this comment still bothers me.  i’m sure on some level i was initially irked because i was part of the show- i wasn’t too keen on the idea of whispered comparisons, particularly in a non-competitive event- but mostly it made me mad that this incredibly talented person was suffering in part because she felt that others were evaluating her performance negatively.  that perception was obviously hurting someone who didn’t need any more criticism than her own.  maybe i misunderstood what she meant or maybe she was just having a bad day.  but it illustrates one of the downsides of being immersed in competition with others.  with the growing emphasis on competitive events in the hooping world, i’m concerned that there is the potential to undermine what i consider to be the best aspects of the spinning arts.

i guess it’s not that surprising that hooping is moving in this direction.  from a young age we are taught that there is this inherent disparity between the best and the rest, that the awards and the money and the fame only belong to those at the top of the heap.  we are saturated with images and stories extolling the virtues of competition.  how many movies, tv shows, or books can you think of where the hero or heroine initially flounders in a competition, then works hard through some kind of self-awakening to ultimately win?  i bet you can think of at least thirty without even trying.  invariably the end result of this epic struggle is our hero or heroine bathing in the accolades in the final tearful moments, while the competitor, who often seems to be evil for some reason, dies or is humiliated or, in the rare form, learns a life lesson.  yes, this does happen in real life, but for the most part, these stories are just made up.

while i appreciate that competition can be a catalyst for creativity or improvement, one of the things i really liked about hooping from the get go was that it didn’t feel competitive.  my first real in-person exposure to the greater hooping community was through bay area hoopers.  it was a haven of sorts, a place where i could learn, meet like-minded peeps, and practice free from judgment.  similarly, when i co-founded HooppaiN we emphasized that it had nothing to do with competition.  mutual inspiration?  yes!  but we weren’t caught up with who was better than whom.  instead, we all genuinely celebrated when anyone did something cool or innovative, enjoying each other’s company and shared love of spinning.  i personally benefited enormously from participating in both of these groups.  i know that similar groups now exist all around the world.

with the wave of hoop popularity continuing to grow, i’m sure we will see yesterday’s hoopies, and today’s hooping idol, morph into tomorrow’s international hooping competitions.  while i think the spirit behind the current competitions is to inspire and share, i would argue that there are better ways of doing it.  the reality is that anytime you hold a competition there is the risk of someone getting hurt or discouraged.  while one could argue that in entering a competition you open yourself up to that kind criticism, i don’t think that it makes the methodology any better.

the first problem i see is that any competition is going to have to reconcile some set of arbitrary criteria against the growing breadth of hooping: these days you’ve got single hoopers and double hoopers, those who emphasize the dance element and those who emphasize the technical element, off-the-body specialists and on-body rockers, those with a dance background and those without, etc.  that’s quite a range of skill, expression, and style.

i also think it is important to recognize that any particular performance may not be a good representation of a spinner’s skill set or flow.  even consistently amazing performers know that you have both good and bad spins. sometimes you are completely on: the magic is there, you are in that rarefied state of flow, participating in an amazing dialogue with the crowd in which even your errors can come across as great.  at other times, despite all of the preparation and intention, you can just be off: you get lost in your routine, or your costume malfunctions, or the wrong music gets cued up, or your hoop feels like it has gained ten pounds, or your body starts to channel a spastic monkey.  sometimes you just spin out of control.  that’s just the nature of the beast.

next you have the meta-factors.  when we are talking about people judging people, we have to at least acknowledge that popularity and personal attractiveness may play a role, even if that’s not anyone’s intention.  also, if the competition is based on a video submission, won’t the better quality videos inevitably get higher points?

i’m sure you see where i am going with this.  how can anybody fairly judge an expanding artform?  it’s all well and good to say that “everyone is a winner” who participates, but inevitably someone is not going to feel like a winner when they don’t make the cut.  granted, i’m emphasizing the doom and gloom, but the potential for hurt feelings and misunderstandings is real.

it takes a lot to share your art and soul with others.  there is an emotional risk to it, a vulnerability.  i think that vulnerability is a big part of what we connect with as an audience.  i’m worried about exposing that vulnerability to harm.  it seems out of synch with the universal hooping spirit, that graciousness within us that applauds without negative judgment a delighted newbie just jamming at the waist.  i think intermediate and seasoned hoopers need that graciousness, too.

