Right, confession time. Back before I owned a passport, this is how I spent most of my time...
Given such photographic evidence, it should come as no surprise that the 2012 European Figure Skating Championships, held in Sheffield last weekend, proved too much for me to resist. Indeed, I have been planning to attend them since last summer. While I could go on (and on, and on) about the skating, I shall spare you the technical details (such as my outrage regarding a certain C. Kostner's pathetic jump content) and share instead cultural observations of a somewhat more general nature...
Outer London looks like Poland - or anywhere else in Northern/Central Europe.
A somewhat facile observation to be starting with, but nonetheless true. Seriously - look at it:
I took this photo in Enfield, aka outer Mongolia, whilst waiting for a lift from my friend and fellow FS (that's figure skating to insiders, one of which you can now pretend to be) aficionado. If the generic US landscape is punctuated by Wal-mart and Home Depot, then surely this is the Northern European equivalent - garden centres, tons of signs for little stall-type shops with disparate fonts, etc. I would have photographed the collection of gazebos/mini-chatas across the street, but I dropped my hat in the mud and became preoccupied with cleaning it before I got the chance. Oh well, if I don't know what Monty's does/sells, at least I know where I can go to acquire a reptile, should one ever be required.
National stereotypes are alive and well in Europe. Any Euro-skeptics bemoaning the culturally homogenizing effects of the European Union are clearly not watching enough figure skating, where kitschy nods to one's homeland apparently constitute an attempt at artistry. The Italian and French skaters seem particularly invested in reductive expressions of nationality. They appear to have conflated their styles into a single entity I shall call mediterranean-sexy, which can be further broken down into sub-types a) vintage (Breton tops, suspenders, accordian music - see Samuel Contesti) and b) Pigalle (jazzy music, revealing costumes - see Valentina Marchei and Mae Berenice Meite). On the other end of the spectrum (apart from the unfortunate, Marilyn Monroe-channeling Ksenia Makarova), are the Dramatic Russian Skaters (black costume, moody music - see Artur Gachinski and Polina Koreybinikova). Nordic Snow Princess is another clearly demarcated category, the apotheosis of which must surely be Swedish champion Viktoria Helgesson's fur-cuffed long programme dress. More disturbing manifestations of ethno-packaging include Yretha Silete's jungle-themed program, the problematic nature of which nearly merits its own post.
English audiences are a bit rubbish, really... at least when it comes to watching female athletes. Any time an attractive woman who appeared to have reached the age of consent took to the ice, she was greeted with wolf-whistling and other caveman-esque accolades. Classy, gents. I shudder to think what's going to happen at the London Olympics. Perhaps all female gymnasts should be issued earplugs.
Celebrity culture has infiltrated women's skating. This is in no way an apologia for the hooting men of Sheffield, who, to be fair, may not all have been English, but I can't help but query the decision to present oneself for athletic competition decked out like a showgirl. The International Skating Union attempted to deal with this issue in the 1980s, when Katarina Witt showed up in this outfit, the first version of which was sans feathers and cut high up the hips, Las Vegas style. A new rule was introduced, dictating that all clothing must be "modest, appropriate and suitable for athletic competition" (this also ruled out tights on men, by the way). Perhaps many of the Euro-ladies spent the off-season reading Catherine Hakim and are consciously attempting to invoke their erotic capital in pursuit of sports glory. I'm not convinced though. What child dreams of ascending to Olympic heights dressed as Marilyn Monroe? That said, as I type this, it occurs to me that perhaps I shall one day look back on KM's Monroe-themed program with nostalgia as someone attempts to land a triple-triple combination dressed as Kim Kardashian. Too horrifying to contemplate! Quick, here's something else to look at:
Eventual winner, Carolina Kostner of Italy, left, with Makarova-as-Marilyn, right, in pink. See? Not so bad...
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