Photo: Circe Snow
When did the snow industry become one big ugly blob of olive green ski jackets with white piping? When did the brands stop making things that reflect the beauty, aggressiveness, wildness of what we do?
Snowboarding used to be punk rock. Or at least kind of. I mean, Shaun Palmer had some real sparkle flair and Craig Kelly never was… but Mike Ranquet, Chris Roach, and Andy Hetzel all could have easily been found singing speed metal. Hell, there were even moments where they were as punk rock as Henry Rollins circa ‘84. My War era Henry Rollins. Then there was Shawn Farmer. He used to wear one piece suits by Bamboo Curtain while recklessly chasing every heavy line at Baker. If that’s not fucking punk rock, I honestly don’t know what is. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not glorifying Farmer — he spit a loogie one of the first times I met him because I wouldn’t make out with him. (He mellowed with age and at some point apologized.) But my personal past with him aside, he was one gnarly snowboarder.
Jamie Lynn and me early nineties going surfing, probably in Western Washington. Photo: Courtesy of Circe Walalce
I grew with Ranquet, Jamie Lynn, Bass and Loeb and a small pack of early girls. We were dedicated to catching the first chair line at Mt. Baker. It was the most fun of my life. This was all at just after of the days when you were basically required to take a test for a special pass to even make your way onto the chair at the infamous Mt. Baker.
A group of boys/men-men/boys made up by Carter Turk, Dan Donnely, and Jeff Fulton ran a crew known ever-affectionately as MBHC (Mt. Baker Hard Core). It was an early attempt at branding a boys club and I wanted in, but I was never offered a position — apparently “no girls allowed…”
Shawn Martin, Anita and myself. San Francisco, 1983-ish. We skated everything, Fort Miley, China Banks, bombed hills and partied with Bryce and Tommy and it was fucking epic. Photo: Courtesy of Circe Wallace
So I did my best from the sidelines, trying to keep up with some of the world’s heaviest shredders, buckling in on the lift. There was only one rule I had to live by: you never,ever stop or hold up the group, or you’re gone — alone, on your own in the wilderness.
Anyway, I bought Airwalk boots, and simple ski pants with a Burton pro form anorak. It was purple, a pastel purple, and I sewed on a patch of my one sponsor: Starbucks. Lib Tech gave me boards. They even made me one with a Starbucks logo on it.
This what the first Superpark ever, or close to it anyway. I had just gotten on Quiksilver and I sewed that little patch on my pants. Jibbing was a big thing then. Photo: Courtesy of Circe Wallace
Through all of this, I met another girl — Paige Clay. She was a Tahoe shred who rode for the brand Sunshine. She was pretty and southern and so nice. I hated her. I was an angry girl who was always defending her turf, wanting to be the only girl allowed to hang and shred with the boys. Needless to say, I didn’t have many girlfriends. But Paige had great style. She was educated and well read. She taught me about Hermes and French cheese and good thread count. She lived in Alpine in Tahoe with her handsome ski bumming mountain-man of a boyfriend (who to this day does some of the heaviest lines at Squaw). And she celebrated life. Everyday she would ask, “Can you believe our lives?” I fell in love with her.
Above all, she opened the box of fashion for me and the world was never the same.
Mt. Rose. I had just gotten on Ride and they made this into a poster. I would say this is not only my debut’ but one of my favorite images of my career. Photo: Trevor Graves
I grew up, had a shred career, and got injured enough to undergo multiple knee surgeries. Then I moved to California. I learned about lip gloss and high heels. I found power and adventure in my own femininity. I learned how to hustle but always with a purpose — to be a good businesswoman, to make a job for myself in something I loved but also helped others. And in this power and adventure I also learned how to dress, to express myself through my wear.
Then I married the infamous Andy Hetzel. We had Ava.
I started to care even more about the gear I wore. I wanted feminine lines that would also function for me on the mountain. For years I suffered in ill-fitted, bad color blocking. And one day in the thick of it all, snowboarding turned into little pink and purple skittles with duck stance and helmets racing top to bottom in grand speed.
I turned to ski. I never thought skiing wasn’t cool even though I got spit on often from the chair for being a single plank-er. The skier boys were cool and nothing was more amazing to me that a girl skier who could keep up or shred heavy lines with the boys. I respected skiing… there was all this history and fashion — oh, the fashion. So I spent hours digging through the past, looking for something. Early Bogner and Obermeyer. Going through Aaron Slims images hungry for more. Something better. Something beautiful.
Photo: Slim Aarons
But there was nothing. Between 1989 and today, high-end ski wear turned into some kind of cougar wear. Too many crystals, too much pink and baby blue year after year after year. And I couldn’t go backwards. The reality of advances in technology, fabrics, and features trumped what I could find tagged “vintage” on eBay. I needed something that met the tech demands of my needs today, waterproofing, warmth, insulation, seam seals, and air vents, but celebrated the fabulousness of the past and honored the idea that you are what you wear.
You might call it elitist, but I don’t care. I believe that how you present yourself to the world, to yourself in the mirror is a reflection of how you feel inside. Or, alternatively, if you dress for what you want you can manifest what your heart desires. For me — as a mother, a businesswoman and a skier or snowboarder — I needed something that felt like it protected me while allowing me to express myself fully on the mountain. So I made something. I made something beautiful. Something that will last for years. And something that will keep you warm and dry in extreme conditions. But, most importantly, I made something not only for me, but something that fit a variety of body types beautifully.
Creating Circe Snow has been one of the hardest things I have done in my life. Yet having some space to create something I feel truly passionate about has been unbelievably liberating. I spend my days serving my children and my clients. This is about serving my own needs. My deep desire to make beautiful, functional sportswear for women who do all the things I LOVE to do. Snowboarding. Skiing. Yoga. Surfing. And playing in nature. Intended for women who commit a part of themselves to pushing through the fear and being a warrior in the world and enjoying the incredible experience of being fully engaged.
Photo: Circe Snow
I look back and I look forward. The years have taught me a lot. I was there for the first Volcom road trips, when they were t-shirts and stickers. I was the first Roxy snowboarder in America, the state’s response to Stine Brun-Kjeldaas in Europe. I have been through three cycles of market growth and then the inevitable contraction. K2 bought Ride, Li and Fung bought Sypder, Moncler went public, and Volcom got bought for $600 million dollars. Bogner got old and weird — or actually it was always weird, which is why it was awesome, but it got old. Strange marketing people hijacked Burton.
I look back and I look forward. People ask me why? Why did I start something when I already have so much going on. “It’s sooo hard,” they say. To that I say because I must. Because we all must reclaim beauty, aggressiveness and wildness.
Photo: Circe Snow
For more information on Circe Snow, check out the site. Also, be sure to follow them on Instagram and Twitter, as well as Like them on Facebook.
