Spectacle: When No One Wins

Whatever boys: if you lost the pink ribbon and sequins, this could be Batman from behind

I feel like an Olympic-themed “What the eff?!” entry should start with a disclaimer:  I know that athlete’s style in play has less to do with what they want to wear than what have to wear.  Whether that’s to  give them a one-millionth of a second’s edge over their competitors or satisfy their leaders’ secret love of clown costume, it’s not fair to make comments on outfits they would never otherwise wear.

Yeah well, you know what else isn’t fair?  The fact that while I will cover these Olympics with the aid of my trusty laptop and cable TV access, this child is at the 2010 Games, reporting on the action while rubbing elbows with the rest of CTV’s J-team elite: Lloyd…. James….Tim…

Eugh- maybe this is more of a blessing than I realized.

Anyway, let’s look at the best of the worst from this week at the Winter Games.

Norway’s Brotherhood of the Travelling Pants

When diamonds are NOT a girl's best friend

Oh man.  I love me some argyle as much as the next person.  It’s ideal for those  “I’m-too-lazy-to-coordinate-something-for-work-I’ll-wear-this-argyle-sweater-Who-doesn’t-love-argyle?” days.  But this…this was less of an offense to the senses than a waving white flag disguised as anything but.  When you’re running (sliding?) around on the ice sporting these, you’re probably also about one pack of Depends away from a nice, long vacation at the Raisin Ranch.  Not exactly intimidating stuff.  Fittingly, Norway’s curlers were outfitted by a Sonoma-based company called “Loudmouth Golf” – I’d say they were roundly warned, but this could be a case of lost in translation.

Ukranian Fashion Foiled!

Ukrainian pairs team Tatiana Volosozhar and Stanislav Morozov trade frills for foil

Again with the disclaimer: It’s a well-known fact that, for as long as 12 year-old girls have made up the vast majority of the world’s figure skating audience, cheeseball costumes have been a neccessity.  The frillier, the fluffier, the more swoon-worthy and similar to, say, Tuxedo Mask, the better.  So it’s almost no surprise how much flack the Ukraine got for their choice to kit out their pairs skaters in a shiny, clinical blue unitard uncomfortably reminiscent of some kind of space-age IUD.  Figure skating may be fruity as hell, but your little sister Jessica just isn’t yet ready for Star Trek’s failed fetish line.  And speaking of figure skating….

Johnny’s Weir-d, Wonderful World

Weird is making campy controversial

Type “Johnny Weir” into Google News’ search field and I guarantee you won’t learn a thing about the American figure skater’s professional career.  You will, however, learn that PETA is not a fan,  that Weir suggests M.A.C. concealer and blot powder to keep skin looking flawless, and that 25 year-old has his sights set on one day launching his own clothing line.  The guy is a textbook example of PR by-the-numbers; with nothing more than some choice embellishments and some netting, he’s got an MTV-generation glued to his every performance for rabid consumption of his next outlandish outfit.

Here’s the thing, though.  I don’t think Weir is a talented, budding designer.  I barely think he’s a competent skater. I think he’s a fun, smart kid who’s discovered the power of wardrobe, who’s jumped on the “Gaga as God” bandwagon, and who’s riding the attention for all it’s worth.  But I will say this:  in a sport filled with no shortage of Wheaties endorsements and squeaky clean soundbites, his interview with Vanity Fair is that cigarette drag you can’t help but savour.  In it,  he fields all kinds of questions about his signature style with the very last question asking, “What do you say to your critics?”

His response?  “Suck it.”