Welcome to My World

by Johnny Weir

  I’ve never been a good whistler, but after I deposited Alex back at the party and said my good nights to the rest of the crowd (with exultant winks from friends and dirty looks from a few jealous types), I whistled and pranced all the way down the icy path to my room.

  I wasn’t sure it was possible, but Johnny Weir could in fact fall in love. All it took was a kiss for me to fall for Alex—the kind of descent where your blood sugar dips to the bottom and you get overly excited for no reason. Nineteen years old, skating phenomenally again, and setting my sights on the national title, I felt like I was on top of the world. Adding love to the list gave me confidence on steroids.

  For the first time in my life I was tingling from the tips of my fingers to my toes. Puppy love. Lust. True romance. I wasn’t sure of the label but I did know this is what these things are supposed to feel like. This is what everyone sings about in pop songs or writes about in books.

  We talked almost every night on the phone, but my training made the time in between our visits unbearably long. By the time Paris and I made our first of many visits to New England, Alex and I were bursting with pent-up energy. We lasted about ten minutes hanging out with the crowd at a skating party before I found myself in a dark room, alone with my very first heartthrob. On a stranger’s bed, we made out and played Twenty Questions the way teenagers do.

  “We are obviously really into each other, but I want to know what your thoughts are,” I said.

  “I want to be happy and I don’t want you to hurt me,” Alex responded.

  In figure skating there were a lot of rumors about me—stuff like I had wild threesomes with judges and skaters—all of which were completely false. The skating world is a catty place filled with backstabbing, but because I had been a bitch to so many people during my diva period, it was easy for them to make up stories about me. I wanted to put Alex at ease but didn’t know if I could.

  “I want to tell you that the majority of rumors about me are false. But if you have a question, you should just ask me directly and I will tell you exactly what went down. I’m not ashamed or afraid and promise to tell you the truth.”

  “I don’t really have many questions,” Alex said shyly.

  “I want to tell you something anyway,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I’m a virgin.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I really like you.”

  “I really like you, too.”

  Revealing deep secrets to each other in the dark, Alex and I both knew whatever we had started that night after sectionals was special. We had found love.

  As our relationship quickly turned into a committed one, I discovered the unbelievable power in having someone (other than your mother) supporting and loving you in all moments. I also discovered the prickly underside of that bond: other people’s envy.

  Figure skating, where jealousy runs as rampant as rhinestones, is a fucked-up place to find your romantic future. Still, most of us seek it there, believing that no one else but another skater can understand us. Who else but another skater wouldn’t laugh at the fact that I had to go to bed every night at nine in the year leading up to the Nationals? On my first real date with Alex, I ate only a tomato at dinner. A civilian probably would have dialed an anorexia hotline on the spot, but he didn’t even blink because he understood that is what you do to get in fighting shape.

  It is a human thing to want to bond with someone who understands you, but skating is a small world, making the pool of available love-interests unfairly small to choose from. It’s harder to find a decent guy in the skating scene than it is to get into Harvard. Competition gets fierce, to put it mildly.

  When Alex and I hooked up, he hadn’t really been out. So this sweet and kind kid with clear blue eyes and a very wealthy family represented an untapped and enticing resource in this world of boys who wanted to bang like bunnies. A few skaters in his area pined hard-core over Alex.

  Having a bad reputation at the time, I seemed like an easy target for sabotage. Once we went exclusive, the rumors about my so-called slutty behavior ramped up. However, nobody knew (other than Paris, Alex, and a few others) how big a prude I was in reality. So when one guy with a crush on Alex forced his way into a bathroom while I was using the facilities during a party so he could put the moves on me, he was surprised that I pushed him so hard he knocked his head against the wall. He had hoped to run directly to Alex with news that we had made out. But I don’t like shifty games or people barging into the bathroom.

  None of that silly stuff ever posed a threat to Alex and me. Raised by two parents who truly love each other, I knew a relationship wasn’t a game where you played a part to win the other over. All that mattered was our connection, deepened by expressing our true feelings, no matter what they were. With the strength of that example at home, I was fearless when it came to telling and showing Alex how much I loved him. For Alex, whose parents went from having a home and three kids to going through an ugly divorce, loving someone presented a more terrifying challenge, like bungee jumping off the Grand Canyon.

  But together we took the leap of saying I love you and eventually losing the Big V together. Although I had wanted to wait until I was in love, my virginity had never been much of an issue for me. So when I finally had sex, I was surprised at how fulfilled I felt. Staring at each other with smiles from ear to ear, I remember thinking, no matter what, we would always be a part of each other’s lives because of this moment.

  Of course, a lot of that had to do with the fact that both of us waited for the right person with whom to share that intimate experience.

  It is not often that people wait for quality. It makes no difference that I like to have sex with men; my value system is very old-fashioned. I believe there is nothing sexier than knowing one’s self-worth. As eccentric and flamboyant as I appeared, I waited until I was almost twenty to lose my virginity, because I wanted it to mean something. I wanted to be in love. I inherited that belief from my mother, who taught me to never settle for less than the best. And in my book, Alex was hands down the best.

