In this op-ed, writer and comedian Lauren Servideo reflects on her love of ice skating and what 20-year-old Alysa Liu and her alt style mean to the sport.

I was never a serious figure skater. I skated because I liked it. I liked the cold, I liked the speed. In another, then-unconnected lane of life, I liked beauty. Clothes, hair, eyeliner, polish, perfume. They were different things: skating was a skill, fashion was an art. My naive understanding was that you went to the rink to train your body, not express yourself through what was on it. With a fixed palette of jumps, spins, steps & turns, and choreographic elements each graded on their precision, a skater’s goal isn’t to stand out with a unique aesthetic point of view, but to embody a wintry model-mannequin of snow globe-like perfection.

Even today, skating has a look: chiffon, rhinestones, pale purples, and sparkly blues. It’s storybook-coded, more in the direction of “horse girl” than ballerina. For two disciplines that require balance, skaters and their pony-loving compatriots erred too much on the side of kitsch to ever be a widely-accepted style. Our ensembles never made it onto the larger cultural moodboards the way the looks of off-duty dancers or even cheerleaders did. It took paparazzi photos of Mary Kate Olsen on her horse, looking chic in a crisp white show shirt and jodphur pants, to get the general public to accept equestrian gear as something to be desired. I don’t expect Lycra or Georgette to ever make the September Issue, but in the 200 or so years since gliding over frozen water became a celebrated winter sport, one would at least expect it to move past the fantasy silhouette of the ice princess. Nevertheless, the sparkly shapewear remains.

Currently, all eyes are on Alysa Liu, the 20-year-old 2025 World champion from Clovis, California, as she heads to the Winter Olympics in Milan. Skating fanatics consider her the frontrunner because of how effortless she makes it all look. Amongst the competition, a missed landing, means the difference between a total loss and greatness. Then there’s Liu, who glides, jumps, and spins with a cool consistency that makes the viewer wonder if she even knows she’s competing at all. She’s so good that she is no longer bound by skating’s stylistic status quo, the first of her generation to recognize that total proficiency can allow one to bring a different kind of presence to the ice.

What merits closer attention is the way she makes room for herself inside a sport that adheres to a familiar canvas. With her trippy spiral tights, graphic eyeliner, and black-on-black practice gear, she might just be skating’s first grunge champion; perhaps the first Olympic figure skater with a relationship to her own appearance that remains consistent on or off the ice. From the stands, one can catch the light on her halo highlights, one for each year she’s had them; up close, the frenulum “smiley” piercing is only seen when she grits her teeth or beams after a big win. What strikes me about Liu isn’t only the obvious talent, but how her personality shines through. There’s a life outside of her rigorous daily training.

Not to diminish Johnny Weir’s countless contributions to the sport’s aesthetic (has one person ever worn more Swarovski crystals and feathers?), but his style still belongs to the grand, theatrical lineage of the classic Ice Capades. What feels distinctly of-her-era is Liu’s self-described “alternative” streak, which starts with her hair. This season, it’s been styled by Kelsey at Thirteenth & Washington in St. Louis, where the 2026 U.S. Figure Skating Championships were held this past week. Ahead of Italy, perhaps her hairstyle reads as an homage to the Olympic rings, but it’s all Alysa.