Lifestyle
Amber Glenn Is Carving a New Path for Figure Skaters
When Amber Glenn was named the top U.S. women’s figure skater for a second consecutive year in January, she collapsed in tears, releasing mountains of pressure that had been weighing on her chiseled shoulders.
This week, she is aiming to add another gold medal to her pile at the World Figure Skating Championships in Boston. If she pulls it off, Ms. Glenn would finish her season an undefeated champion and become the first American figure skater to claim the women’s World Championship title in almost 20 years.
It would be Ms. Glenn’s biggest win yet, but only the latest in a series of firsts for a woman who has landed the triple axel jump in all of her competitions this season — one that, for Ms. Glenn, has been filled with triumph and tragedy after a plane crash in January killed 11 figure skaters, some of whom she had shared the ice with just days before they died.
If Ms. Glenn wins or even medals at Worlds, she will be the first openly L.G.B.T.Q. woman to do so in a sport whose female athletes largely tend to mold their likenesses to that of a cookie-cutter ice queen.
Ms. Glenn, by contrast, has grown her profile by celebrating what makes her different.
She is a pansexual figure skater who jumps with the power of a pole-vaulter, models her hairstyles off those of brassy pop stars, collects lightsabers — and is primed to be America’s next big skating star at 25, an age when most of her peers have long retired.
A Story of Perseverance
On a Saturday evening in February, Ms. Glenn darted around the corners of the ice rink at Chelsea Piers in Manhattan at double-digit speeds as her short-program music — “This Time” by Janet Jackson — blared from loudspeakers. She was in New York to fine-tune some of her choreography before the World Championships this month.
Ms. Glenn’s girlish freckles were offset by graphic winged eyeliner and blond hair that trailed behind her like a parachute as she skated.
Earlier that day, Ms. Glenn said in an interview that the last eight months had “been a lot.” She began training for the current season last spring and won her first gold medal last September at the Lombardia Trophy competition in Bergamo, Italy.
She has not stopped winning since. Over the course of several weeks last November and December, Ms. Glenn traversed the globe numerous times, earning first place in three major competitions that included the Grand Prix Final in Grenoble, France, where on Dec. 7 she became the first American woman to be crowned champion in 14 years.
Two weeks later, she clinched gold at Nationals in Wichita, Kan., by a slim margin.
But Ms. Glenn’s career, which began more than two decades ago at an ice rink inside a shopping mall, has not been a linear ride to the top.
At 14, she became the U.S. junior women’s champion. About a year later, Ms. Glenn was hospitalized for depression and anxiety, which stopped her from skating for five months. At the time, she was also restricting her eating — consuming one or two Lean Cuisine meals a day. In more recent years, she has suffered multiple severe concussions and has been haunted by mistakes, like missed jumps, that she has attributed to anxiety. It has not helped that many of her injuries and stumbles have played out on live television.
Terry Gannon, an NBC sports commentator who has called nationally televised figure-skating events since the 1990s, attributed Ms. Glenn’s successes this season to perseverance.
“I feel like I have lived this journey with her and watched her through the years knowing she had the ability but coming up short,” said Mr. Gannon, who described Ms. Glenn’s story as emotionally satisfying to viewers. “Now we see her break through at the highest level,” he added.
Her winning season harks back to the time when American skaters like Dorothy Hamill and Michelle Kwan dominated the sport. As a rising star of women’s singles, figure skating’s marquee event, Ms. Glenn has created some fresh buzz in the run-up to next year’s Milan-Cortina Winter Olympics. “It’s hugely important to the success of American skating to have a star who has a chance to win” at the Olympics, Mr. Gannon said.
Sasha Cohen was the last American to do so, earning a silver medal at the Turin Winter Olympics in 2006. If Ms. Glenn’s winning streak carries into next year, when Team USA skaters are determined, the country may have its next best chance at an Olympic medal.
Mastering the Triple Axel
On the ice, Ms. Glenn has become known for certain hallmarks: Landing jumps with her arms stretched vertically in a dramatic V-shape, wearing the dark lipstick of a prima ballerina, performing with a mane of multiple ponytails that she says is inspired by the pop star Kesha.
While she skates with an easy elegance, her approach to the sport has often been described using words like “explosive” and “aggressive.” “That is usually a trademark of men’s skating, they are allowed to be aggressive and muscled,” said Kaitlyn Weaver, 35, a champion ice dancer and two-time Olympian who is now a choreographer for Ms. Glenn.
