February 1989 is forever ingrained in my memory as the first time I visited the Swiss ski resort of Saint-Moritz. My family favored its arch-rival Gstaad, which was less fashionable at the time, but my then boyfriend was gunning to socialize with the titans of finance who flocked there. It felt like walking onto the set of a Pink Panther movie: one night, covered in fur blankets, we whizzed through the snow on a horse-drawn sleigh on our way to dinner, the frozen lake beneath us opalescent in the moonlight.
My relationship with the banker was short-lived, but the one I have with Saint-Moritz still endures. Today, it remains exactly as it was then—immodestly stylish, ridiculously fun, and outrageously elitist. It is particularly beloved by Brits, who were the first tourists to travel there, in the 19th century, as well as German and Italian aristocrats, some of whom scoot up from Milan every weekend.
