What Figure Skating Taught Me About Essay Writing

How the sport's new grading system mirrors the balance needed in writing

Our welcome back to St Andrews was pitifully disappointing. The start of the new semester beckons in fresh deadlines, required readings, essay questions, and a pointed lack of the Scottish winter I was promised. Luckily for us, however, the Winter Olympics are here to dust our academic worries with a layer of delightfully distracting snow. Milano’s ice skating arena is home to 2026’s Olympic Figure Skating and where I, for one, will be spending the majority of my mental focus this February.

The smooth ice, adoring crowds, music, jumps, spins; the whole culture behind skating is spectacle. A harmonious marriage of artistry and technical ability. The perfect sport. Well … maybe I would have said that in the nineties. Yes, I love Figure Skating, but the changes made to the sport in the early noughties have slowly devolved the majority of performances into meandering, lifeless disappointment. The word ‘performance’ is perhaps too generous.In 2004, the International Skating Union (ISU) changed the official grading system used in competitions from the 6.0 system to … whatever we have now. Skaters were placed on a comparative scale within each competition, meaning there was no absolute scale to ensure consistency across comps. “Too subjective!”, the ISU cried over an inherently artistic sport. After some impossibly juicy scandals, the old system was scrapped. Goodbye, six-point-oh.

The old system valued artistry and technique equally, as each held the same maximum possible mark, 6.0. The new system has no maximum marks. Each element (i.e. jumps, spins, etc.) has an individual ‘Base Value’ which is then added to, or subtracted from based on the execution of the element. Whilst there is a score for performance (which is still subjective … looking at you, ISU), the technical score always outweighs it.

Jumps. The icons of the skating world. Axels, Loops, Lutzes. A complex jump can score so highly that there is no need to fret over small matters like: listening to the music, or skating well, or pointing your toes, or — I could go on.

I hear your sighs from behind your Palompo’s cappuccino. I do admit, none of this (exciting!) detail is helping your empty Word doc. What can all this teach us about essay writing?Like skating, writing is an art; it’s a perfect balance of artistry and technical ability. Art cannot be divided up into little tick boxes. We are not graded paragraph-by-paragraph or point-by-point. A logical argument, presented illogically, is an illogical argument. Presentation of the overall work is the difference between a 2.2 and a 1st; a dwindling fanbase and a filled stadium. 

Flair, style, dare I say it, ‘Viewpoint’ is inherently subjective. Annoying if you’re trying to get your degree or win a competition, but it must be valued equally to technical ability. When technique is emphasised over individuality, we have only a collection of disjointed elements. A man springing about an ice rink like a deaf kangaroo or a drab essay filtering through point, evidence, explanation … point, evidence, explanation … point, evidence …

Whilst I can’t skate very well, the legends of the ice still manage to inspire me. The emotion in Michelle Kwan’s perfectly-timed spirals leaves me awe-struck every time. She is to ice what a good writer is to paper: confidently in charge. Domineering, even. But paper has no feelings, so whip those paragraphs into shape! I’d give the same advice to an aspiring skater or a student struggling with an essay. Find balance between style and content, be brave, and show emotion. We live in the age of technology; if I wanted to read a robotic essay, I could. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care to read your sob story, but give me an insight into how your mind works. A good skater has something to say. Force those pages to say what you think. Wear the trousers. Or the sparkling dress and deadly blades. Whatever gets you in the mood, I guess.

Illustration from Louisa Nguyen