Park City isn’t just a town. It’s a full-time identity. A brand. A way of life. Of course, that means different things to different people. And in the ongoing quest to figure out what we want to be, we have to start with who we are — or at least who we pretend to be.

Peer reviewed by no one and observed in the wild, what follows is my nowhere-near-scientific field guide to some of the characters who call this place home. You know, the ones who’ve made Park City their whole personality.

Cali Yoga Mama Lululemonus cameltolius

Markings: Golden Goose sneakers, Alo leggings, $500 tie-dye hoodie. Frequently travel in packs.

Habitat: Wandering the supplement aisle at Whole Foods with their emotional support goldendoodle, front and center in the hottest room at PC Yoga Collective and the corner table at Cupla, surreptiously adding their own Ballerina Farm raw milk into a $19 Lavender London Fog.

Observations: Radiate new-moon energy and frequently reference their “journey,” which may or may not have involved ayahuasca and some guy named Javier. Usually accessorized by a small human named Sparrow. Certified in Reiki and toddler somatics.

Pickleball Posse Levelium quinque

Markings: Fluorescent yellow Vuori skirt, mirrored visor and extreme outfit-of-the-day energy.

Habitat: Any available court. Preferably after bumping out the 3.5s.

Observations: Take their game as seriously as their divorce lawyer recos. Often seen arguing line calls, applying Arnica to their bruised egos and texting their AI therapist between sets.

CyberTruck Cynic Douchebagus majoris

Markings: Black T-shirt, off-brand aviators and an aggressive sense of entitlement.

Habitat: Parked sideways in the cart return at The Market.

Observations: Rarely seen outside their vehicle except when self-driving down State Route 248 while double-flipping off the people flipping them off. Believes rules are for people who drive RAV4s.

Tailgate Tommy Brodudicus sickradicus

Markings: Carhartt beanie, Pit Vipers and a Snowbird hoodie that smells like bongwater served in an empty Modelo can.

Habitat: PCMR parking lot with brats on the grill and a handle of Fireball in a snowbank.

Observations: Extreme stoke, zero boundaries and a firm belief that Vail Resorts turning the open lot at Canyons into a parking garage was the single worst decision in ski-town history. Often seen slapping the bag and rage-grilling from a broken camp chair.

Mountain Brah Yosuhbruhmium Whatupbrolicus

Markings: Baggy shorts, no visible spandex, full-face helmet, and elbow and knee scars that look like a grizzly bear attack.

Habitat: Tacoing a front wheel on the last jump on Tsunami or dialing in a line on Red Bull cuz that zone is sick, brah. Airdropping dope content for the ‘gram over the post-ride beers on the tailgate of their Toyota Tacoma.

Observations: Frequently observed in deep debates over tire pressure, stoke levels, optimal GoPro angles and whether Strava is tool for growth or the downfall of humanity.

NoName Nomad JimBeamicus Emeritus

Markings: Grey beard, old Levis, down vest, triple flannel and an expression that says “I’ve been sitting at this bar since before you were born.”

Habitat: The corner barstool with a shot and a beer.

Observations: Still telling their friends to meet them at The Alamo. Occasional eyerolls at influencers in cowboy hats. Frequently convinced they’re the last real local left in this town.

DABC Cashiers Ucantmakemesmilium

Markings: Navy blue polo, hardened expression and the dead eyes of someone who’s waited on one too many 50-something out-of-towners who forgot their ID.

Habitat: The state-run liquor store that feels more like the DMV, only with longer wait times.

Observations: You’re buying 15 bottles of wine and you still have to ask if you can have a box even though there are 57 empty ones piled up at the end of the checkout. Rarely smiles except after out-of-towners who forgot their ID leave the store empty-handed.

And there you have it. This is by no means a comprehensive list. The species is constantly evolving. And multiplying.

In a recent interview with KPCW, the owner of this newspaper said he doesn’t think Park City knows what it wants to be. Maybe we do have an identity crisis — but not because we don’t know who we are. Maybe it’s because we’re still deciding who we want to become. And maybe that’s the most honest kind of vision there is.

But then again, I’m just here taking notes.