Because sliding down a mountain on planks is chaotic enough without bad manners, questionable outfits or ill-judged decisions thrown into the mix.
Skiing is one of the rare pursuits where the warm-up begins before you’ve even reached the snow. Wrestling your feet into rigid plastic boots is a test of balance, patience and quiet dignity. Accept it. Don’t block the chalet hallway. Don’t clout fellow guests with your skis. And once you are clipped in, remember that everyone looks faintly absurd shuffling towards the lift. Own it discreetly.
Sliding downhill at speed is a privilege, not a personality trait. Confidence is admirable; chaos is not.
Lunch wine still counts
Mountain lunches are dangerously persuasive. Bright sunshine, melting cheese, perhaps a bottle of rosé that feels as though it evaporates in the alpine air. It does not. Altitude amplifies alcohol rather than cancelling it out, and in many countries a single bottle shared between two people can push you over the legal limit.
The myths to retire immediately:
• Alcohol from the night before lingers longer than you think.
• A lunchtime digestif can tip you into unsafe territory.
• “I’ll ski it off” is not a strategy.
Après-ski is for after skiing, not during. Skiing under the influence is illegal in many resorts and universally reckless. Save the toasts for when the skis are off.
Romance on the mountain: a gentle no
There was a time, decades ago, when chalet staff and instructors were treated as part of the holiday fantasy. That era has passed.
Your instructor is a trained professional, not a souvenir. The chalet host is at work, not starring in a nostalgic alpine rom-com. And the bronzed, impossibly fit mountain guides? Off the slopes, they are simply people who would quite like a quiet drink without being auditioned for someone else’s après-ski narrative.
Flirt with your own party. Leave the staff alone.
Ski fashion: chic versus circus
Mountain style sits on a wide spectrum, and the extremes tend to linger in the memory for the wrong reasons.
Best avoided:
• Comedy hats.
• Full fancy dress (amusing for stag dos, less so for everyone else).
• Over-inflated designer puffers that suggest Instagram is the priority, skiing the afterthought.
Worth considering:
• Dress for the resort you are in. Courchevel can handle a Bond-inspired catsuit; Val d’Isère is more forgiving but still expects restraint.
• Designer goggles if you must, but let the skiing, not the logo, do the talking.
• Fur is increasingly out of step with modern mountain values; faux is the more elegant choice.
The goal is functional elegance: warm, streamlined and quietly confident.
National nuances on the chairlift
Every alpine country has its own rhythm. Switzerland, in particular, is famously reserved. Silence on the chairlift is not awkwardness; it is cultural efficiency.
In France, a cheerful bonjour is common.
In Austria, you may be rewarded with a grin and possibly a schnapps invitation.
In Switzerland, a polite nod is sufficient — and appreciated.
On-slope manners everyone should know
These are not suggestions; they are survival skills.
• Overtake on the right unless signage says otherwise.
• A light click of the poles as you pass is courteous, not confrontational.
• Never stop beneath a blind crest or in the middle of a piste.
• Give beginners space; everyone starts somewhere.
• The downhill skier always has priority.
Good etiquette keeps traffic flowing and tempers intact.
Après-ski: fun, not ferality
Après is a ritual — music, mulled wine, dancing in ski boots — but it is not an invitation to abandon all dignity. Pace yourself. Drink water. Remember that icy walk home still awaits.
The golden rule
Skiing is a shared pleasure. The mountains are magnificent, unpredictable and humbling. Treat the slopes with respect, the people who work there with courtesy, and your fellow skiers with patience, and you will always belong — whatever your ability level or choice of jacket.