Prefer audio? Press play.
Ski season is on, and you were, are, and will probably be on the move: Montana, Austria, St. Moritz, Aspen. And because there are a few mistakes that expose you as a “newbie” faster than you’d like, this text exists.
Because let’s be honest: there are few places where you want to look less out of place than here. Who skis? Rhetorical question. People you want to talk to. Guaranteed. And there’s hardly any environment where high-quality encounters happen so effortlessly. So—welcome to après-ski, your ticket into “High Society.” Some of these rules will be obvious to you; I’m apologizing in advance for teaching you anything at all. Please forgive me.
Here are the most important rules.
Timing is the key
Timing is the one rule you don’t debate—and yes, as we all know, timing is: everything. Après-ski begins after skiing, usually when the lifts close. Your guardrail: ski first, drink second. If you go “après” too early, you become generic very quickly—which is unfortunate if you still want to perceive your potential contacts clearly (or even recognize them at all; the Obstler in Austria, for example, is excellent and also very high-proof; I recommend cautious consumption and I speak from experience).
Boots, skis, and “arriving”
If the hut is right on the slope, you obviously walk in the way you arrive: in ski boots. The skis stay outside. Brush the snow off your body once. Helmet off, goggles away. Fix your hair briefly and gallantly; the helmet has left its marks. But don’t spend too much time on it: that only makes you look vain. This is a mountain hut, not a reception.
It’s different with those mountain restaurants. You recognize them because inside everything suddenly gets a little quieter, the prices higher, and the whole place feels more composed. At lunchtime it’s usually still relaxed—ski boots are fine, as long as you’re not stomping in like you’re making a point. Please learn how to walk in ski boots; anything else looks untrained. Casually ask the host about a ski depot—there are few ways to arrive more confidently than that.
And then there is village après. After skiing, you go back briefly, freshen up, put on winter boots—anything else would be inappropriate, unless your name is Gunter Sachs. He could get away with it, but you don’t happen to be him.
Presence without decibels
You’re welcome to be the main character—we both know you are. But then please behave accordingly. Nobody needs your phone speaker. Be physically present: watch your expression, your posture, wear clothes that aren’t wrinkled. Be polite to the waiter, always tip at least five percent more than the local standard. Don’t loudly complain. Respect the staff and the other guests. No snapping, no eye-rolling, no mini-dramas at the bar. Under no circumstances be pushy—not even when the big dancing starts. Hold back: your most valuable potential contacts aren’t the ones screaming in the crowd. And if they are—are you sure those are really the right contacts?
If someone annoys you, stay composed. And if you notice you’re about to “make a thing of it”: don’t. Nothing looks more expensive than self-control—and nothing looks cheaper than ego-driven chaos.
Starting conversations
You don’t ask questions like it’s a job interview. You also don’t say, “So what do you do?” Use what’s already there: the run, the snow, the hotel, the hut, the fireplace. One sentence, one observation, a small smile—and then you listen as if you weren’t hunting, but simply interested. Because you are, of course. You are, right? Exactly.
Everyone has to pay
Yes, money matters here—but not in the way you might think. You show that you don’t have to calculate. Buying a round is good, if it feels natural. Too much looks like bribery, too little looks stingy. The elegant solution is always the same: generous, but not performative. And if someone else pays, don’t make a scene—just remember it and pay next time.
Excuse me—what time is it already?
“Know the way home” isn’t just practical—it’s part of your evening planning. Arrange a taxi or shuttle before you even start. Nobody looks sovereign later when, with half-empty eyes, they ask “How are we getting back…?” while leaning against a snowbank.
Know when you leave. Know how long the night is supposed to be. Order the taxi for two in the morning if you’re in the mood to celebrate—but order it, and then end it.