  While out-of-control has never been my preferred state, I felt crazy alive—“crazy” being the operative word. I would burst out hysterically crying for no apparent reason because I was deeply, madly, passionately in love. That kind of strong emotion made me at once insane and content. It was all brand-new and confusing as hell.

  Add to that the new and euphoric peak I reached in my skating career after my win at the Nationals, and honestly I don’t think there has ever been another time in my life when I was happier.

  Right after I won the title in Atlanta, Alex visited me in my hotel room.

  “A lot of people are going to propose marriage to me, so you’ll have to stay on your toes,” I teased him.

  A few days after the biggest skating moment in my life, Alex sent a whole cheesecake to my house with a card that read, “I’m staying on my toes . . . and making sure you eat.”

  7

  Almost Famous

  Photos of famous people from around the world covered the tasteful gray walls of the media consultant’s sleek Upper East Side office where I sat waiting. Most of them were signed with little notes, like “You’re the best” and “I couldn’t have done it without you,” to this woman my skating federation had charged with reining in me and my big mouth.

  After winning the National Championships, I was immediately thrust into the spotlight with every major press outlet wanting to interview the new, and very surprising, top U.S. skater. But in the very first moment of my media blitz, I got in trouble. During the press conference after the competition, a reporter asked me about my “unusual” free skate costume. Inspired by Dr. Zhivago, my gorgeous blue and silver sparkly onesie, snowy and icy in a modern way, required a description to do it justice.

  “It’s like an icicle on coke,” I said.

  The statement just came out naturally, inspired by the muse. The astonished reporters looked at me as if I were on coke an
d tried to make sense of a skater who said more than just “I’m so happy to have won.” I was so happy to have won the event, so much so that I didn’t think about the import of my words. But the truth is I never do. Whether it’s in a public forum or in my bedroom with friends, I never filter myself.

  Almost as soon as it came out of my mouth, the comment was everywhere: television, newspapers, and the Internet, in America and abroad. Drugs! It really freaked everyone out. The big impact of my tiny comment and the number of people I offended startled me. Only on day one of my newfound stardom, I wasn’t used to anyone paying too much attention to what I said. My then agent lamely tried to backtrack by saying that what I really meant was that my costume looked like Coke flowing down the side of a frosty can. Did he really think people were that stupid?

  Well, I sure didn’t and quickly vowed to keep my foot-in-mouth disorder, a Weir family trait, no matter how famous I got. There’s always going to be someone who has an issue with something you’ve said no matter how fake you try to be, so what’s the point in bottling up your feelings and thoughts? Having separate public and private personas was way too complicated for my taste.

  The USFSA begged to differ. Livid that their national champion was talking about drugs (plus a few little comments abouthow bad they were at their jobs), they signed me up for media training the day before I was scheduled to appear on the Today show. Everyone worried about how ridiculous I’d be, given the massive exposure on morning television. And I’m not saying they weren’t right to worry.

  When the woman, a small New York City successful type in a pencil skirt and heels who clearly came from the Barbara Walters school of hair and makeup, introduced herself I knew instantly this was not my people. Sitting behind an enormous desk covered in awards, she threw me a toothy smile that cracked the foundation around her eyes and mouth. Everything about this lady was studied, from her framed credentials to her French manicure. I was so agitated I left my sunglasses on: I had my first World Championships in a few weeks and would have much preferred spending this time training rather than getting spokesperson tips.

  “As an athlete, you need to appear centered and focused,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re a role model now to lots of younger kids. You have to maintain that image.”

  This was going to be a long three hours. Instead, I wished she would give me tricks for getting dewy-looking skin on television.

  “Can’t a role model be funny and clever?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said, perking up. “Humor’s a terrific way to break the ice on TV. Try a joke, but stick to sports. Only sports. Like,‘I almost put on the wrong skates before I got on the ice.’”

  “I don’t get it.”

  The next morning when I arrived on the Today show set, I had just enough information from media training to make me very uptight but not enough to be charming. In the car at 4:30 a.m. on the way to midtown, I came down with a case of the jitters. It’s rare that figure skaters get the chance to talk in front of the entire country—apart from small sound bites. This was an opportunity for me to present myself through words.

  I was also nervous because I had to skate on Rockefeller Center’s really small outdoor rink—during a torrential downpour. The last thing I wanted to do was fall on my ass in front of millions of TV viewers. I couldn’t wear my costume, which really upset me, because it was too cold and I might get sick. So there I was, in decidedly boring white track pants and a warm-up jacket, with no one to cheer for me around the rink because of the freezing rain. But as they say, the show must go on, so I skated in two inches of rain and by some miracle landed all my jumps.

  By the time I finished, I was soaked to the bone but tried to smile for the cameras as rain dripped from my hair and nose. What a TV debut. But the Today show anchors were so impressed that I’d skated through the rain without slamming into Rockefeller Center that they invited me to sit on the couch instead of doing my interview rinkside (a coup that maybe also had to do with them not wanting to get wet). I behaved myself like a national champion—well, almost. When Matt Lauer asked me how I was preparing for the upcoming World Championships, I gave a nod to my media trainer. “I’m trying to stay centered,” I said. “And not let Today show interviews make me jaded.”

