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The art of the impossible — Serge Dupraz sets his own design path

"The majority of men meet with failure because of their lack of persistence in creating new plans to take the place of those which fail.
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"The majority of men meet with failure because of their lack of persistence in creating new plans to take the place of those which fail. "

- Napoleon Hill

How does it happen that some people can resist the pull of conformity and continue to produce inspiring and enticing new products year after year after year? How do the Steve Jobs and Yvon Chouinards and Martin Scorceses manage the difficult balancing act between damn-the-torpedoes, creative exploration and bottom-line, pay-the-bills economics?

Tough questions. And there are probably no "right" answers. But one thing's clear — stepping off the beaten path and creating your own route to success is fraught with danger. Satisfaction too, of course. But mostly danger. And heartache. And disappointment. And derision. And...

Still, for a certain kind of self-motivated individual, anything less is unimaginable. Creativity is their oxygen. Risk taking is in their life blood. And each of their stories offers an intriguing narrative on how that outlook developed.

Consider the case of legendary snowboard shaper (and now award-winning ski designer) Serge Dupraz. A man who has been on the forefront of glisse technology since the early 1980s, the 51-year-old Frenchman experienced a life-changing moment when he was still very young. "As a child, I was diagnosed with a rare heart defect," he explains, "and the doctors held very little hope for my long-term survival. In fact, they told my parents that unless I underwent a risky, experimental surgical procedure, I probably wouldn't reach my 20s..."

The kid was barely 10 years old. And yet, he was already being asked to contemplate his mortality. "I still remember the night before the surgery," recounts Serge. "I knew how serious this was. Knew how high the risk of not coming out alive was. But I wasn't all that nervous about the outcome. For some reason, I had total faith that things would turn out okay for me."

Dupraz doesn't try to trace the link between that inexplicable youthful optimism and his subsequent career as a cliché-busting board designer. But he does acknowledge the impact the ordeal had on his view of life. "As it turns out," he says, "I was one of the only kids in my era to survive that surgery. And that really affected my attitude. Suddenly it seemed to me that obstacles in life were merely challenges for me to overcome." He smiles — an open, guileless grin that disarms and attracts all at the same time. "I guess I always kinda believed that I was meant to survive that surgery for a reason," he adds. And stops. Shrugs. "I still haven't figured out the reason. But it's made for an interesting path through life..."

Indeed. When last we left Serge last week, it was 1984, and the young surfboard-shaper had just completed his first prototype for what would become the hugely-successful Hot Snowboard line. Inspired more by surf culture than by ski culture, Serge's edgeless, pointy-nosed boards were a joy to ride in the Alps' snowy domains. But if the sport was going to grow in the way Dupraz hoped and expected it to, somebody had to convince the ultra-conservative ski industry du jour that snowboarding was not just some passing fancy.

Like most other mountain professionals in the world, France's ski-hill managers were less than enthusiastic about the new sport. Too dangerous, too disruptive, too youth-oriented: the arguments against allowing one-plankers onto their precious mountain lifts were myriad. So Serge decided to change their perception.

In an attempt to show the industry what the snowboard movement was all about, Dupraz organized a first "gathering of the tribes" in Portes Du Soleil in 1985. Again, the event followed surf culture — riders got to show their stuff on a huge powder slope and were judged on style and line. Serge's Euro Cup event (the first ever snowboard competition in the Alps) exceeded all expectations. And it brought a legitimacy to the sport that didn't exist before. Slowly but surely, mountain managers relented and snowboarders became an everyday sight on the hill.

And slowly but surely, board design evolved and changed to meet the new demand. Dupraz, as usual, was on the leading edge of those changes too. The first French rider to race in foreign snowboard competitions, the 24-year -old was pushing the sport's performance limits on every front. And his design thinking reflected that involvement. One of the first shapers to produce a "carving" board — Hot's One-Sixty — Dupraz's strikingly accessible "all-mountain" design became France's all-time bestseller. And Hot's numbers went through the roof — from 800 boards produced in 1986-87 to over 8,500 in 1989-90!

Meanwhile Hot's Pro Team (the industry's first) was also making waves. Led by the camera-friendly Serge Vitelli, Eric Rey and Dédé Masziewski, the team won championship after championship and showcased the new carving style from Chamonix to Blackcomb Mountain. "It was an exciting time to be in the snowboard business," acknowledges Dupraz. "Seemed in those days like the sport had no limits..." But clouds were building on the horizon.

Rising production costs, desperately bad snow years in the Alps and a licensing conflict with his manufacturer gradually sucked the energy right out of Dupraz. By 1990, the guy was totally burnt out. The man who had started it all in France — the passionate rider, designer and promoter — virtually disappeared from the scene.

"I hate conflicts," he confides. "I hate blackmail; I can't stand dealing with people who have hidden agendas. The battle I was waging with my board manufacturer was tearing me to pieces. I might be naïve — even innocent, if you want — but I got involved in this business to create fun glisse tools. I never did it for the money." He sighs. "Though it broke my heart at the time, dropping out was my only recourse."

But like that old Fred Penner song, the cat just couldn't stay away. By the time the new century had turned, Serge was tired of sitting on the sidelines, watching the sport he'd helped launch become dominated by marketers and salesmen who were far more interested in sold units than soul riding. So the cat came back.

"I couldn't relate to the current boards at all," he tells me. "Snowboarding had gone from a surf-inspired culture to a skate-inspired one. And that was way too small a niche for such a magnificent sport. Besides, I knew there were people like me out there who were looking for a different kind of ride." He shrugs again. And the charisma of the man is immediately apparent. There's a magic to Serge — a light in his eye; a gleam in his smile — that disarms even the most sceptical of critics. "So," he continues, "I gathered a few friends together and unveiled my plan for a new board design that would lead the sport out of the terrain park and back into the mountains. They thought it was a good idea, so I went for it..."

From the moment Serge rode his first test board, he knew he had a winner. "I said to myself: 'this is a whole new generation of boards," he tells me proudly. "And further testing — by me and others — only served to confirm that first impression."

The first D1 board appeared on the market in December of 2003. "Right away," says its designer, "its shape resonated with snow-riders; people who were interested in surfing the mountain, not just posing by the park. It didn't call out to 'snowboarders', it called out to people who wanted to ride..."

As usual though, the market wasn't quite prepared for Dupraz's new design ideas. "Unfortunately, the board's aesthetic — bigger size, pointy nose — reminded many retailers of the 1980s," he explains. "And that scared them. Without even riding the boards, they dismissed them out of hand. Which really surprised me. I thought the snowboard market would totally embrace these new shapes — especially given how much fun they are to ride. The D1's took a lot longer to gain acceptance than I expected..."

It might have taken a long time, but few now would contest his ideas. Today, Dupraz D1's are sought out by big-mountain riders from the Alps to the Andes. Though still a small-series product, the D1's are gaining a following among ride connoisseurs that is even more impressive given the snow-business's tepid support. "We've always operated under the radar," laughs Serge. "We've had virtually no backing from the industry or the media. Fortunately for us, the buzz has come from the ground up. Thank goodness the riders have always supported us."

Which brings us to his latest genre-bending project — the fat-headed, asymmetrical ISPO-winning D2 skis (released this past winter). "I wanted to see if I could design a new ski following the same principles I'd developed with my snowboard shapes," explains Serge. And pauses for a beat. "And the ski judges at ISPO seem to think I succeeded." He sighs in mock despair. "Now all I need is for the ski market to get energized and buy into my design..."