The Knuckle of Shame

text by Maé Biedermann, initially written in French, translated into English

The snowpark, the apogee of fun in ski resorts. A playground that accompanies you from your first acne breakout to your first permanent job. You've been immersed in this environment for years, lulled by the melodies of the shapers' transgressive playlist, the air saturated with cannabis vapors. In the snowpark, you feel like a fish in water. You have the equipment, the tricks, and the confidence that goes with it. You're a regular, recognized by shapers and other riders. The absolute symbiosis. The snow park is your home; you feel comfortable there. However…

Crans-Montana's iconic knuckle of shame. Photo: Mateusz Bocian

A friend confided, "Just the thought of going back to a snowpark this winter gives me anxiety." What? What do I hear? The snow park, the sanctuary for all free spirits seeking sensations, is not a welcoming place? I reflected on the question, with a touch of introspection. I'm 25, I've been hanging out in snow parks since I was 11, but sometimes, I too don't feel completely at ease. When my pants aren't baggy enough according to the standards of the time, when I have to be satisfied with my shitty 360° without a grab because the kicker is too imposing in this icy early January, or when I'm the only one wearing a helmet among my contemporaries with futuristic flame beanies, I feel a certain discomfort. But the worst remains, the pinnacle of uncertainty, the most terrifying ordeal of all: facing the knuckle of shame. This knuckle is the starting bump of the rail line in the spring park at Crans-Montana. On this single start, all eyes are on you. Your tricks are scrutinized and judged. Knuckle Mag investigates those who fear the knuckle of shame.

The gaze of others is the starting point of this story. In the snow park, "users who regularly practice in groups must be able to observe each other mutually. The visibility of acrobatic evolutions is crucial here," raises a sociological paper on snow parks, describing the "theatricalization and staging of performances" in this space. I asked five snow park users if they felt this pressure: Manon, a beginner snowboarder in the park, Anouck Darbro and Alice Michel, talented riders from Verbier, Guillaume Schutz, an experienced park rider, and Loïc Pachoud, an exceptional freerider but a poor jibber. "A piece of shit" in his own words. The gaze of others is the common denominator in all the following testimonies, for better or for worse.

Intimidating beginnings

First observation, the beginnings are not easy. "When I started in the park 10 years ago, I thought it was so embarrassing to be bad. To avoid being seen trying easy tricks on small jumps in the Verbier park, I would try 180° on the edge of the slope, outside the park," laughs Alice Michel. Anouck Darbro shared this same fear of being observed in her freestyle learning: "Even back then, it was tough to try things knowing that people were watching you. I was ashamed to try certain tricks. Personally, I preferred leaving Verbier and going to Thyon to learn. At least there, no one knew me." Loïc Pachoud practiced skicross from a young age. He did his first 360° and backflips a long time ago. But he had almost never touched a rail until last spring. "When you're that bad on rails, the start of the rail line in Crans is just horrible. Everyone is waiting there and watching," confesses the Villars freerider. "In the morning, I arrived with a knot in my stomach. I forced myself not to just skip the rails. But I was so afraid of doing a pathetic crash 2 meters away from everyone... Imagine the shame!" exclaims Loïc. For Alice, Anouck, and Loïc, starting from scratch is intimidating. The fear of being seen as a "jerry," or worse, a "tourist," in Loïc's words. "Honestly, that's the worst label," he thinks.

Labels stick, to both the skin and the equipment. "You don't even have time to get to the park, and you're already categorized. Your equipment, the brand of your board, your way of standing is analyzed," says Manon, who has been frequenting snowparks for a short time. Towards beginners, it seems that the average park rat lacks a bit of patience and tolerance. "When you're a beginner, either people don't even notice you, or they rush you because you're slow or take time before launching. If you try a trick that seems easy to others, they'll be less patient and will push you, repeating that it's easy," says Manon. A little subtlety for aspiring female riders who frequent mountain bars and pubs: you can be ignored all day and then be the center of attention at the après-ski when the same indifferent guys start talking to you to flirt... Manon experienced this several times, not without bitterness.

Alice Michel, away from prying eyes, but under the eye of photographer Maxime Ramoul.

Yohan Lovey skis in Crans as chairlift passengers look on. Photo: Lorenzo Mossi.

Finding one's place

Beginners face the gaze of others. Sometimes, the looks are accompanied by sometimes explicit words, especially towards female riders. "When I started 10 years ago, there were so few girls; we heard very negative remarks. Guys liked to say that to get sponsored as a girl, you just had to do a 270° out," says Alice. She confesses that over the years, she no longer pays much attention to external looks. "I'm 28. I don't give a damn what people think anymore. But I think the environment has also changed, and people have become more open," she believes. But women are still a minority in snowparks, and finding one's place in such a masculinized space remains a complex ordeal. "Even last year, it was difficult for me to feel legitimate and included in certain ski events," points out Alice.