  Today was just the first stop on my new life as a real international skating star. A few weeks later at the World Championships in Germany, I proved my win at the Nationals was no fluke. After flawless short and free skate programs, both of which earned me standing ovations, I finished in fifth place overall. Losing to the Russian firecracker and my skating hero Evgeni Plushenko, the event champion, and beating Michael Weiss, I was thrilled by how the competition went. Tatiana Tarasova, with whom I planned to create new world-class programs for the upcoming season, had worked it for me before my arrival, raving to all the Russian officials about how great I was. Each member of the Russian team, normally standoffish to foreigners, shook my hand, patted me on the back, and said, “Good job.” I felt like part of the gang.

  Immediately after the competition, I was on a plane with the biggest names in skating, including Plushenko, Irina Slutskaya, Elena Sokolova, and Sasha Cohen, to start rehearsals for the Champions on Ice tour. Landing a spot on one of the two major ice skating tours in America meant I would be making a steady, and good, income for the first time in my life. In addition to its financial advantages, the tour built up its skaters’ egos by touting them as the best and brightest stars (or, in my case, the sparkliest). Touring with Champions on Ice was something every skater, seasoned or not, dreamed of getting to do. From March to May, we toured the country, where every night I soaked up the enthusiastic reception from fans who came to watch me, the country’s new champion, skate.

  As one of the top six skaters in the world, I was given three Grand Prix events when the assignments came out in June. My first time back on the senior Grand Prix since I had withdrawn in shame three years before, I returned in high style. I was selected to compete in Nagoya, Japan, at the NHK Trophy, in Paris at the Trophée Eric Bompard, and in Moscow’s Cup of Russia. All three potentially meant great prize money and more opportunities to make a name for myself. Three top competitions within the span of five weeks presented a heady world tour, but I was ready.

  What I wasn’t prepared for was the crowd waiting for me when I stepped off the plane in Japan that October. After a twenty-four-hour journey from Philadelphia to Nagoya, I looked more like cargo than human in sweatpants, a loose T-shirt, rumpled cardigan, and baseball cap hiding the hair matted to my head. My skin had the sheen of the great unwashed. So I was shocked and horrified when a group of twenty young Japanese women began snapping my picture after I walked through the sliding glass doors of customs. Luckily I had the presence of mind to wear sunglasses, but I made a permanent note to self to bring a change of clothes, hair product, and makeup on the plane so I’d be camera ready forever after.

  At first I was more confused than surprised: why were these people here? Then I saw the handmade signs plastered with hearts, Hello Kitty stickers, and my name. They were here for me. These were my fans.

  Figure skating fans are a very unique breed of people. These are the folks who watch skating every time it’s on TV and not just during the Olympics. They fill the seats of touring ice shows and comment online about every aspect of the sport. They feel like they are part of skaters’ lives.

  My fans—a core group of ladies called Johnny’s Angels (they voted on the name themselves)—are überfans who always go above and beyond. What makes them particularly incredible is that I don’t make it easy to be a fan of me. I wear outlandish outfits and say even more outlandish things. Like everyone else in my life, they need to have a thick skin.

  Still, if anyone wrongs me, there’ll be a battle. And I love my fans for that. Their emotional support is a huge part of my success—so is their financial support. I literally wouldn’t be able to afford to skate if I didn’t have fans: they have paid
for costumes and on occasion coaching bills. That’s why I never feel like I give my fans enough, although I work very hard to keep them happy.

  Apart from those throwing flowers or holding signs for me at competitions, the airport in Japan was my first time coming face-to-face with regular individuals who loved and supported me—from across the world, no less.

  I stopped to sign autographs and take pictures. In return, the fans offered me beautifully wrapped presents of handmade soaps, a fur collar, and anime notebooks—all things they knew I would like from reading interviews with me in the press. One girl had made me a special cell-phone holder covered with rhinestones and little Chanel logos (I told any reporter who would print it how much I loved Chanel, even though I couldn’t afford the real thing at the time). I was so touched by the thought and effort.

  “How did you know what plane I was on?” I asked her.

  “Competition in four days. We wait at airport for two days already,” she said.

  For me? I was stunned. My own mother wouldn’t wait half an hour for me in the car.

  “Where Johnny luggage?” another girl said, pointing to the one little bag I held.

  “Oh, the airline can’t find it. Not even my skates,” I said.

  The women gasped, a few putting their hands to their mouths in polite horror.

  “Don’t worry!” I said, trying to put out the alarm. “It should come in a few days . . . I’m in very good shape . . . not a problem if I miss one or two practices . . . I will be fine.”

  I waved good-bye to them merrily and hopped onto the bus that took me and my mom to our hotel. But that wasn’t the last I heard from my fans in Japan. The next day they were waiting for me in the lobby of my hotel (the official hotel of the Grand Prix was posted on the Internet) with bags of socks, underwear, T-shirts, toothpaste, and anything else someone who lost his luggage might need.