Ms. Glenn said she had leaned into athleticism rather than “conforming to look smaller.” This approach is embodied by her embrace of the triple axel, a feat in which skaters hurl themselves face-forward into the air and rotate 1,260 degrees before landing backward on a single foot. Ms. Glenn has been the only women’s skater of her level to land a ratified triple axel this season in international competition, according to the International Skating Union.
Ms. Glenn’s free skate program at last year’s World Championships began with a perfect triple axel — and ended in multiple spills onto the ice. She ultimately finished in 10th place, a result that she attributed to her anxiety flaring up during her program. “My brain didn’t know the difference between competing and having to fight a bear,” as she put it.
Last summer, Ms. Glenn began integrating neurotherapy into her two-hour practices as a way to mitigate her performance anxiety. She wires herself to a device that tracks her heart rate and brain waves, which helps visualize when her anxiety spikes.
Caroline Silby, a sport psychology consultant who works with skaters worldwide, suggested neurotherapy to Ms. Glenn. “Throughout her career, she’s always had moments of brilliance, it wasn’t like she wasn’t doing it.” Ms. Silby said. “She just wasn’t doing it consistently.”
She added, “When the whole world talks about how you can’t do the second half of your program, it’s about ‘OK, how can we get the brain to stay quiet?’”
Embracing Her Identity
Ms. Glenn’s mother, Cathlene Glenn, said there had always been hints that her daughter was different from other girls her age when she was growing up in Plano, Texas. Among them: Ms. Glenn, who began skating as a 5-year-old at the rink inside the nearby Stonebriar Centre mall, gravitated toward dinosaur toys over dolls, her mother said.
She added that, by the time Ms. Glenn had turned 8, coaches were remarking that she had exceptional talent. By 11, she had mastered every triple jump except the axel.
But in a sport in which an intermediate pair of skates can cost $800, the money required to keep Ms. Glenn skating at a high level became a source of friction for her parents. To save on lessons and rink fees, her mother worked as a nanny for a former coach of Ms. Glenn’s and at the front desk of the mall ice rink. Her father, Richard Glenn, a law enforcement officer, worked overtime and took outside jobs doing security at movie theaters and hospitals.
Ms. Glenn, for her part, said she did not tell her parents when she was outgrowing her skates. “I still have the bunions and scars to prove it,” she said.
These days, she wears pairs that can cost around $1,500 — and she gets them for free from Jackson Ultima, which uses her image in promotional campaigns.
At Chelsea Piers, her skates’ blades were pushed to the limit as she ripped into the ice with expansive lunges and razor-sharp turns. She typically practices at the Broadmoor World Arena, a U.S. Olympic training site in Colorado Springs, Colo., not far from her home in the city. Above the rink, a flag with Ms. Glenn’s name flies alongside others bearing the names of fellow American champions like Peggy Fleming.
Ms. Glenn’s reputation as a different kind of skater was bolstered in 2019, when she opened up about her pansexual identity in an article for Dallas Voice magazine. Months after it was published, she arrived at Nationals in 2020 to see dozens of fans in the stands holding the Pride flag in her honor.
Ms. Weaver, who at the time had not yet started working as a choreographer with Ms. Glenn, recalled watching the scene on TV and “weeping.” In 2021, Ms. Weaver became the first Olympic female skater to publicly come out as queer. “We work against a stereotype,” she said, likening openly queer female skaters to openly gay N.F.L. players.
Having learned to be more comfortable in her skin, Ms. Glenn now holds a pride flag when she skates a victory lap at competitions. Lately, she had been thinking about the ways she could help people like herself at a time in which Ms. Glenn said “identities are being erased.”
“Sometimes, I’m looking at the world where we are taking so many steps back,” she added. “I want to be part of the people who keep us moving forward.”
She was speaking on a video call in late February from her apartment in Colorado Springs, which Ms. Glenn shares with her dog, Uki, a schipperke who, like Ms. Glenn, has learned to spin on demand.
Tragedies Amid Triumphs
Around Ms. Glenn’s apartment are items that offer glimpses of her personality. There are lightsabers hung on a wall (she is a fan of “Star Wars”) and a cabinet filled with Magic the Gathering and Pokémon cards. Instead of real flowers, she decorates the space with Lego floral arrangements because of her travel schedule. “It’s nice to have ones that stick around,” she said.