How to find one's place? Alice notes that the snow parks in the United States leave more room for female riders and beginners. "In the US, I found the parks more inclusive. Maybe it's because of their small talk, but at least people talk to you. Here we are more reserved, colder. We don't talk much if we don't know people," Alice compares. This reinforces the feeling of being ignored by the entire park when you're a beginner, as Manon described earlier.

Basile Genevay and Albie Bigler of Gazolina.exe, eyes riveted on the spring park. Photo: Lorenzo Mossi.

Even Candide fears it

Not everyone is comfortable, it seems. But being no longer a beginner, does the gaze of others still weigh on our shoulders? Imagine that a certain Remco Kayser - not being at his first cork 9 - confessed to me that he doesn't dare to learn to ride switch left, for fear of being seen in broad daylight, destabilized by the most basic tricks. There's even a rumor that Candide Thovex deserted the Crans park in the middle of a session, upon the arrival of the young prodigies of the Swiss Freeski. Was he suffering from comparison, in the eyes of others? Certain expectations arise from labels - beginner or pro.

As stated earlier, strategies abound to shield oneself from prying eyes. "It's impossible for me to practice unnatural when it's crowded. I only do the tricks I know well. Otherwise, I feel like an idiot," says Guillaume Schutz. "Otherwise, I try my unnatural tricks very early in the morning when no one has gone up yet," admits Guillaume.

Is this pressure from the gaze of others real? Is it all in the head? Understanding the nature of these apprehensions is very complex. This pressure is as much personal as it is social. Everyone puts it on themselves personally and also incorporates external components: like the gaze of others and the interactions experienced in the park. Whether subjective or not, this impression of judgment can be very burdensome. "I haven't joined the new wave of baggy pants and swervers. They make me feel it," says Guillaume Schutz. He mentions that some condescending comments about his style don't leave him indifferent. "I feel judged negatively, and it clearly has an impact on me. It's sad to say, but today I have more fun cycling or climbing. In these sports, there are no expectations towards me, no one knows me, and I don't put any pressure on myself," shares Guillaume. A sad realization.

Elsa Sjöstedt looking at Anouck Darbro. Photo: Emilia Sjöstedt

The kindergarten

When kindergarten and bullying dynamics come back to the fore, how to reverse the trend? How to ensure that everyone, regardless of gender, style, and skill level, finds their place in the park? Alice has an idea: "when I see a girl in the park doing something cool, I give a little 'wooo' of encouragement. The goal is to ski with different people, where everyone learns at their level and where we celebrate each other's small victories." A suggestion that Loïc Pachoud agrees with: "I prefer skiing with groups where everyone cheers up, regardless of the level. In Crans or Leysin, the groups that ride the best are super intimidating. They ignore everyone except their friends. They never get hyped about the tricks of those less skilled than them."

In the distance, pointing its hump out of the cloud shadow, the dreaded knuckle of shame. Photo: Lorenzo Mossi

Depending on the parks, the felt pressure varies. "At Nordkette in Innsbruck, I didn't feel that at all. There are all types of skiers: Bunchers, stars, corposkiers, TikTokers, or Jannis Hoffmann doing broken slides. Everyone encourages and rides together," reports Guillaume. In French-speaking Switzerland too, not all snow parks are equal. "I'm less chill about going to Leysin or Crans than to Verbier. It's an extra pressure; you wonder who will be at the park," says Anouck. In Verbier, the dynamic is different, given the park's more freeride-oriented nature. Even between Crans and Leysin, Loïc observes differences. "In Crans, I find people more uptight than in Leysin. They're the hardcore ones, who stretch the season to the end. The cool ones, with very atypical styles, that's where fashion moves. The image you project as a skier is hugely important in Crans," he analyzes.

The question of ego is inherent in freestyle skiing. We ski in a park for ourselves, but also for the gaze of others. We like to see ourselves in video, receive compliments from our peers. We delight in counting the likes on our latest Instagram post. But when egos become oversized, when performance or style becomes a criterion for hierarchy within the park, and that prevents certain people from frequenting it, the "fun park" is not so fun. Until now, the gaze of others was presented in this article as the source of negative pressure. But it is useful to recall that this same gaze can generate positive pressure. Anouck, among others, has overcome the negative pressure: "It's positive pressure now. I love seeing people who ride well; it pushes me to try to do stylish things." By inviting others to ride with us and encouraging people who don't have the same gender, style, or skill level as us, these dynamics can change. On their scale, everyone can contribute to kill the knuckle of shame.