Skiers are a little weird in general. I'm a white guy from a moderately affluent place in rural Washington, but sometimes I want to go skiing, so I put on the absolute baggiest clothes I own, put my goggles on under my helmet for some reason, and then go tell anyone who will listen about how I'm the illest and core-est rider on the mountain. Then proceed to ski around it backwards and pretend that I don't give a fuck because I'm that rad. That's a little weird. And it describes most of you guys. And it's fucking fun.
Yet there are waaaaaayyy weirder people. I slept in my car for a season at a little mountain in Southern California called Mt. Baldy. And there was a guy in his mid 40s who got up every single day, put on a tuxedo, grabbed his 210 directional K2s from 1996 and proceeded to shred the the shitty SoCal backcountry as well as one can with 15 year old directional skis while wearing a battered tux.
I asked him about the tuxedo once, and he replied "It's my jam, man. It's my jam." There's not a whole lot you can say to that, so he left with his giant directional skis and I left with my tiny poles, and we were both satisfied that mountain people are a little strange and that the skiers worth skiing with generally embrace it.