The pure powdered snow slopes beckon to be poached, waiting silently for their creamy mantle of white to be etched by the parallel streaks of that first glorious skier. But wait, what is this blight that is beginning its avalanche of colors down the virgin slopes? What is this crayola box of neon onesies? For a land which embraces the mute, geometric obtuseness of Yohji Yamomoto, it is surprising how thoroughly its winter resort wear has embraced YELLOW! and PINK! and ORANGE!. And it's not just the neon which is so horrifying to the eye. It's the vintage 80s Dynasty shoulders coupled with early 90s DJ Jazzy Jeff graffiti prints. I can't help but wonder if they bought their outfits back in 1991, or if some truly awful company is still producing these Dumb and Dumber monstrosities.
That's not to say that me in my red and black Spider ensemble is particularly snow-bunny esque. After perusing celebrity pics (don't judge- I'm not above celebrity gossip from time to time) of their Aspen jaunts, I can not understand how Mariah Carey attempts to ski in those leggings. Is she that good that she never falls? Or does she just never ski? And Denise Richards snowboarding without goggles? I know Gucci makes beautiful sunglasses, but I have trouble imagining myself attempting to circumnavigate a snow-drenched slope with only a pair of aviators.
So I guess I would call myself an in-betweener skier. . . not a neon monstrosity, but definitely not a snow bunny. Surprisingly enough, it is one of those few venues in life where I embrace true pragmatism. For now I think I'll stick with the Japanese slopes (I look good next to neon) . . .
