Homestory - Stevie Schneider

Who the fuck is Stevie Schneider

Every now and again, you meet someone who has a perspective on the finer details of the world and life so different that it makes you wish you could grab their specs and experience it for yourself. With two feet firmly on the ground, and likely with his Birkenstocks on the wrong feet just to mess with you, Stevie Fucking Schneider is an enigma of a man in an industry saturated with sheep. When the flock goes left, he shaves his head like a monk.

With so much more to this fascinating Austrian than first meets the eye, who the fuck is Stevie Schneider?

Born and raised in sheltered Salzburg. A wild troublemaker with an insatiable need for attention. I spent a lot of time on my bike – but mostly riding uphill, with my saddle all the way up, and wearing Lycra. I had no idea mountain biking could actually be fun. My horizons were just too narrow.

Then, in 2006, everything changed. At the Adidas Slopestyle in Saalbach, I saw for the first time what’s really possible on a bike. Fascinated, I ditched the Lycra shorts, chopped my cross-country seatpost, and started calling random dirt mounds “jumps.”

My life shifted into gear the day I first walked into the local bike shop. The owners were just as rebellious as I was, maybe even more, and they took me under their wing. They saw something in me: that screw-it mentality that still drives me today.

At the same time, I kicked off my rather mediocre racing career, inspired by the bad boys of the scene: Steve Peat, Nathan Rennie, Chris Kovarik. Money was tight, and getting a sponsor was the only way to stay in the game.

After a few years of European Cup races and military service, things got serious. I started planning and programming home automation systems. And yes, it was exactly as thrilling as it sounds: not at all. I hated that job. And I hated the feeling of wasting my time on something that didn’t fulfill me.

Then came the shoulder injury in Maribor – seven or eight months off the bike. A forced break that turned into my first real-life crisis. I quit, went riding, and ran into a fisherman friend by chance. I told him I didn’t want a job that kept me from biking. He simply asked, “How much money do you need, and how much do you want to work?”

Two days a week, 1,000 Euros a month. Deal.

By the way, I met my wife in that fishery, thanks to a salmon sandwich. Today we have a child together.

After a year as a fisherman, I got a 14,000-Euro disability payout. Instead of flying to Whistler, I invested the money in a part-time degree. Meanwhile, I kept making those absurd Instagram stories, not to go viral, just to entertain my friends. From beer-delivering vacuums to drug-dealing herons, suddenly my profile blew up.

2018 was the turning point: together with my friend and later business partner Frank Marbet, I produced the film Tripin. Suddenly, sponsors started reaching out. With a working Instagram, a finished degree in industrial engineering (I even wrote my thesis on the marketing of our crew “Foolarmy”), and a clear vision, I set out on my own.

I thought, as long as I can scrape together 1,000 Euros a month, I’m good, as long as I work for myself.

At some point, the idea for Flow Drops came up – my own CBD label. In 2020, after a tough sponsor negotiation, I suggested producing something instead of getting paid. Said and done – and it became the most successful organic campaign the company ever had.

Foolhouse Media was born.

Today, there are five of us. I write concepts and direct, Marvin writes scripts and films, and Frank organizes everything. For the past two years, I’ve also been Creative Director at Bikeflip – and now an investor too.

But back to biking.

Through my tyre sponsor back then, I got invited to the Freeride Fiesta in Mexico – my first time hitting really big jumps. Ever since those first Fest Series videos dropped in 2014, I’d wondered what that must feel like. Mexico was my starting shot.

I met riders from all over the world, many of whom are close friends today. At Huckfest in Norway, I finally met Nico Vink. He analyzed my riding and invited me to his Fest Series in Royal Hills. That’s been my main focus ever since. My training is built around landing big airs safely – and crashing safely when things go wrong.

Still, my true love will always be downhill – and loam. Always loam.