By Elsbeth van Paridon
Forget hibernation. This winter season, which kicked off last November, China’s slopes are running 24/7, some gondolas are sponsored by Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, and the real competition isn’t on the leaderboard–it’s on the socials.
The 2025-26 ski season is in full swing right now over here in the Middle Kingdom, and we’re talking “full” full. Not “cozy fireplace and mulled wine” full. More like “8-a.m. gondola queues, midnight floodlit slaloms and a disturbing number of people in neon doing cartwheels off jumps” full.
And yes, the turtles are back.
For the uninitiated: the “turtle puff”–a plush, butt-cushioning piece of apparel worn by beginners (and honestly, also by pros who know a good thing when they sit on it)–has become the unofficial mascot of China’s ski boom. You see them everywhere: wobbling down bunny slopes, photobombing influencer shoots, occasionally being towed up lifts by exasperated friends.
But this season, the turtles have company. Welcome to winter, Chinese style–where the slopes are lit, literally, and the cameras are always rolling.
The Cold Rush, Now With Even More Rush
From the picturesque peaks of the Altay region in Xinjiang, renowned as one of the birthplaces of skiing, to the slopes of Chongli in Hebei Province, a main venue for the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympic Games, skiing has transformed from a niche elite pursuit into a full-blown cultural movement.
Back in 2015, when Beijing won the 2022 Olympic bid, China made a promise that sounded almost absurd: 300 million people engaged in ice and snow sports by… 2022. Skeptics scoffed. Infrastructure didn’t exist. Skiing was a niche hobby for the ultra-wealthy and the occasional expat.
Then the country went and built an entire winter industry from scratch–654 ice rinks, 803 ski resorts, high-speed rail lines to mountains that barely had roads a decade ago. By the time the Olympic flame was lit at the Bird’s Nest national stadium in Beijing, 346 million people had participated in winter sports. The promise wasn’t just kept. It was obliterated.
Today, the country has 748 ski resorts in operation, including 66 indoor centers, according to The 2024-25 China Ski Industry White Paper released in late August 2025.
All in all, since the Games, the sport has attracted more and more thrill-seekers and trendsetters alike. But this season feels different. This season, the sport has “arrived.” Trust this author, seeing is believing.
On lifestyle bible and e-commerce platform Xiaohongshu (RedNote), the hashtag “skiwear” had amassed nearly two million posts as of February 12. On Douyin, the numbers are almost too embarrassing to print–let’s just say if every ski video uploaded this winter were laid end to end, they’d reach the moon. Twice. I exaggerate, but you get the point – insert wink.
For many young Chinese skiers, style and swagger have become just as important as mastering the art of carving fresh powder. Actually, let me rephrase: “more” important. Because what’s the point of shredding if your followers don’t see it?
Elsbeth in ski outfit
The Infrastructure of Desire
Getting your ski on as a resident of the capital, including yours truly, is almost embarrassingly easy. The slopes await you a hop, a skip and a one-hour journey by high-speed rail from Beijing to, e.g., Chongli.
Fun fact: In 2025, whilst swooshing toward blizz bliss, the train announcements gave away just how commercialized this whole phenomenon had already become, stating, “Welcome to the Xiaohongshu ski line! Next station: Chongli.”
Yes, the Xiaohongshu ski line. With QR codes on every seatback linking to live ski cams and #skiwear challenges. The gondolas at major resorts this 2025-26 powder-carving season feature Douyin-branded wraps, and some even have built-in ring lights for that perfect mid-air selfie.
The message is unmistakable: you’re not just going skiing. You’re going “content farming.”
And the logistics to doing so are almost insultingly smooth–this author would know. Allow me to describe a recent impromptu day trip:
At 7:30 a.m., you board the high-speed rail at Beijing North (one second-class ticket: roughly €13, coffee from the platform vending machine: acceptable). By 9 a.m., you’re stepping off the train in Taizicheng, Hebei Province, a purpose-built ski town that literally did not exist a decade ago. Inside the station, massive, heated and humming with the low-grade urgency of people who have places to fall, there’s a full-service gear rental outlet the size of a city-center Decathlon. Ski apparel–this author, unsurprisingly so, owns her own, boots, skis, poles, helmet (with or without camera): suited and booted plus paid for in under 15 minutes.
Outside, a free shuttle bus waits to ferry you to your resort of choice–Thaiwoo, Wanlong, Yunding, Ruyi (the hottest slope of this winter season), and another few–because here, you have options. Thirty minutes later, you’re at a ticket counter buying exactly the pass you want: four hours for €30 (for the lightweight), a full day for €50 (respectable) or the full 24-hour experience–day plus night skiing–for €60 (unhinged, but admirable).
By 10 a.m., you’re shuffling forward in the queue for the seat lift, snow underfoot, the first run stretching out before you like a promise you’re not entirely sure your quads can keep.
What to wear when filmed from 17 angles
The sartorial choices of Chinese ski enthusiasts have evolved dramatically over the past few years. Gone are the bulky, rental-grade snowsuits of yesteryear. In their place: A riot of color, texture and brand consciousness that would make a Milan runway blush.
Trending this winter on platforms like Douyin and RedNote have been styles like “colorful mountain” (exactly what it sounds like—clashing brights), “dopamine skiwear” (neon, but make it emotional) and the newly emergent “oldschool revival” featuring retro color-blocking from the 1990s that Chinese Gen Zs have decided is cool again.