She moved to “the Springs” in the summer of 2022, she said, to work with top coaches — and to take advantage of free physical therapy and personal training sessions offered by the area’s Olympic training site, which are subsidized by organizations including the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee. It’s also the first time Ms. Glenn has lived on her own.
Her main coach, Damon Allen, said Ms. Glenn’s newly independent lifestyle has helped shift her competitive course. Mr. Allen, 51, will accompany her to the World Championships. “The preparation is the same we have been doing all year,” he said. “We are keeping it simple.”
To earn the women’s singles gold medal, she will need to defeat Kaori Sakamoto, 24, the Japanese skater who has won it the last three years.
Skaters of Ms. Sakamoto’s and Ms. Glenn’s age have historically been rare sights atop the championship podiums in women’s figure skating, a sport in which the last three Olympic gold medalists were between the ages of 15 and 17 when they won. In the wake of a doping scandal involving a 15-year-old Russian skater that rocked the Beijing Winter Olympics in 2022, the minimum age for female skaters to compete in the games was raised to 17.
At Ms. Glenn’s training rink, she refers to herself as the “fun aunt,” Mr. Allen said. Her friend Gracie Gold, 29, a retired two-time national champion who has spoken about her own struggles as a skater, jokingly said that late bloomers in the sport like Ms. Glenn were “only weird to people in skating that need to go outside and touch grass.”
“I don’t think hockey or football would be as popular if the general public was watching 14-year-old boys do it,” Ms. Gold added.
She is one of many skaters whom Ms. Glenn has fostered friendships with. Through gestures like bringing flowers to fellow athletes at practices, Ms. Glenn has tried to bolster camaraderie in a sport known for a cutthroat culture, which has been embodied by instances like the Olympian Nancy Kerrigan being clubbed in the knee in a hit ordered by a man who was then married to a rival skater.
Ms. Glenn, who was home-schooled from the second grade through her senior year of high school, said she learned social cues largely by being around other young people at the mall where she started skating.
Her kind overtures to peers were motivated by Ms. Glenn’s experiences at competitions during her early days in the sport. “I remember feeling so scared,” she said. “I thought, I don’t want to feel like this. If one day I’m able to, I want to help everyone to be comfortable.’
When the recent plane crash killed a group of 28 athletes, parents and personnel affiliated with U.S. Figure Skating, “it broke my heart,” Ms. Glenn said — especially because of what she had told some of the young skaters while practicing with them about 72 hours before the crash.
“What hit me so hard is I told them to make friends that they would have for the rest of their life,” she said.
Earlier this month, Ms. Glenn participated in Legacy on Ice, a nationally televised event honoring the victims of the plane crash. Days before, her grandmother Barbara Glenn, a longtime rink-side presence at her competitions, died.
“She loves to skate with emotion,” Ms. Glenn’s mother said. “She wants to feel her feelings out on the ice. I think that skate was very therapeutic for her.” The death of Ms. Glenn’s childhood dog, Ginger, this month was another emotional blow.
In a phone interview on Saturday, Ms. Glenn said that the grief she had lately experienced had given her a new perspective going into the World Championships.
“I get upset about my mistakes,” she said. “But there are so many other things that are more serious.”
Lifestyle
This Pride month, teen flicks are recasting familiar tropes with a queer sensibility
Stacy Clausen and Joe Bird in Leviticus.
NEON
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NEON
Summer movies aimed at high-schoolers — comedies, romances, horror flicks — have been a tradition for ages. Think Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Dirty Dancing and the original Friday the 13th, which all drew hot-weather crowds back in the 1980s.
This summer, the movies are queer — not just in casting, but in method and purpose. These three teen flicks transform familiar movie styles by bringing them an LGBTQ sensibility.
A raunchy comedy: She’s the He
YouTube
You know the drill: a bonkers lose-my-virginity plan is hatched by inseparable high-school best buds who are so eager to get girls to notice them, they can hardly think straight.
So, they don’t think … straight. For reasons that could only make sense to horny 17-year-olds, Ethan and Alex decide the way to catch the attention of the school’s hottest girls is to pretend to be trans.
Filmmaker Siobhan McCarthy uses that premise to tell a sweet story about Ethan (who realizes mid-scam that she really is trans), while also mocking some of the more ridiculous transphobic notions — “bathroom scare,” anyone? — that have been politically weaponized recently.
