To read about Hubertus von Hohenlohe is to encounter a sense of nobility—an aristocratic lineage infused with multiculturalism, rooted in his Mexican heritage and aristocratic European ancestry. To observe Hubertus is to sense a personality defined by a clear origin yet with countless possibilities ahead. He is an endless well of instinctive eclecticism, calculated flamboyance, and athletic bravery. But it’s when you speak to Hubertus von Hohenlohe that you truly discover the depth of his character. Across 66 years of dynamic existence, he has shaped himself into many forms, leaving an indelible mark on music, photography, and—most notably—skiing.

Some articles liken him to the shape of a prism. For every facet, a story. For every alias, a career. For every page of his still-unfinished novel, a desire—or better yet, a vision—that he has often, astonishingly, turned into reality. Like the designs of the Mexican Ski Federation, an institution he founded and represented actively for nearly half a century, spanning six Olympic Games and 19 World Championships. Or his drive to compete with the world’s best skiers, crafting what he himself calls ‘artistic performances,’ not athletic ones, after each gate.

Thanks to Kappa, a brand that found in von Hohenlohe not only a creative but also a friend and a unique ambassador, we’ve been able to unveil a Pandora’s box filled with nothing but positive vibrations: a layered series of fortunate events that tell the story of a journey sometimes curious, occasionally illogical, and at times even unimaginable. It’s the journey of a man who, privileged by the opportunities of his life, carefully selected the experiences that spoke most to his personal muse—transforming them into opportunities and, ultimately, into a singular, self-aware identity.

Athleta’s brand philosophy mirrors the vision of Hubertus von Hohenlohe—a multifaceted perspective that, for over 40 years, has pursued the idea of using the world’s most challenging ski slopes as canvases, as artistic galleries for physical and aesthetic installations. An artist for skiing. A skier for art. And so much more.

“I believe my ski career is more of an artistic installation than a sporting effort. The athletic effort took me skiing around the world, but my performances were always driven by an artistic spirit, a free-spirited energy that mirrors the ethos of British sportsmanship—only elevated to a higher level. I’m referring to competing with elegance, fraternity, and beauty. Looking back, I think there were moments when I could have come much closer to the top. At the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics, I finished the downhill just five seconds behind the winner. I had only trained for a couple of years, with minimal support. To reach my potential, I should have focused solely on skiing for long stretches, but I didn’t feel it was right. My approach to skiing was all about attacking. When I was on the defensive, I felt uncertain, and fear of falling crept in. The more I attacked, the better I felt, and even if I fell, I was more prepared.

In general, I see myself as an artist of life, an artist in the art of combining life, filling it with talents, with meaning, with whatever fits best with my personality. Given my background, I could never have imagined myself as just a professional athlete, or merely an artist, or solely a singer… I have always enjoyed developing talents in parallel: I believe I’m a world champion at blending different lives, different passions. And I believe that this fusion has benefited all of these spheres. It’s the beauty of my condition—the fortune of not having to earn a living from just one specific thing. Beyond that, I think it’s a matter of personal intelligence to understand each situation and adapt accordingly.”

For Hubertus von Hohenlohe, ‘El Tricolor’ represents a significant piece of a magmatic and cosmopolitan whole. The Olympics, sports design, past indifference, and contemporary iconicity are, in this case, chapters in a long and folkloric celebratory relationship, nurtured with respect and a deep understanding of the country’s DNA.

“The origins of this relationship were somewhat frustrating. In Mexico, I tried to create a new kind of personal space, but in the beginning, I wasn’t given much attention. In fact, they simply let me go and compete in the Olympics. Then, they began to realize that I wasn’t so bad and that the Winter Games platform could give the country global exposure. Despite this, media and federal/financial support were slow to come. I understood that I would make progress by incorporating and paying more attention to Mexican culture. So, I started adding elements inspired by the national tradition to my outfits: the pistolero, the mariachi, the Día de los Muertos…

Suddenly, the nation understood that I was defending a culture that I truly felt—and still feel—was my own. After all, I have a Germanic surname, but my grandmother is Mexican, and I was born in Mexico City. The more they gave me the opportunity to tell my story, the more Mexicans fell in love with my performances. Now, we’ve reached a point where they call me ‘La Leyenda del Esquí,’ because they recognize what I’ve done for them. After more than three decades, they’ve come to understand that I’ve defended their colors in the biggest international events, and that I did so with a distinctive, unique style, thanks to my collaboration with Kappa. The brand has allowed me to always do what I wanted to do to celebrate the country through sport design.”

The ‘Omini’ world: a forge of friendships, anecdotes, creativity, and shared aesthetic revolutions. From Marco Boglione to Juventus, and extending into the ski world, which, without the instincts of the prince born in Mexico City, probably wouldn’t be as evolved or entrenched in the professional hyperspace it is today, as demonstrated by the partnership with the U.S. Ski Federation (which we previously discussed here).

“My connection with Kappa began thanks to the city of Turin. I was already friends with Marco Boglione when he was distributing a range of American brands in the Italian market. We were also in contact when Maurizio Vitale passed away, which led to Marco taking over Kappa. We had, and still have, many mutual friends, including the Agnelli family, with whom we shared a great passion for football. I still remember the Kappa tracksuits of Juventus… Before wearing and collaborating with the ‘Omini’ logo, I used to wear tracksuits from other brands, like Bogner and AnziBesson. We’re talking about 1994, the time of the Lillehammer Olympics. FILA was an alternative option, but it was a too-large brand in the skiing world. With Kappa, the connection happened naturally—they immediately suggested we create a tracksuit. We had nothing, just a basic garment to start with.

