During each Winter Olympic Games, the United States becomes captivated by a cherished archetype: the all-American “ice princess.” This ideal is embodied by champions such as , , and , or the young Michelle Tratchenberg in the 2005 film .
Whether in real life or fiction, the ice princess moves with grace, achieving a podium finish seemingly without effort. The concept of imperfection is alien to her.
However, for those who closely follow the sport, it is understood that the reality of elite figure skating, with its intense pursuit of balancing artistry and athleticism, is much more complex. Success in skating is driven by enormous physical and mental strain, , and confining expectations that can burden athletes for years.
The “ice princess” persona is not negative in itself. For athletes in a sport often viewed as niche, this identity can serve as a . The issue arises when we accept a one-dimensional view of women in figure skating, which traps them within a misogynistic framework.
Ice princesses are expected to remain courteous and agreeable constantly, frequently sacrificing their authentic selves. If they show strong emotion, it is often as a descent into hysteria. An accidental collision during practice can be as an act of malice, comparable to the scandal.
Female Olympic figure skaters are more than just decorated performers. They are , , and regular individuals. The group of American women competing at the Milano Cortina Olympics exemplifies what it means to confidently break from traditional norms.
Amber Glenn is set to become the first to skate for the United States at the Olympics, a significant achievement in a sport governed by heteropatriarchal rules and . Last November, United States Figure Skating introduced a contentious . Despite this, Glenn continues to proudly and trade Olympic pins featuring the trans pride flag. She is also an advocate for mental health awareness, drawing from her own experiences, including a teenage hospitalization.
Glenn’s activism continues the work of previous Team USA skaters who have spoken out against abuse. In 2017, Olympic bronze medalist Gracie Gold her retirement, citing the combined effects of depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, and suicidal thoughts on her health. Gold and her teammate Ashley Wagner also publicly about being survivors of sexual assault perpetrated by other elite male skaters.
In a similar vein, 2022 Olympic ice dancing champion Gabriella Papadakis of France released a memoir last month detailing the abuse she suffered during her career, which ended in 2024. Papadakis revealed that her ice-dance partner of twenty years allegedly threatened to end their partnership if she reported her sexual assault to the French skating federation. Soon after the book’s publication, she was removed from her position as an Olympic skating commentator at NBC, citing a purported “conflict of interest.”
The pressure to be perfect imposed on these women contributed to their silence, a reason Wagner gave for her own years of not speaking out. She feared being seen as — a label that might have damaged her career.
The consequences are even greater for younger skaters who enter the public eye.
The sport subjects young athletes to intense scrutiny, as seen with two-time Team USA Olympian Alysa Liu. Liu rose to national prominence in 2019 by becoming the youngest U.S. National Champion ever at age 13.
At 16, Liu finished sixth at the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics, an event now remembered more for controversy than sport. While much focus was on , Kamila Valieva, the situation also highlighted a persistent issue in elite skating: the systems that control the training, judging, and rewarding of young female athletes.
Valieva’s coach, , is a leading figure in a coaching environment long known for emphasizing extreme thinness, disordered eating, and early peak performance at the expense of athlete welfare. Her achievements have influenced international standards, defining winning and justifying how hard coaches can drive young skaters for gold.
In a recent CBS News’ 60 Minutes interview, Liu attributed her disillusionment with the sport before her comeback to strict control over her diet and self-expression in competition, a harmful demand in a sport where success is tied to appearance. Now, she has full control over her training and is performing on the international stage after her comeback. Notably, Liu does this while sporting her distinctive bleached halo-dye hairstyle and smiley piercing. Her fearless personal expression at the top level of American women’s skating is a bold statement.
This oversimplified image of female Olympic figure skaters is not exclusive to the sport. The “ice-princess” label reflects enduring media attitudes that dilute women’s stories to cater to a culture steeped in misogyny.
This Olympic season, as with every previous one, conversations about women’s figure skating should recognize the intricate individuals behind the glittering costumes. Every Olympic skater possesses many dimensions.