as such, i would rather see the emphasis in the hooping world go to valuing the range of expression that we, as a community, can create.  i love spinning precisely because ten spinners can do the exact same set of moves and look different, because each person is inherently different and valuable because of that difference.  yes, we are all unique and special snowflakes!

i will never be any of the other amazing hoopers that grace our community.  that’s a good thing.  i’d rather be the best, most kickass kahunahula that i can be, bringing the core of my experience, spirit and passion to each of my spins the way only i can challenge myself to do.  granted i sound like an after-school special, but in my mind the real competition is with myself, not with anyone else.  am i getting past my own fears and tapping directly into my flow?  did i turn that drop into a great recovery?  more importantly, am i touching the hearts of those watching me instead of just being lost in my own hoopsterbation?  (you can quote me)  if i am winning over my own limitations, then, yes, i am winning.

you know what else?  with this kind of focus on enabling and challenging the creative self, it’s easy to really value what others bring to the table.  that may be obvious, but i think it is worth expressing.  another person’s success is not threatening to yours because there is no competition between the two of you; you can both win in your own personal events.  my perception is that the vast majority of hoopers connect inherently with this idea.

granted, there will undoubtedly always be people who get lost in judging others, but as a special community of artists i think we can embrace and encourage a different model.  hooping is not a job interview, beauty pageant, or any of the other situations in life where only one person can be the best.  before we get too lost in these things, i say we should steer away from the hierarchical constructs that pit hooper against hooper.  isn’t it truer to our nature to share things in a way that emulates the circular shape of the hoop?  with this sense of equanimity, let’s agree to protect one other from feeling like the performance we just did is being criticized behind our back.  we can foster mutual inspiration and creativity instead, building showcases instead of competitions.  there definitely can be value in a large forum for the sharing of high levels of skill and innovation.  it just doesn’t need to be about singling out one or two people.  there is enough room for every hooper to be treasured and honored for what they bring to our art and our community.

photo by steven walker, 2009.

encased in the deep shadowed box of the surrounding warehouse buildings, the front of the club is bathed in midnight neon light. a crowd of about thirty mingle raucously at the front by the dj table, cornered like freak cattle behind temporary metal barriers. little groups of talking people, drinks in hand. those gaggles of connection, intrigue, boredom and flirtation. the air thick with cigarette smoke and pheremones. a handful of partiers approaches from the distance in outrageous costumes, the women swaying with arms crossed as they try to navigate the cold, parked cars, and the oil-stained gravel in high heels.

the music is throbbing. it makes me want to move.

taking deep breaths and stretching to calm my nerves, i try to loosen up. my right shoulder is still a little sore from the beach thing, spinning fire as a gift to a graduating group of junior high school students. that gig absolutely kicked my ass. i needed a sherpa just to get back to the car. the soft sand is so taxing to move in, like doing jumping jacks in jello. i had to do more isolations when my legs got exhausted. it about killed dna, too. absolutely love them. a truly great couple doing it right. friends i always enjoy spending time with. and, they know how to put on a show.

final costume adjustments. pull up my socks. loosen the knee pads. package comfortable? waistband? run a grateful hand through the already damp hair before putting back on my black hat. i’m dressed in long, black, billowy thai wraparound pants, black sketchers and socks, black half gloves, an arm band, and the necklace my lady gave me. love rocking the black. a little cold being bare chested, but i’ll be warm in the fire. it’s a wonder i’ve come so far with being comfortable having my torso exposed. i remember too clearly feeling mostly like an irritated, beached whale, never wanting to share my belly with anybody. feeling slimmer and tighter again, almost where i was post-playa last year. nice to feel sexy. does a self good.

ditching the gum. a little more water. more. another breath. k is spinning his staff off in the middle of the street. the fuel is tucked away from the performance area, by the trash cans at the side of the club. a few feet away, one of the door guys looks bored out of his mind; the other is lasciviously looking at a brunette in a short skirt. she’s got a nice ass.