I often joke that they should dedicate a monument to me in the BasicVillage, because before me, Kappa hadn’t done much in winter sports… Marco Boglione understood the potential of this branch: he’s an incredible person—cultured, cool, stylish. I’m a fan of how he lives; he’s one of those (very few) people you could spend hours with, simply listening to what he says, understanding his vision. He’s an accessible, modern entrepreneur. We’ve always stayed friends. I came into Kappa, at least in their skiing division, as something of a precursor. Even today, I think people draw inspiration from the way I blend style with performance.

The tracksuit I dedicated to Juventus has certainly become iconic. I had to compete in Sestriere, and I asked myself how I could make people cheer for me. It was 1997, and I requested the Juventus design on the suit, the same one Lippi wore on the bench. Kappa was the team’s sponsor. It wasn’t made from technical fabrics, but the cheering at the start was incredible. I even changed the letters of the sponsor’s logo at the time, SONY, to ‘SONO IO’ (‘It’s Me’). It was all a playful statement. One of my favorite tracksuits remains the ‘pistolero’ one in Vancouver, 2010, during the Giant Slalom. For the two Slalom runs, I wore two suits with a recycling theme. I’ve always been an early environmentalist. I wanted to raise awareness about this topic. The ‘Dia de los Muertos’ design became equally famous. In Pyeongchang, 2018, I touched on another theme close to Mexico, the masks of lucha libre. I reached a point where people were actually waiting to see my outfits. NBC even awarded them twice as the best outfits of the Games.”

The art of the Beautiful Game and the fascination with the ‘Joga Bonito’ ideal: a common thread that runs through many spheres of the von Hohenlohe cosmos, echoed through memories of ‘Zizou,’ photo shoots with the ‘Galácticos,’ and a business world that has become increasingly less emotional and, consequently, less captivating.

“Football has always been something I’ve loved. When I lived in Spain, I was a fan of both Málaga and Real Madrid. Later, given the close relationship between my family and the Agnelli family, I became ‘friends’ with Juventus. I’ve done a lot of things in contact with footballers, especially as part of my career as a photographer. I’ve photographed figures like Ibrahimović and Nedved, for example. Until recently, I was passionate about the world of football, but then the economic logics changed it, stripping it of that ‘Joga Bonito’ element, and my connection to it diminished as well. I’m not a fan of the ‘big business, little heart’ model. I’m all for positive showbusiness, the kind that actually transmits something—especially a sense of ‘honesty.’ Watching personalities like Zidane was extraordinary. In a way, they conveyed a moral essence. I love when human fragility merges with the sporting element. What I’m not interested in, however, are the competitions to see who has the bigger watch, which have become so typical of modern football. I’ve even had the opportunity to do a photo shoot with Zidane and Real Madrid. I showed up with just a Leica in hand, no lights or makeup. In just a few minutes, I was done. I believe that if you’re inventive, you don’t need much. That day, Beckham was also on set, and I was particularly drawn to his presence. At the end of the shoot, the players referred to me as the perfect photographer.”

Defining iconicity is a rare craft. Doing so across multiple fronts, including photography, is even rarer. In the case of Hubertus von Hohenlohe, it seems to come as a natural need, a tangible drive to discover ever-new tools and narrative methods aimed at conveying an intimate world, yet visible to all. Paparazzi included.

“I first picked up a digital camera in 2000 because I was always losing the rolls of my analog film. When I began seeing the immediate results of my photographs, I realized I could create that kind of art instinctively. Then, I took a photo of my mother, in front of the mirror, as she was putting on makeup, while I waited. That shot became famous, and it made me think I could tell my life’s story like a paparazzo. Actually, better than a paparazzo. That’s when I started my series of ‘artistic selfies,’ which quickly gained traction. A photographer had done something similar in the 1950s and 60s, and this approach fit very well with my style, my life divided between sports, art, and music. I was constantly in positions where I had the opportunity to photograph, so I decided to become a witness to the places and moments I lived and continue to live. I didn’t want to waste the chance to be in the right place at the right time. Over the years, I’ve evolved this photographic style—one that plays with reflections—and now I feel I’ve reached the point of its fullest maturation.”

Milan-Cortina on the horizon, decades of Winter Olympics behind. The bond between the ‘Leyenda del Esquí’ and the Olympic rings is not merely an artistic-sporting journey—it is a testament, a rich biography, the quintessence of a dream’s longevity, inevitably transformed by time and the changing tides of history.

“I must say, I’m fortunate to have participated in the Olympic Games when everyone was still together. These were the years before cell phones… Back then, you’d talk and socialize with whoever sat next to you. You’d end up playing foosball in the common game room: Senegalese Lamine Gueye was incredibly good. We had a great time. In Lillehammer, in 1994, I met my wife, Simona (Gandolfi, editor’s note), in the Olympic village. Interestingly, it was February 14th, Valentine’s Day. Her cousin, Alberto Tomba, introduced us. Sarajevo ’84 was another special edition. Culturally, it was a unique experience in my life: I represented Mexico for the first time, marching before Tito in an Ellesse suit I designed with Erwin Stricker. It became iconic because it featured the sea, the sun, and a cactus. Some of the performances from those days are still remembered in history. ABC had exclusive broadcasting rights, and we got to see legendary musicians like John Denver perform for us. In ’84, I also had fun because I took part in all the disciplines. By the end of the Games, I was absolutely exhausted… Today, I think the Olympics have become a bit too large, with too many team events and an inflation of medals. The risk is that the true meaning of the Games may be lost, and that athletes might no longer experience the real Olympic spirit.”