The luxury boxes and VIP seats remain unoccupied for much of the morning. After all, this is a cherished time for croissants and champagne, and no one wants to squander it on athletes they’ve never heard of. Just minutes before the second subdivision is set to begin, they emerge from the lounges and executive suites, making their way down the steps, chased by the flashing red lights of countless phone cameras.
Among them are Tom Cruise and Snoop Dogg. Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo are present as well. John Legend alongside Chrissy Teigen, Greta Gerwig with Jessica Chastain, and the Jonas Brothers contribute to the star-studded atmosphere, along with the ever-present Anna Wintour, whose primary hobby now appears to be sitting stoically at high-profile sporting events, reminiscent of someone reluctantly attending a relative’s nativity play.
Unsurprisingly, they aren’t here to witness Kaylia Nemour from Algeria deliver an extraordinarily challenging routine and establish herself as a top contender for gold in the uneven bars. The same goes for the Becky Downie comeback story, if they’re even aware of it at all. Instead, the Olympic gymnastics qualification has become merely a pit stop on the vibrant Paris social circuit: Nadal and Alcaraz on Saturday night, Biles on Sunday morning, and drinks receptions in between. They’re present to experience “Ready For It? (Simone’s Version)”. Let the Games commence!
Meanwhile, two levels down, in the heart of the Bercy Arena, the greatest gymnast ever is engaged in intense conversation. Coaches and medical personnel are gesturing towards her left calf and ankle, tightly wrapped in strapping. A camera operator hovers above her like a dark cloud. We catch fragments of the dialogue. She exclaims: “like a fucking tear.” Then adds, “I could literally feel it, though.” And again, “It hurts so bad to push off.” Between her routines, she limps, sits, grimaces, and smiles—caught between the expectations of the Simone everyone envisions and the Simone she actually feels like.
Having completed two disciplines, Biles has already delivered everything the eager crowd hoped for: a magnificent entrance, an awe-inspiring beam routine, capped off by a double somersault dismount with a double twist that many gymnasts find nearly impossible on the floor. As she prepares for the floor exercise, palpable tension fills the Team USA section. In the stands, her former teammate Aly Raisman clasps her hands to her mouth in silent prayer.
The world witnessed the events of three years past—the withdrawals, the media frenzy that chased her from Tokyo back home, and her publicly portrayed struggles with mental health, as no other option was available to her. A month following Tokyo, she testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee against her abuser, Larry Nassar. It took her two years to return to competition, and although she showcased new skills, something more fundamental had shifted within her. No longer would she allow herself to be ensnared by external expectations. If Rio was about glory, and Tokyo was about pressure, Paris is purely for her.
No one is coercing her to be present. No sponsor, executive, or internet troll can ignite Biles’s motivation more than she can fuel herself. In a striking moment during her groundbreaking floor routine, she raises her fist and forcefully brings it down: a gesture of defiance, a refusal, but also an instantiation of freedom. As her choreographer Grégory Milan articulated to the New York Times: “I am breaking my aquarium, reclaiming my freedom, and I won’t be harmed any longer.”
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Naturally, she successfully executes the floor routine, perfectly lands the Yurchenko double pike vault, and follows it up with a straight somersault and 1½ twists, moving on to the all-around final with another impressive entry on the all-time points list. There are moments she wobbles slightly, and moments when she needs to take an extra steadying step. Even her missteps maintain a sense of grace. Because if there’s one lesson Biles has imparted over the last decade, it’s to reshape our perception and dialogue around star athletes, rejecting the instinct to deify them, as this is just another form of dehumanization. We must stop insisting on perfection and miracles as prerequisites for our admiration. Biles radiates perfection precisely because she isn’t.
The spectacle will continue with its loud distractions surrounding her. Her image will keep selling premium hospitality packages everywhere. Celebrities will drift in and out, gawking and ogling, eager to bask in her reflected brilliance, attaching themselves to her ephemeral cultural significance like addicts. Yet, she is the only one who understands the journey that led her here, the true significance of being present in this moment, and amid the grand, grotesque, billion-dollar extravaganza of major sporting events, she alone will define her own power. Her talent. Her body. Her narrative. Her rules.
