Culture_Voyeur
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Last week, everyone's favorite male figure skater, Johnny Weir, lost the gold to fellow American, Evan Lysacek. Weir not only missed out on the gold, but didn't even get a medal -- instead coming in 6th.
Lysacek's win has been heralded as a "reclaiming" of the Winter Olympics, of sorts. Masculinity has again triumphed over effeminacy and a new generation of butch figure skaters is supposedly poised to take the stage. In the aftermath of his win, we've already heard Australian radio hosts mock Weir and the sport, while LGBTQ bloggers decry Weir's loss as homophobia. And in the same manner that CBS sought to keep the Super Bowl tightly in its heteronormative grasp, NBC has attempted to reaffirm the Olympics as the ultimate expression of masculinity and heterosexuality. Unfortunately, many of those stereotypes are perpetuated by the (alleged) LGBTQ competitors themselves.
The Winter Olympics have long been seen as the unofficial "gay games," even before the real Gay Games were established in 1982. Much of this perception was born out of the popularity of male's figure skating and the seemingly high number of out gay men who partook in the sport (the same assumptions are made about the Summer Olympics' male gymnastics). Even if they aren’t gay, skaters’ muscular bodies, flashy costumes, and graceful moves leave many fans guessing.
Interestingly, neither of the big-name American male skaters has come out as gay or straight. Weir has released several statements on the matter, my favorite being: "There are some things I keep sacred. My middle name. Who I sleep with. And what kind of hand moisturizer I use." Lysacek's sexuality has been assumed by the growing number of women emerging and identifying as former lovers of the skater. Lysacek has actually remained fairly silent on this matter, and consequently, gay rumors have followed him since his participation in the 2006 games.
Despite not identifying in public as gay or straight (a PR move reminiscent of Hollywood), Weir relishes notoriety and enjoys a level of fame that Mitcham does not. He truly made a name for himself when a video of him skating to Lady GaGa's "Poker Face" hit YouTube, with GaGa herself praising the performance. A documentary on his rising career was then released, which evolved into a reality TV series on the Sundance channel. Weir’s pre-Olympics success was a bit unheard of and his determination to remain so coy about his sexuality is a bit perplexing and disheartening.
The contradictory nature of the games and the heteronormative culture surrounding the Olympics leaves LGBTQ competitors between a rock and a hard place. Although sexuality can be seen as a non-issue on the field, greater mainstream success seems to be enjoyed by those who remain in the closet. Or in the case of Weir, simply ignore the issue altogether. And while we hail Olympians as the pinnacles of athleticism and physical prowess, for gay Olympians, should we still embrace them if they refuse to openly acknowledge their sexuality?
