Alysa Liu is hard to miss on the ice.
During warm-ups for the figure skating short program at this week’s Milan-Cortina Olympics, while her rivals were laser-focused on their routines, Liu exuded the joy of someone arriving at a festive gathering rather than a high-stakes competition.
She effortlessly chatted with teammates, waved to familiar faces in the crowd, and even cheered on her fellow skaters.
Mid-skate, she spotted her family, including her father, Arthur, in the stands, pointing and beaming as she gracefully glided past.
Now 20 and the reigning world champion, Liu enters Thursday’s free skate in third place, with a real shot at an Olympic medal. Yet, she insists that even if she leaves empty-handed or finishes last, it wouldn’t be a disaster.
“Honestly, it doesn’t feel like a terrible outcome,” she remarked. “I’d be perfectly fine with it, even if it were a movie plot.”
What truly matters most in these Olympics, Liu revealed, is that she’s the one directing her own story – the star, yes, but also fully in charge of casting and costume design.
After years of strict guidance—from practice schedules to diet and attire—taking control of her career was the sole condition for her return to figure skating after a two-year hiatus. Her father, she noted, would be the very last to hear about it.
“She walked into my office and declared, ‘I have very important news: I want to skate again,’” her father, Arthur Liu, a lawyer, recalled of their 2024 meeting. “Then she added that I would have no involvement whatsoever; I was no longer part of the team.”
He admitted, tearing up, “To be honest, that stung.”
Since that moment, he realized a crucial truth: for Alysa to truly embrace her return to the sport, he had to release his hold.
“I couldn’t fault her for wanting to forge her own path,” said Arthur Liu, who arrived in the United States over 35 years ago as a political refugee after organizing student protests in China. “We both share a very free-spirited nature.”
At just 13, Alysa Liu made history as the youngest U.S. national champion, securing a second title the following year. This was all orchestrated under the watchful eye of her father, who introduced her to the sport at age five with aspirations of her becoming a skating legend, much like Michelle Kwan.
He spared no expense, connecting Alysa with top coaches and investing half a million to a million dollars, all to cultivate what he believed was her innate talent.
From his law office in Oakland, California, he would discreetly enter the training arena, clutching a checklist of jumps she needed to master: triple axel (which she landed at an astounding 12 years old, the youngest woman globally to do so in international competition)? Check. Five triple lutzes? Check.
Coaches who didn’t meet his rigorous expectations faced his reprimands, or worse, dismissal.
Phillip DiGuglielmo, her current coach, revealed that Arthur Liu fired him three times, twice via text message stating, “I don’t need your services anymore.”
“I always knew he was lurking in the rafters, observing our every move,” DiGuglielmo recounted. “Later, I’d get a text: ‘Alysa’s talking too much — why aren’t you focused on skating?’ He had a very specific vision.”
Once, Arthur even sent a radar gun, convinced Alysa needed to skate faster and wanting data to prove it.
“Arthur is genuinely a good person, and Alysa understands his intentions are pure, but he can become fixated on results,” DiGuglielmo explained. “I constantly had to remind him, ‘You know, you don’t need to micromanage this. I’m quite competent at what I do.’”
Arthur Liu, who himself grew up in extreme poverty in a Chinese mountain village, now views his actions as those of a dedicated parent. As a single father managing four other children during the pandemic, he orchestrated Alysa’s training across Delaware, Italy, and Colorado in preparation for the 2022 Beijing Games.
However, Alysa later confided that she had never felt more isolated and lonely, a sentiment her coaches also observed. The usually cheerful teenager would often be found weeping in the rink’s hallway, her skating noticeably devoid of passion.
“The genuine love for the sport had simply vanished,” noted Drew Meekins, a choreographer who coached her in Colorado.
Arthur Liu claimed he was unaware of Alysa’s struggles, but that changed dramatically just weeks after the Beijing Games.
At only 16, she publicly announced her departure from the sport on Instagram, declaring, “I’m going to be moving on with my life.”
Bypassing the traditional post-Olympics skating tours, much to her father’s dismay, her social media went silent. Alysa was off exploring life beyond the rink: enrolling at UCLA, spending time with friends, trekking to Mount Everest Base Camp, embarking on road trips, and enjoying sleepovers. After years confined to the ice, she finally felt a profound sense of freedom.
During a family skiing trip in early 2024, the exhilaration of speeding down the slopes reignited a spark within her. She suddenly missed the adrenaline of competitive skating and resolved to make an unprecedented comeback.
This time, however, she would assemble her own support system, enlisting DiGuglielmo and choreographer Massimo Scali. She would have creative control over her music and costumes, a newfound autonomy welcomed by her coaches, who represented a fresh, more empathetic approach to coaching.
“I pulled her aside once and told her, ‘Alysa, I see you for who you truly are—not just a world champion or a product. I’m here with you on this journey,’” DiGuglielmo shared.
Alysa’s unique approach extends to everything. Before a major competition last year, Scali observed her FaceTiming a friend during warm-ups. He resisted the urge to scold her, instead thinking, “Normally, this is a time for intense focus, but we trust she knows what she’s doing. She always comes through.”
He added, “This Alysa is so authentic and beautiful, unlike anything we’ve seen before. She’s pure, carefree, and we respect her and her choices, following her energy and guidance.”
Her unconventional attitude has injected a fresh style into the sport. She even pierced her own frenulum, the tissue connecting her upper gums to her lip, and proudly sports a ‘smiley piercing’ there.
Her signature look features hair striped like a raccoon’s tail—alternating dark brown and blond, often falling playfully across her face, free of hairspray or gel. She collaborates with friends on music, routines, and costumes, marveling that she can achieve success while genuinely happy.
One thing she *doesn’t* do? Get nervous.
“It’s not a conscious choice; it’s simply her brain chemistry,” DiGuglielmo commented. “Some individuals are just wired that way—they’re the kind of person you’d want piloting your plane during a lightning storm.”
During her short program, Alysa shared that she glanced at her family in the stands twice—once during her intricate footwork and again right before her double axel—performing directly to them.
She couldn’t recall the last time her siblings were able to watch her compete, as school commitments always prevented them from traveling.
This week in Milan, her family is witnessing her truly in her element, where she has the creative freedom to make her programs deeply personal for both the audience and herself. She feels more authentic and, consequently, has more fun than ever before.
Her father, it seems, finally understands.
“Her last Olympic experience should have been joyous, and I deeply regret that it wasn’t,” Arthur Liu reflected. “But now, she’s certainly making up for lost time.”