When the whole football team decides that donning women’s attire is a small price to pay to get access to the girls’ locker room, McCarthy prompts boisterous laughs while also establishing how idiotic and unlikely this scenario would be in real life. Casting trans men — say, team captain played by Emmett Preciado — as the cis male characters allows McCarthy to further poke at conservative anxieties.
As leads Alex and Ethan, Nico Carney (a sharp trans comic whose read on toxic masculinity proves hilarious), and Misha Osherovich (sweetly affecting as Ethan discovers her true self) head a terrific, mostly trans and non-binary cast. And a similarly queer team behind the camera helps make She’s the He a raucous, touching, seriously fun charmer — think Some Like It Hot meets American Pie with a Heartstopper vibe.
The romance: Girls Like Girls
YouTube
This gentle teen love story sprang from a hit song Hayley Kiyoko released in 2015. The music video that accompanied the song pictured a budding lesbian romance and has since racked up over 160 million YouTube views. In 2023, Kiyoko penned a young adult book version, which debuted at the top of bestseller lists. Now, she’s brought all of those elements together in a movie about Coley (Maya da Costa) and Sonya (Myra Molloy), two 17-year-old girls navigating a summer romance that takes both of them by surprise.
First-time filmmaker Kiyoko seems content to honor teen romance conventions in a more or less by-the-book tale of first love that has been through enough permutations to feel vaguely workshopped. Still, she’s gotten engaging performances from her leads, as well as from a supporting cast that includes Zach Braff as a loving dad, and Levon Hawke (son of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman) as Sonya’s jealous boyfriend.
The horror thriller: Leviticus
YouTube
First-time feature writer/director Adrian Chiarella uses horror conventions in this Australian thriller to explore the trauma caused by a particularly callous strain of homophobic cruelty. The story is centered in a small mill town where high school boys Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen) fall for each other, only to run afoul of the conservative teachings of their religious community.
Chiarella imagines a Christian sect that has put conversion therapy on steroids, curbing queer desire with a scare-away-the-gay ritual that conjures supernatural demons. The boys smirk as church leaders conduct the ritual, but later discover that when they’re left alone, they’re attacked by murderous entities that take the form of the person they love — each other. Soon, reaching out to — even just seeing each other in school hallways fills them with anxiety. This is, of course, the design: the church leaders want them to be scared. And it will never end.
It’s a conversion therapy metaphor as apt for gay kids as the metaphor in Jordan Peele’s thriller Get Out was for victims of racial bigotry.
Breathtakingly well-crafted, Leviticus clearly has queer teen audiences in mind — all three of these films do — but not exclusively. Yes, Leviticus fills a representation gap. It’s also freakin’ scary.


Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: Would taking a trip with this new guy finally push us out of the ‘polite’ phase?
Sometimes compatibility unfolds over long conversations at coffee shops or even on the dance floor. Mine and Fernando’s became apparent on our seventh date, standing on a dark corner in downtown L.A. After a short flight, a day at Venice Beach and the fastest glow-up ever for a mom of three, my date opened his hands, sighed and canceled the glorious evening I’d planned. It was supposed to start with a jazz club and end with a tour of late-night sushi bars, until Fernando said, “I feel like a bummer.”
I hooked my arm through the crook of his, turning back toward the empty streets and our stuffy Airbnb.
A few weeks before, on one of our first dates, I’d told Fernando I was presenting at a conference in L.A. “You should join me,” I said, half joking.
“Really?” he asked. “You don’t know me at all.”
He was right. We were in the polite phase. We bonded over being transplants to Seattle — him from the Dominican Republic, me from Florida, but we were still figuring out the basics. I hadn’t learned yet that he never touches coffee but totally loves cake, my least favorite treat. And for me, espresso is a daily requirement.
Fernando didn’t say yes to my invitation right away. We continued to date, playing the questions game. “What’s your favorite snack?” he asked me.
“Mole tacos,” I said. “What’s your biggest flaw?”
“Follow through,” he said. “Yours?”
“I’m annoyingly persistent.”
“Perfect match,” he said.
The more we talked, the more we realized that our shortcomings, which made us look like exact opposites, came from the same root. His father had been barely present during childhood, and my father had died when I was a teenager. We both wrestled with trying to find agency inside of moments in our adult lives that felt like abandonment. Although we’d each been in therapy for years before we met, we also struggled to deal with disappointment.
“Maybe we should go on this wild trip together,” he said.
“Make-it-or-break-it style,” I said.
