Further to a Pique'n column a few weeks back on Whistler men, we today present a few Whistler women. As you most certainly are aware, men are flawed but women are mostly flawless. To the lads who balk at this: Just think of your mother.
Born-and-bred athlete: Watch out. This elusive woman has everything going for her. She grew up here, so she's fit, active — and well aware of the type of man who is attracted to Whistler. She is full-on fun but guarded. She can pick out the transient dude or the manolescent at 50 paces. She may be looking for someone but you don't stand a chance unless you come with a small portfolio or a down payment for a condo. And clean hair. And you can't keep up with her on the mountain. Oh, you'll try, and you have the choice of either gracefully accepting your defeat, or getting pissed off because you kinda feel like a girl — at which point she'll just smirk, flick her hair, and off she'll go.
Tipoff: She's got that Whistler look: flowing hair, rosy cheeks (on her face). You think she is a snob, but she's just smart. She can make a wicked pad thai but you'll never get to taste it, hence that gnawing in your belly.
The whirlwind: She comes for the skiing or boarding, eager to rip it up. Trouble is she comes in the fall and has to wait several months for the snow season to begin. No worries. She has a ton of adventures in the meantime. She probably works in the restaurant or bar industry. The nightlife, the wine and the shooters. The sleep-ins and the sleepovers. She doesn't give a rat's ass what you think, nor should she. When you take her out for dinner tonight, she'll tell you about her date last night with that smoldering guy who works in the restaurant. You feel used.
Tipoff: She wakes up after noon. She's fond of yoga pants and a ripped and faded T-shirt that says, "Bite me." Her happy style is infectious and irresistible. If you show signs of becoming attached, she will dump you. She will be here for a few seasons, then move on. You will always think of her as the one who had "issues." She scares you a bit.
The city lover: She embraces the mountains, the clean air and the running trails. She's always freezing as she refuses to wear fleece — it not being a natural fibre. You'd like to introduce her to the biking trails, but you fear she would be wearing nail polish for the ride and obsess over the mud on her little white socks. She would. You worry that your bros would think she's a princess. She is. You think she could toughen up, put on the damn fleece and stop blow-drying her hair. She won't. She'll disappoint you when you see her hand-in-hand with the long-haired, soulful-eyed dude from the sandwich shop.
The tipoff: She has the city uniform: Tight jeans, a good watch, shoes — not boots — and a surprising amount of leather. She will ask for gluten-free and soy. She has not eaten a burger in seven years. She doesn't know what she's looking for but the sandwich-shop dude takes her mind off that. You hate him and his tapenade-on-everything ways.
The professional: You've seen her in the village. She wears heels and cute skirts and turns heads. Whistler men are intimidated because she has purpose. Also because she never uses the word "party" as a verb. She can be flirty, but mostly doesn't bother with you. It's a little crushing to all the carefree baggy-pants men who get frustrated because she's so out of reach. She carries lip gloss in three colours in her bag. And possibly a spreadsheet of her monthly expenses to chart her savings so she's ready when a unit comes up in Cheakamus. You don't figure in her plans.
The tipoff: She comes across as aloof. It is called maturity. You love her sophistication and her style. Sadly, you have none of that to complement hers. You contemplate going corporate so she'll notice you, so you shave your three-day growth but all you are left with is a red, itchy face. You'd like to ask her if she knows of a good men's shave balm for that, but you think that's the worst opening line ever. And you are right.
It's a resort-jungle out there. Good luck.
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