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I picked my path a long time ago—two skis, poles, and a masochistic appreciation for a well-fitting boot. Everyone in my family skied. Our family friends skied. My best friend skied.
Then I met Shane, a snowboarder, and my perfectly carved world took a heel-side turn.
The rivalry between skiers and snowboarders isn’t new. Long before I was swapping chairlift stories with my snowboarder husband, the tension was already baked into ski culture. It dates back to the mid-’80s, when snowboarding had become an established sport (the first USA National Snowboard race was in 1982) but snowboarders were still banned from most U.S. ski resorts. During the 1984-’85 season, only 40 resorts allowed snowboarders at all, according to Smithsonian magazine. By 1990, the number had grown to 476. Today, only three North American resorts continue to ban snowboarders: Utah’s Alta and Deer Valley, and Mad River Glen, Vt.
Emily Summers, director of communications at Deer Valley, shared in an email interview with SKI that the resort’s ski-only policy “continues to be one of the most mentioned and appreciated aspects in our annual guest surveys, as many guests tell us, ‘please don’t change the ski-only experience.’”
Even though resorts like Deer Valley are the exception these days, skiing and snowboarding still carry the weight of their vastly different cultural DNA. Skiing started in Russia and Finland over 8,000 years ago as a mode of transportation, while snowboarding started in Michigan in 1965 when a guy named Sherm fastened two skis together for his kids to play with. The disparity of these origin stories can be felt on the slopes today.
Here’s what I, a lifelong skier, have learned from sliding down snow alongside my snowboarder husband:
The Descent
Over the years, our differences have become most obvious in the way we move down the mountain. I ski to feel like I’m flying. I ski to get to the bottom and do it again. My husband? He slashes, he dips in and out of trees, he stops mid-mountain to talk about a kicker. My descent is a mission; his is a dance. And it’s not just him. When I ski with snowboarders, the day is always more playful and slow-going than a day spent with skiers, who tend to see a ski run as something to conquer.
The introduction to the snowboarder mode of descent is the best on-mountain gift I’ve ever received. I’ve learned to slow down and enjoy. To see the mountain as a playground rather than a racecourse. And the shift in perspective has been a beautiful one. The ski day feels less hectic and a “great run” often includes the discovery of a side trail through the trees.
The Style & Vibe
Skiing and snowboarding are both very style-conscious sports, perhaps because what you wear on the mountain says something about you: Are you really here for the après? Are you a diehard whose duct-taped puffy is less jacket, more résumé? Are you on your once-a-year ski trip from Texas? Are you a park rat?
Of course, apparel and style varies based on things like age, experience, and income, but the equipment attached to your boots is often the biggest differentiator. In general, skiers tend to favor a more fitted, colorful aesthetic—performance-driven silhouettes and cohesive hues. My husband says skiers dress like “Skittles,” but I like to think we look sharp and polished. Competent. The gear matches the mentality.
Snowboarders, on the other hand, tend to more closely follow trends when it comes to silhouettes and fit. Most are currently rocking baggy pants and oversized hoodies layered under equally oversized shells. It’s all about mastering a look that’s cohesive and cool, but in a “I didn’t try too hard” kind of way. It’s a look that matches snowboarding’s vibe, which is distinctly counter-culture and pulls from surf and skateboard styles. My husband, who is also a lifelong skateboarder and self-described “black sheep,” fits the snowboarder stereotype perfectly.
The Hate & The Stats
If those ‘80s battles over ski area access taught us anything, it’s that skiers don’t really like snowboarders. But do snowboarders have a problem with skiers? When I asked my husband, the same guy who calls skiers “Skittles,” he said no, that the conflict is one-sided. But he does have some judgments for the average, stereotypical skier.
“I think of skiers as normies, like more mainstream. Basic. … Skiing feels like ‘clock the vertical feet in your Patagonia ski suit before going back to work at the real estate office,’” he shares.
In Deer Valley’s guest surveys, skiers report liking “the predictability, flow, and culture of a ski-focused environment,” according to Summers.
That tracks with complaints I’ve heard from other skiers and grievances I’ve felt myself while sharing the slopes with snowboarders. Skiing alongside a snowboarder feels less predictable because of their playful, impulsive approach to the mountain. Plus, while skiers can see both sides of the run equally on the descent, snowboarders have a “blindside.” I’m always more cautious when passing a snowboarder on their blindside, which is not something you have to worry about when passing a skier.
That said, of the 35 people who died at NSAA ski areas in the 2023-’24 season, 28 were skiing (80 percent) and only seven were snowboarding (20 percent). Meanwhile, the NSAA reports that in 2023-’24, snowboarders accounted for 27 percent of visits nationally, while 73 percent were skiers. In other words, despite the narrative, skiing leads to more fatalities than snowboarding proportionally.
The Future
The fact that we’re a “mixed” snowsport couple hasn’t really been that big of a deal aside from an occasional chairlift comment and friendly teasing from friends and family. But when our daughter was born, it became a full-on issue. Grandparents dropped off skis long before she could walk—hint, hint!—while friends on both sides have jokingly said something like, “You’re not going to let her be a [insert abhorred snowsport of choice], are you?”
For now, the verdict is still out. Both skis and snowboards, and the baggage they carry, have been strapped on my daughter’s unknowing feet. Neither has caused noticeable delight. Maybe she’ll fall for skiing’s speed and tradition. Maybe she’ll embrace her dad’s sideways flow. And maybe she’ll shun snowsports completely.
Whatever she chooses, we’ll be there, cheering her on from the lift (or the lodge). Because after years of swapping tracks and teasing each other down the mountain, I’ve realized the real win isn’t passing down a sport—it’s passing down a love for the mountains, and for each other, no matter how we get to the bottom.
