Updated April 24, 2025
Look, we’ve all done it.
Got caught up in the marketing.
Thought, “This is the one. This board/binding/whatever is going to change everything.”
And sometimes, yeah—it delivers. But other times? Not so much.
But this isn’t a teardown. It’s not a rage post. It’s just the kind of unsolicited debrief you’d get from me in the car park after a few beers laps.
Here are a few pieces of snowboard gear I spent real money on, rode in real conditions—and ultimately regretted. Hopefully, this saves you a bit of cash.
1. A Board That Was Too Versatile
Yep, this one hurts.
I bought into the quiver killer myth.
The “do-it-all” board with the perfect directional twin shape, medium flex, some carbon stringers, a fast base. You know the one.
Think the Jones MT, CAPiTA DOA, Yes Standard, Burton Custom. Every influencer swears one of them is the one board to rule them all. Totally unbiased, of course. No financial incentives whatsoever. Right?
It should have worked. And to be fair, it kind of did… but it never excelled at anything.
Decent in powder. Decent on groomers. Decent in the park. But it never made me grin the way a more specialised board does. Turns felt fine, but never exciting. Pow days were okay, but I missed the float. Park laps? Just stiff enough to suck the fun out of them.
I sold it after one season.
Lesson learned:
“Versatile” often just means “kind of boring.”
In reality, experienced riders are better off with a small quiver. I now rotate between a proper powder board and a playful all-mountain twin, depending on the day.
2. The “Ultralight” Jacket That Couldn’t Hack a Chairlift
It looked good on paper. Minimalist, breathable, great colour. Marketed as “backcountry-ready” but barely held up to an overcast day at a French resort.
I won’t name names here (I’m not trying to get sued this year), but the takeaway is this:
Lightweight doesn’t mean versatile.
If you mostly ride resorts—and especially if you ride lifts in weather—ultralight shells with no insulation, no lining, and one token pit zip are often more frustrating than functional. I was cold, damp, and constantly adjusting layers. Meanwhile, my old slightly heavier jacket that I left at home? Would’ve been perfect.
What I wear now:
A midweight thirtytwo shell with proper venting and space for layering. Nothing fancy, just something that doesn’t feel like tissue paper on a windy chairlift. I’m also able to attempt euro-carves without fearing a wardrobe malfunction – my elbows are for my wife’s eyes only!
3. A Super-Stiff Binding I Had No Business Using
I got talked into a pair of carbon-heavy freeride bindings by a friend who (thinks he) rides like Jeremy Jones. I do not ride like JJ. Not even close.
These things were so stiff, I felt like I was riding ski boots. I couldn’t tweak anything, and every tiny movement got over-translated to the board. They were probably great for aggressive, high-speed carvers—but for me? They just made everything feel robotic.
What I ride now:
Union Ultras. Medium flex, good board feel, no calf pain. I’ll take slightly less precision for way more comfort, any day.
4. Those “Game-Changer” Magnetic Lens Swap Goggles
You know the ones (Anon M2’s… sorry Burton).
I was so excited to use them, right up until I fumbled a lens while wiping them down in a whiteout. Suddenly that quick lens change felt a lot less clever.
Magnetic goggles are cool—until they aren’t.
I also lost a lens mid-run once, admittedly after a very heavy collision (not my fault of course). I spent half a day riding with my glove over my face trying to avoid snow blindness. Yes, they look amazing in marketing shots, but if you’re riding real terrain in real conditions, the convenience can come with trade-offs.
My setup now:
Still use magnetic goggles, but only with a secure locking system. Shoutout Smith I/O Mags. And I always carry a second lens in a hard case—not stuffed into a jacket pocket.
Disclaimer: In fairness, magnetic systems have come a long way since that lens-flinging incident a decade ago (yes, I’m old). These days, if you choose a well-rated one with a proper locking system, you’re probably fine.
Honourable Mentions (Near Misses)
Some gear I sidestepped—and haven’t looked back.
▶ CLEW Bindings
Touted as the step-in solution for traditional boots, but in practice? A clunky hybrid that combines the drawbacks of both systems. Angry Snowboarder summed it up best: plasticky build, awkward to engage, and weirdly overcomplicated. If your binding looks like it came from a Kickstarter video, I’m out.
▶ Snowboard Brake Systems
Every few years, someone decides snowboards need built-in brakes. They don’t. If you can’t stop your board, the solution probably isn’t a pair of deployable metal spikes.
▶ Audio Beanies
Great idea in theory—music, no cables, no hassle. In reality: garbage sound, break after one wash, and block out everything going on around you. Also: nothing like getting yelled at by ski patrol and having no idea because your beanie’s blasting lo-fi beats into your skull.
▶ Trigger Mitts (Yeah, I Know)
Some people love them. I get it. But to me, they’re a compromise that doesn’t win either way. You don’t get the full warmth of mittens, or the dexterity of gloves. Plus, that lone index finger always seems to be the first to freeze. Hard pass.
Final Thoughts
I’m not saying any of this gear was outright bad. For the right rider, in the right conditions, with the right expectations—it probably all works great.
But snowboarding isn’t textbook. What works on paper doesn’t always translate to the hill.
And whilst you might dismiss this article as the ramblings of an aged (or wise?) old snowboarder, if there’s a point here, it’s this:
Be honest about how you ride. Don’t get sucked into gear FOMO and marketing waffle. Just because it’s new, or light, or carbon, or pro-endorsed, doesn’t mean it’s going to make your riding more fun.
Some of the best days I’ve had were on gear that never once got called “tech-forward” or “industry-leading.” But it worked and it let me focus on my riding—not the specs.
