I’ve been hooked to the telly since the Opening Ceremony and I haven’t missed a single figure skating or ice dancing routine. I scrutinise the ice skaters’ every movement, every detail, and their performance as a whole from my perspective as a television spectator. I ooh-and-aah at their outfits — the tiniest, most sparkly dresses. But, contrary to when I’m watching a Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, I don’t ever comment on the ice skaters’ bodies.
For the past two years I have watched the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. I watch for the over-the-top lingerie creations, the cliché pop sensations that turn up, and to see who’s my favourite model this year. I watch to see the backstage footage of the girls telling stories about their lives, and to see them interact with each other — and the pop stars. Basically I watch to see a well-constructed, super-American circus show. There’s not a moment, however, when I’m thinking of the girls’ bodies and how they should affect me. Cause they don’t.