I grew up in the Sierras during the ’90s—winters were for ski racing, summers for motocross. My idols weren’t celebrities or athletes with sneaker deals—they were Scott Schmidt and Mike Kiedrowski. The era, drenched in techno and cocaine (influences both sonic and sartorial), birthed a fashion ethos that spanned from Parisian runways to the chairlifts of Tahoe: louder, brighter, and aggressively neon. And so,