24/25 Commander 92 - Graphic Blem

GRAPHIC ISSUE - Due to misprints during the graphic production process, these graphics aren't as bold or dark as the regular production run. The blacks all have a green tint to them on the topsheet. This does not affect the performance, construction, durability, or warranty of the ski in any way.   We’ll be the first to admit that we’ve always had a need for speed, and nothing goes better with corduroy than titanal and tight dimensions. So naturally, the prospect of putting out a hard-carving frontside ski the way we believe one should be built had us pretty keen. Turns out, we weren’t alone, there are plenty of you out there who—like us—see the need for a sub-100mm-waisted hardpack destroyer with dual-metal laminates and a vertical-sidewall construction worthy of a raceroom where all the techs sound like the Terminator.    The Commander 92 is a ripper, unlike anything we’ve ever had in the mix before. As capable of snapping you from turn to turn on bulletproof boilerplate as it is easily dumping out of a max-G arc before you lose your breakfast. Faster engagement, supreme composure, maximum support, and a painstakingly refined sidecut and flex profile pair with a touch deeper tail rise than you’ll find on most frontside skis make for something new entirely.    Strong, substantial, and precise, but shockingly compliant and accessible. While taking it off-piste is definitely possible—even enjoyable in the right conditions—we won’t feed you some “destroys groomers but dominates the entire mountain!” bullshit—that’s marketing fluff and we both know it. No place for that here.    We build skis with a purpose. Not some boardroom-approved target demographic. The Commander 92 is as close as we ever want to get to a pure carving ski and frankly, that’s what we plan to do with it ourselves. Turn fast and kick ass. Might even sport a headband, some fast boi shades, and some denim if we’re feeling it. It’s that kinda vibe.    Hopefully you’re here for it. If not, no sweat—just don’t come whining to us when you get your doors blown off halfway down headwall.