The “dopamine dressing” trend first made waves in China’s style scene in summer 2023. The underlying theory is simple: By choosing colorful clothing over drab options, we can boost our dopamine levels and feel happier. This winter, that philosophy has, like one year ago, gone supernova. This author has seen grown adults in full rainbow catsuits arguing passionately about the psychological benefits of hot pink. Ok, that last bit is a bit of a fib.
Homegrown heat
But they don’t automatically look to international brands to find their ultimate mix and match. There’s a cool crop of local labels redefining ski fashion.
Established names like Anta and Li-Ning offer designs that blend traditional Chinese elements with contemporary flair, think cloud patterns on technical shells, calligraphy-inspired graphics on snowboards.
Meanwhile, domestic up-and-comers like Snow Legend, which uses advanced materials to enhance performance in cold weather conditions, are proving that homegrown talent can compete with global hardhitters. New for this season, Vector, a domestic brand founded by former pro snowboarders, has gained cult status for its minimalist aesthetic and technical fabrics that rival Arc’teryx at half the price.
“”It’s not all about ‘high-end,'” says Filipe Porto, a Beijing-based Brazilian researcher and devout winter sports aficionado. “Even amid the luxury vibes of Descente, as seen in Chongli, you’ll discover that many resorts are dotted with brand stores offering more affordable options. Think Chinese label NOBADAY, or the new kid on the block, OVERIDE. Whether you’re just starting out or going full pro mode, you can find the right gear.”
The Night Shift: Where the Real Economy Awakens
Now, here’s where it gets interesting–and where the official “night economy,” or economic activities between 6p.m. and 6 a.m., policy stops being a buzzword and starts being a visible, spendable reality.
“When I first heard about the ‘1.5-day ticket’ at the Yunding Ski Resort, I thought it was a quirky concept,” Porto says. “But it turned out to be a really cool way to enjoy skiing at night. Resorts pause briefly to groom the slopes, and then it’s back to carving through the floodlights.”
That ticket isn’t just a convenience for night owls. It’s a deliberate extension of the economic day.
Across China’s major ski resorts, night operations now generate an estimated 30-40 percent of total daily revenue, according to industry insiders. The math is simple: Daylight hours are fixed, but consumer appetite isn’t. By keeping lifts running until 10 p.m., resorts effectively double their capacity without building new slopes.
But the skiing itself is just the beginning.
Walk through any resort village after dark and you’ll see the real engine of the winter night economy: hot pot restaurants packed at 9 p.m., their windows steamy against the cold. Craft beer bars with outdoor heaters and branded ski videos playing on loop. Equipment rental shops, open 24/7 like the Decathlon contender at Taizicheng Station, doing a brisk second shift as evening skiers return gear and morning skiers pick up theirs in advance. Spas and hot springs fully booked until midnight, catering to bodies that spent the day crashing into snow.
The numbers back this up.
With 26 million skier days recorded in the 2024-25 season, the Chinese ski market is experiencing spectacular growth. The 2024-25 China Ski Industry White Paper provided this official count of how many times last winter people said “I’ll just go once more” and meant it.
According to data from the China Ski Industry Report released in late 2025, China’s winter sports industry saw a historic start to its 2025-26 ice and snow season, with ski resorts nationwide reporting 35 million visits in the first month alone, a 10-percent year-on-year increase.
Night skiing participation grew 67 percent year on year in winter season 2024-25, according to an earlier industry report, with spending per visitor averaging 30 percent higher than daytime equivalents. Why? Because night skiers are more likely to stay for dinner, drinks and often lodging, turning a day trip into an overnight stay.
Stay tuned for this season’s numbers–they’re going to be cold, hard and very, very interesting.
The photographers never sleep
Speaking of staying open late: remember those picture-perfect shots everyone’s chasing?
Here’s what’s really fantastic about skiing at many of China’s resorts–day or night. You’re hurtling down a slope at 8 p.m., floodlights casting dramatic shadows. Instead of fumbling with a phone, you glide past photographers stationed at prime locations, ready to snap you at your finest.
You then scroll through the “Go Ski” app, filter by, for example, outfit color and purchase your own professional action shots. The photographers work in shifts; the cameras keep clicking until the last lift closes.
“Just select the resort and a filter, and see if a ‘paparazzo’ caught you. Simple as that!” Porto says. “This season, they’ve added a ‘night mode’ filter that highlights shots taken under the floodlights–perfect for that dramatic après-ski socials post.” This author concurs.
Those photos aren’t just souvenirs. They’re user-generated content, freely shared across platforms, driving more people to the slopes, extending the season’s reach and creating an endless feedback loop of desire.
The Bottom Line
This isn’t accidental. It’s engineered.
China’s night economy policy, first articulated in 2019 and refined ever since, explicitly encourages extended operating hours, diversified nighttime offerings, and the infrastructure to support them. Winter provides the perfect stress test: If you can keep people spending after dark in sub-zero temperatures, you can keep them spending anywhere.
So, as we glide through the peak of winter–right now, this very moment, with months of snow still ahead–one thing is clear:
China has not just embraced winter sports. It has monetized them, around the clock, in the cold and with considerable style.
Now if you’ll excuse me, the Chinese New Year’s holiday is here (February 16-23) and I have a 7- p.m. gondola to catch—decked out in neon orange.
(The author is a Beijing-based Dutch Sinologist and journalist who explores China through the lens of Fashion and Urban Culture. She works as an editorial consultant at China’s only English-language newsweekly Beijing Review, where she writes, edits and hosts video series, as well as runs her own website: Chinatemper.com)
