Skip to content, or skip to search.

Skip to content, or skip to search.

The Johnny Weir Spectacular


Piede de Pull Blouse, $1,330 at Fendi, 677 Fifth Ave., nr. 53rd St.; 212-759-4646. J Brand jeans, $139 at Saks Fifth Avenue. Python and lizard sandals, $1,635 at Christian Louboutin, 49 Horatio St., at Greenwich St.; 212-255-1910. Albertus Swanepoel for Carolina Herrera hat, price upon request at Carolina Herrera, 954 Madison Ave., at 75th St.; 212-249-6552.   

Weir is watching himself in the mirror as Alt uses a round brush on the top of his pouf. Every few words he pulls his lips together and looks at himself sideways in the mirror. “I’m completely self-sufficient,” he says. “I don’t need anyone for anything. I can have sex with myself, I can love myself, I can do all those things myself. The importance that people place on me not having another half even if it’s just for sex, it’s irrelevant to me. It’s very old-school. When you put people in boxes, you take away a lot of who that person is. How many gay men do we know who are completely straight-acting, who don’t even seem gay but they get classified in the same box as somebody who’s a drag queen? It’s void. It’s not real. I filled out my census form and I wrote down that I was a Pacific Islander because yes, I’m white, but why is that important? Why is anything important? You don’t need to have labels. I would marry a woman. I very well could. People laugh at me, but why is that so funny? I love women. My whole stance is that I just want people to react to who I am, I don’t want people to react to what I am.”

At his agent’s office, without the distraction of hair dryers or Grindr or Marshmallow getting hit by a car, Weir wants to be very clear about all of it: “My sexuality is not something I’m ashamed of,” he says. “It’s not something I’m not sure of, it’s just that I have a very specific opinion of what sexuality is. For me, sexuality is sex. You can be heterosexual or homosexual with sex but be completely opposite with the relationship aspect of it. The two can go hand in hand, but they don’t have to. So, while someone can enjoy having sex with women, they could be totally happy marrying one of their bros.” His prime example is Simon van Kempen, of the New York Housewives, whom he’d met at a GLAAD event a few nights before. “He was wearing a big pink sweater, a sweater slung over the shoulder, walks very effeminate. And he’s married with two kids. I mean! Life is what you make it! It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

So why is he so cagey about his own situation?

“I can speak Russian. I can speak French. I know about Chanel. Especially vintage Chanel.All of these things, but they can’t really be applied to a nine-to-five.”

“I’m not saying I’m gay, bisexual, multisexual, transsexual. I’m just me. And tomorrow if I want to marry a man, I’ll marry a man. If I want to marry a woman, I’ll marry a woman. It’s not categorizing. It’s not a box. But the reason I haven’t told the nitty-gritty and the dirty past and what I chose to be involved with sexually is because, first of all, it’s trashy. It’s not cute.”

Also: It’s because he’s writing a book. Which will put it all out there. And, he hopes, sell lots and lots and lots of copies.

“I’m a realist,” he says. “I’ve been in a couple of relationships, one of them was really long and it ended very badly and heartbreakingly. It was that first puppy love, but already it felt like forever love. It ended, I was heartbroken, and it made me really think about what I wanted and what this life could be with someone else, and I realized I would have ten lifetimes with my best girlfriends before I would get into something just physically. There’s always a little black book for the physical things, but when you’re sick and you’re lying in bed, you want your friends there.”

I suggest that it is sometimes possible to find both qualities in the same person.

“I don’t believe that anyone can complete me,” he answers. “I’m too fussy. There are lots of things I wish I could change in myself but I can’t—where things go, how things are done. Maybe when I’m older I’ll learn to give that up, but you know what? No one makes me happier than myself.”

Weir thinks the whole thing has definitely affected his athletic career. It’s almost as if male figure skaters are expected to be neutered rather than actually gay, like prince figures from fairy tales—in it for the romance but, strictly speaking, chaste.

“I think if I had been more p.c., had I played by the rules a bit more, I’d be the Olympic champion this year,” he says. “Figure skating is a very staid sport. It’s very dusty. It’s old. The people that are judging are 30 years more advanced in their lives and they’re not necessarily going to understand what we like, our hairstyles, our costumes. But they’re judging us. You try to impress them, but I would sooner slit my wrists than sell out. My quote-unquote flamboyance—I hate that word—but my flamboyance and my opinion on the world and that I’m not afraid of who I am, that hurt me.”

Current Issue
Subscribe to New York

Give a Gift