“we’re on”

i walk to the fuel, adjusting my gloves. i need to tailor their replacements- don’t like they way one of them is starting to curl at my palm. my fire hoop is resting against the wall, six blackened spokes speaking of the recent practice. i’ve beaten the hell out of that thing learning how to firehoop. but, i can’t wait for the new one to arrive. can’t wait for new wicks. i wonder what kind of adjustment it will be transitioning to a considerably lighter hoop?

i pick up my green and black, battle firehoop, double check that the wicks are screwed in tightly. once over of the hoop. relatively circular? tape tight? good.

kneeling to open up my ammo can. the sticker on the side says, “cleverly disguised as a responsible adult”. it’s about 3/4 full with lamp oil and white gas. as i crack the lid, i’m hit with that familiar fuel smell that seeps into my clothing. try not to breath it in- don’t want to think about toxicity issues at the moment. my wicks look worn out. beat the hell out of them, too, and this is like my, what, forth or fifth set of wicks?

as each one goes into the fuel bath, i start the slow count to ten in my head, and turn to see how the performance is progressing. k is getting into his zone. he is one of the most graceful staff spinners i’ve seen. great flow.

7-8-9-10. i pull the dripping wick out, shaking it lightly. rotate clockwise to the next wick. submerge. two. 2. 3. turn my head back to the fire.

the crowd is loving the show. what started as a few similarly turned heads has mushroomed into a dedicated, delighted audience, 3 or 4 rows deep. more people are coming outside to watch, squeezing in to poise their drinks somewhat precariously over the waist-high barricades.

10. rotate. submerge. three. 2. 3.

“great spin man”, i yell as k comes over to put down his staff. he’s bathed in a sheen of sweat- a little flushed. he’s got his relaxed smile on, the smoke from his tired wicks trailing behind him into the night air. he reminds me of a cheshire cat who has just apparated. (is apparated actually a word or am i just quoting harry potter?)

“thanks.” he replies.

“how’d it feel?”

“it felt good… there were a few things i wanted to do, but…..yeah…yeah, it was good… you ready to rock it like a bad motherfucker?”

“always”, i grin. i close the can, struggling a bit with the clasp one-handed, as my soaked hoop waits in my other outstretched hand. i stand up, adjust the back of my kneepads again (ouch) and walk away to shake off the excess fuel. the music is still pumping. sweet.

wish i’d taken a piss. fuck.

away from the activity, i whip the hoop a few times in my right hand vertically, the excess fuel spraying off into the air. it’s a fine balance. i don’t want to spray the audience with napalm, but i want as much fuel as i can burn. these wicks always go out too quickly. the new ones will make a difference, but i’m starting to wonder how much the speed at which i hoop plays a part?

i start loping back to the performance area in time with the music. shake off my shoulders. big exhale. time to get into character. wish i had my sunglasses.

j is just finishing up with double fire hoops. she is a born performer: charming, sexy, graceful. inherently knows how to connect with an audience. i admire how quickly she can transition into performing. sometimes i hit it. sometimes only for a moment; sometimes i’m deep blissing in my flow for an orgasmic timelessness. sometimes i chase it without ever achieving it.

nice move. she’s got one firehoop at her waist, the other atop her outstretched hand.

she dances back momentarily and sees me. she is almost done- her wicks are starting to sputter out. i shift more attention to the music. try to anticipate where the transitions might be. j winks that she is about ready to switch.

i close my eyes and breath. alright, let’s do this like a buddhist, kahunahula! all you’ve got! engage. if you fuck up, recover. find the flow. and don’t take it so seriously. it’s just a fucking hula hoop. have a blast!

j bows and pirouettes back with one remaining lit wick. the crowd is cheering wildly. rush of adrenaline. in a familiar sequence of movement she starts lighting my wicks. as each one catches, the bright light flares up, the dark smoke begins and another voice is added to the chorus of white noise. i make sure my hands and costume are away from the flames. as i wait for the final wicks to light in that purgatory.

click. one wick won’t light. click of lighter. click. click. dammit. (i know i dipped them all. hate to go on with an unlit wick but don’t want to burn too much fuel lighting.)

there it goes. it’s windier than it looks; even starting to gust a little bit. will need to keep that in mind. keep my tosses low at first and see what the drift is like.

“thank you”

i turn towards the audience. i am met with a wash of cheering, expectant faces beyond the glare of the flames. i walk to the center of the space and adjust my hoop to a place of beginning. jack directly into the music. almost at the transition. 4. 3. 2…

breath. and commit.