You gotta admire old-school skiers with their 210s and feet-stuck-together style. But we鈥檙e envious of one big thing: even after decades of fashion and fabric innovation, they still rock more style than modern-day skiers.
That鈥檚 in part because of their carefree disregard for skin, eye, and head protection鈥攏o bus-window goggles hid 鈥檚 cover-girl beauty鈥攂ut it mostly has to do with the outerwear: Fraser wore a ski sweater tucked into her trousers and tightly belted at the waist. She looked fantastic. I have yet to find a mid-layer that marries performance and panache as beautifully as knitted wool.
You don鈥檛 have to go with the full-on nostalgia of cables and embroidery. Consider 聽($239). This Henley feels both traditional and contemporary聽with panels of geometric Viking patterns that look edgier than folksy Fair Isle flowers. The superfine, 16.5-micron merino (most base layers are 18 to 20 microns) is tightly spun to keep the fabric from pilling. So while this wool is tough enough for skiing, its satiny softness makes it cozier than my synthetic fleeces.
My favorite rendition of the old-school ski sweater is the new ($99 via Kickstarter). Made from llama wool, it鈥檚 not as soft, initially, as Cotopaxi claims. I actually found it to be fairly scratchy during the first few weeks of wear, and I鈥檓 not typically wool-averse. But like Icelandic lopi (a durable workhorse of a fiber), the llama yarns eventually lost their prickles. Now I find the sweater to be as soft as merino.
The back is an open, meshy knit that prevents me from steaming up while I鈥檓 skinning in the backcountry. The tough fabric doesn鈥檛 get shredded by a backpack, nor does it stink: I wore it almost daily for three months before I finally washed it, and even then it wasn鈥檛 truly foul, just stale.
I wear my Libre untucked, so while I still can鈥檛 beat Fraser when it comes to style points, I like to think I鈥檓 nipping at her heels.