Although powder days can quell loneliness, single skier girls are still looking for “The One.” Someone who falls somewhere in between the fine balance of “skier babe” and “emotionally available.” Dating isn’t easy anywhere, but in a ski town, your options are…different. Let’s consider:
The Musician. You meet him outside a coffee shop where he jams with his adorable little folk band. He has a name like Noah or Skylar, and he lives in the mountains to escape the diesel exhaust that creates blockages in his “flow.” He has soft hands, narrow shoulders and a large collection of ponchos, but is a fantastic kisser. You suggest going skiing. “Not really my thing, babe” he says. He picks up his ukelele, which is no longer cute. Next.
The Photographer. On the chairlift, shaggy hair in a cool hat starts telling you about his photography career. He was in Japan last year. He clarifies that he was in Japan with really cool people. This lens that he used in Japan was what made him the only guy for the job. Name drop, website URL drop, popular magazine cover photo cred drop. He used to work in Los Angeles, but action sports are “him.” His outerwear could pass for suede. There are about fifty date-able photographers in the entire world. This guy is not one of them.
The Aussie MEGA-BABE. He’s charming, impossibly good-looking and an unnervingly close-talker. He engages you with clever Aussie-style chirps, but there is a lot of yelling and (hard) shoulder-punching. He shows up to ski in a very brave lime green jacket. He may be drunk? He slides face first down a chute that you lead him into. Collecting his scattered skis and poles, throwing them over your shoulder and skiing them down to him, it hits you: excellent banter at the bar does not beat appalling form. Keep looking.
The Park Bro. Huge pants are hoisting, goggles are lowering, webisodes are filming, crews are staring, go-pros are blinking and tiny poles are gesturing. Nobody is smiling. Everything is in slow motion and you start to feel like you’re in a dub step remix. You black out. Nobody ever found love in a place where helmets are encouraged and bandanas are mandatory.
The Guy That Is Too Legit To Ever Date You. His mother gave birth to him on a glacier and by age seven he was a fully certified mountain guide. He retired at fourteen to start a non-profit charity. Then he became an award-winning cinematographer and casually medaled at the Olympics. He disappears for weeks at a time to do transcontinental ski traverses. You can’t stop thinking about his skin, he can’t stop thinking about his skins.
The Vacationer. This guy is smart, successful, well-dressed and thoughtful. He makes a ton of money that he wants to spend on skiing (point); he thinks you’re hilarious (point) and “sporty” (point). But the proverbial powder day jury weighs in, and he loses his case. You have never seen a sweatier man. He does those mini-turns that nobody has done since the 80′s. You get in a gentle argument about that style of turn, and that decides that.
The Pro. He’s a beautiful skier, but doesn’t really care about you. He also thinks that he’s a rapper. Like, he freestyles at parties and purchased a personalized license plate that reads “THG LYF” (thug life). Dodge the bullet.
The Blue-Collar Snowboarder. A train conductor with a full face beard, he fixes your brakes and mentions saving a guy’s life in Alaska. It’s all very promising, but when he catches up to you at the bottom with a breathless “woo” and asks for a tow along the cat-track, you draw your line. There are a lot of things you can do, but not that. You just can’t do that.
The Young Gun. He launches off everything while you try not to fall over watching him. He has a funny crew of ski buds. He thinks you’re the coolest (you aren’t that cool). He insists on guinea pigging speed-ins and testing lines, then (somehow) lets you go first. A skier gentleman, if you will. No, he doesn’t have a driver’s license. Yes, you buy him beer. Yes, he’s seventeen and needs a prom date. But he’s a really, really good skier.
Consensus: hit the pool. The dudes sessioning the diving board are the ones you should lock down now; before they hit twenty, buy a sled and a pair of Ray-Bans, grow their hair out and stop caring about women.