When we stepped through the door of our downtown L.A. Airbnb after a long, hot day walking the boardwalk, we had our first chance to manage a letdown, together.
“I think people actually live here,” he said.
“Like it’s 2015,” I said.
We’d made a commitment before we flew out to keep things light. If one of us complained, the other was supposed to say something fun. But the apartment was muggy, the surfaces covered in dust. We made exaggerated, positive comments about the vintage decor as I waited for the water to warm in a huge, clawfoot tub.
Fernando said something about getting in while the shower was still cold, so we could preserve water for the good people of California. I noted the fatherly tone — and realized I probably seemed wasteful for resisting the chilly stream during a drought.
While I bathed, he shaved. Then we switched. “I feel shy but not shy,” Fernando said, and I agreed. I wondered if this would be the first of many small, sweet moments — or if it was the only time we’d ever share this kind of intimacy.
We were finally ready for our night on the town, but we only walked six blocks before Fernando turned to me and told me that he was too tired to keep going.
“I owe you,” he said, as we walked back, but I was wiped too and relieved he said it first.
“What if we do something different and call it exciting?” I asked.
We talked about the absolute thrill of ordering takeout in a city that was 30 degrees warmer than the one where we both lived, listing every little thing that was totally amazing around us. All those closed-down garages that would open in the morning selling fabric? Gorgeous.
The dark streetlights on one side of the road that made the shadows look like a modern noir film? Fabulous.
The fact that we were about to fall asleep in the same city as dozens of celebrities we both adored? Relatively meaningless but still badass.
As we ate our to-go sushi in downtown L.A., I realized I wasn’t disappointed at all. My drive to follow through was all about the mission, and our mission had changed. Instead of wooing my new date with a super swanky night on the town, I had the opportunity to connect with him in a real way.
Our trip to L.A. had become a kind of test, way more intense than agreeing on a sofa or building an IKEA shelf. We were stuck spending time with each other without performing, in a strange city, for days.
After I presented at the conference the next morning, Fernando and I moved to a new rental in the Hollywood Hills, where we found our way to endless taco stands and two speakeasies, Good Times at Davey Wayne’s and Adults Only. The only landmark we saw was Muscle Beach, and the only quintessential L.A. thing we did was accidentally find ourselves in front of the Last Bookstore an hour before we needed to head to the airport, so we spent that hour walking around inside.
“Let’s keep traveling,” we said to each other on the way home.
Seven years and dozens of trips later, I engraved “I will travel with you” on the inside of our wedding rings. The night before our wedding, we stood together in a tiny bathroom in his sister’s house in the Dominican Republic, washing our faces. I looked at him in the mirror. He turned and looked at me. “I’m really glad you invited me to Los Angeles,” he said.
“It was a risk,” I said, “and the best trip ever.”
The city isn’t ours, but it made us who we are, together.
The author is a journalist and illustrator working on a memoir about Florida. She splits her time between her Seattle, L.A. and the Deep South. Her Instagram is @adjsbb and website is AshaDore.net.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
What does freedom actually look like? : It’s Been a Minute
What freedom looks like today.
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What does freedom mean today?
Happy Juneteenth! For those not in the know, today commemorates when U.S. federal troops arrived in Galveston, Texas in 1865 to take control of the state and ensure that all enslaved people were freed – a full two and a half years after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Since then, Juneteenth has been celebrated all over the country, especially in Texas and across the South, where Juneteenth parades, cookouts, festivals and pageants happen every year. Two weeks from now, the country will celebrate the Fourth of July – and its 250th anniversary. For many Black Americans, there’s always been a tension between these holidays – and their two different ideals for what it means to be free. As voting rights protections are rolled back and Black history is being scrubbed from government websites, what does freedom look like for Black Americans today?
To get into it, Brittany is joined by Dr. Kellie Carter Jackson, chair of Africana Studies at Wellesley College.
For more episodes about the quality of Black life in America, check out:
Jesse Jackson & the end of the civil rights superhero
Is the economy slowing? Ask Black women.
What to expect when you’re expecting racism
Support Public Media. Join NPR Plus.
Follow Brittany on Instagram: @bmluse
For handpicked podcast recommendations every week, subscribe to NPR’s Pod Club newsletter at npr.org/podclub.
This episode was produced by Corey Antonio Rose and Liam McBain. It was edited by Neena Pathak. We had engineering support from Josephine Nyounai. Our Supervising Producer is Cher Vincent. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.
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