience trying to load 21 days worth of luggage into a Suburban, you finally get to the mountain. And once you’ve made it there, it takes roughly seven hours to park and walk to the lodge. You have a silent panic attack after paying $85 for a lift ticket and make your way to the rental shop, knowing good and well the hell that awaits.
The only thing worse than waiting in line for rental equipment is putting on your rental boots. It takes full-body strength, heavy contortionism, and a teardrop from a virgin to get your foot into that boot. And once it’s there, there is still an 80 percent chance you have the wrong boot size and will have to get back in line.
After three back and forth trips to the counter, you make your way outside and begin to actually freeze. First, it’s a toe, then a thumb, and then your already-dripping nose. You get on the chairlift via the singles lane because all of your friends have ditched you by now, and ride up in #style with three 7-year-old girls in pink and lime green snow pants. The chairlift takes it’s sweet ol’ time crawling up the mountain, as you pretend not to notice how your $70 SmartWool socks are already chaffing on your ankles.
By the time you reach the top of the mountain, you realize you took the Black chairlift up instead of the Blue. And you have to pee. A perfect combination for a beginner-intermediate skier with a zest for life. Your options are Double Black Diamond Option #1 (Moguls), Double Black Diamond #2 (Trees) or Double Black Diamond Option #3 (Straight Drop). And of course, all of the runs have idiotic names like Bagel Bowl, Devil’s Crotch and Organ Grinder. You kiss your balls goodbye and pizza-french fries your way to the start of the slope.
Upon reaching the base after a few runs, you’ve been cut off by nearly 15 snowboarders and are ready to declare gangland warfare. You also now need knee surgery as you stomp like a Thor-Hulk-Kong baby up the stairs to the lodge. You’re sweating from heat but also freezing cold, with a throat so dry you can’t speak. As you reach for your pants pocket, you realize you forgot to zip it shut before going up on the lift the last time. You leave the lodge, absolutely defeated from life – shivering, afraid, and without your $19 burger.
So next time, page me for the après ski. If you need me, I’ll be in the lodge, cuddled up next to the fire, watching The Parent Trap on my iPad. RIP Natasha Richardson, RIP. .