Yahoo Sports Pin Trading Is the Olympic Sport You've Never Heard Of
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There’s a lot of mystery about what goes on behind the scenes at the Olympic Games. As a former Olympian, I'm sorry to tell you that it’s not all sex or bust as the headlines might lead you to believe. But flirting is one of the many strategies an athlete can use toward a different, less risky type of social connection, and it all starts with the classic pickup line: “Do you have a pin to trade?”
Pin-trading is a favorite pastime of many Olympians, in which athletes trade country-specific or sport-specific pins in an effort to collect from and connect with as many teams as possible. The practice dates back to the origins of the modern Games in 1896, when “pins” were cardboard disks that delegations wore for the purposes of identification. Today, pins are highly decorative, sought-after enamel tchotchkes used for trade, collection, and social networking.
It’s not just athletes that do it: it’s a currency for fans (hi, Prince Harry), staffers, and reporters alike. Dubbed the official “spectator sport” of the Games, it has even spawned its own avid community of “pinheads,” one of whom collected more than 600 pins over the course of a single Games. In recent years, more and more entities have created their own pins, from corporate sponsors to local retail and government agencies.
As with any Olympic sport, this game has rules too: the International Association of Olympic Collectors has delineated proper pin-trading etiquette, and the Olympin Collectors Club has compiled a compendium of pins as sorted by nation and year. Individually, pins aren’t worth that much, especially when compared to the value of medals, mascots, and other memorabilia (though they are doing better than stamps). But it's not really the monetary value that draws people into this sport.
For spectators, pins are a way to participate in the chaos of Olympic fervor, with 15 million tourists estimated to descend upon Paris for the 2024 Games. One pinhead described them as being “more important than money” during the duration of the Games, since a highly coveted pin could earn a person access to exclusive parties, be accepted as tip fare, or lead to a memorable swap with a random celebrity athlete on the streets.
But while the pin is valuable for athletes, the process of the trade is what really proves priceless. As a gymnast at the Rio 2016 Games, I would walk up to someone new each day, having pretense to start a conversation. Cafeterias are intimidating places for your average pre-pubescent middle schooler, but they are even more intimidating for your slightly-more-pubescent rhythmic gymnast (I was 16). The Olympic dining hall is bigger than two football fields, and everyone is either eating with their own cohort or minding their own business. It’s a tough crowd to find your way into— unless you have some pins at the ready.
Tricks of the (pin) trade:
My favorite pins are colorful, unique, and/or creative. No offense, but having only the iconography of a country’s flag on a pin doesn’t exactly scream “graphic design is my passion” to me.
Here’s what I’ve learned about getting the best pins:
Caribbean and/or island nations have the best pins. They’re always big, beautiful, and bright. They’re also more rare, and therefore highly sought after.
Larger delegations will often distribute more varieties of pins to their members. The host country will always have more variety of pins in circulation.
Volunteers are a goldmine — and more often than not— eager to trade.
Trade with staffers. There are a lot of people in the Village who aren’t athletes and it’s always interesting to see their pin spread, and to hear their perspectives on the Games.
You don’t need to wear your pins: most people string their pins proudly around their credentials, but I find that that gets heavy quickly. Moreover, it’s not really necessary to show off the haul you’ve been accumulating, nor is it very strategic— until the end.
To a group of Fiji rugby players: “Hey, do any of you guys have any pins? No? Well, can I sit here with you anyway for lunch?”
To a lone table tennis athlete from China: “Hi… have you gotten an American pin yet? Yes? Well what about this Canadian one I just traded for instead?”
To a random official with an IOC badge: “So… what’s your story? Do you have a pin to trade?”
To an unidentifiable athletic person: “Got pins?”
Not everyone speaks English, but if you can’t exchange conversation, at least you can trade pins.
But because these pins are worth gold, trading them necessitates strategy. The one downside to representing a big team like America, for example, is that its pins are oversaturated in the market: at almost every recent Olympic Games, Team USA has the largest delegation (in Tokyo, team USA had 613 athletes; in Paris, we’ll have 592). Since rhythmic gymnasts typically compete on the last two days of the Games, I was at yet another disadvantage: by the time I arrived at the Village, most athletes had already traded with an American.
So I needed to get a little creative. Instead of trading my pins whenever, wherever, with whomever, I developed some know-how over the span of two Olympic Games, one Youth Olympic Games, one Pan American Games, and a University Games.
If you’re an athlete in a team sport as opposed to an individual one, the logistics are easier: there’s always a corresponding athlete on the teams you’re paired with for training and competition, so there’s naturally more inter-mingling going on. As an individual athlete, there is less opportunity for such casual contexts for trading. But conversely, as an individual athlete, you get the upside of being a free agent with full rein over how you spend your down-time: there is no responsibility to inform others of your whereabouts, nor any trades you feel obligated to make.
If you’re an athlete in a bigger sport— like swimming, artistic gymnastics, or track and field— or in a smaller one like my own— aka rhythmic gymnastics— it helps in any case to pay attention to the country demographics of your sport. Eastern European countries dominate rhythmic gymnastics, and while the graphic design of this region’s pins were never my personal aesthetic, athletes have different priorities (like wanting to collect pins from countries they don’t normally encounter in their sport), which means that a trade with an Azerbaijani gymnast could hold weight for me in making secondary trades down the line. Knowing the approximate country spread of your own sport thus keys you into which countries you’ll have the easiest access to, while knowing the country spread of other sports keys you into which athletes to seek out.
As a teenager in Rio 2016 and a 21-and-under athlete in Tokyo 2021, I was a baby face at both Games. I used this perception of cuteness to solicit free give-aways from staffers, chefs de mission, and athletic officials, who coincidentally had the prettiest pin spreads to scout, and the most interesting stories to tell; I loved listening to their anthropological observations. One time I started talking to a photographer who told me that the Village is a great place to observe people’s shoes— the baseballers versus the equestrians, the hurdlers versus the discus throwers, etc.
If I were still competing now, I would leverage an I-am-a-veteran-and-therefore-you-should-respect-me-more energy for my trades.
Next: the large versus small country predicament. It’s no secret that there’s a surplus of athletes from certain countries; the disadvantage there is that designs from larger federations are often less unique — my favorite pins, for example, were usually from island nations. But an advantage larger delegations do have is distributing multiple varieties of pins to their athletes. Australia, for example, usually has a plethora of pins in circulation: you might see a boring flag pin going around, but an adorably cute kangaroo pin will be too. It’s important to be aware that such a spectrum exists, lest you end up without the adorably cute kangaroo.
One exception to this rule is the host country: even if a country hasn't historically been that creative with their pins in the past, hosting a Games will change that. And volunteers are a goldmine here, because they are all eager to trade. I am ashamed to say that in some instances, however, volunteers would ask me politely for pins free of trade and I would immediately feign ignorance. Luckily, my selfless physical therapist would give them her pins instead, and kindly offer the rest of her stockpile to me afterwards.
Lastly, quantity matters more than quality at the beginning of your pin-trading journey. 203 National Olympic Committees will be present at Paris, so any pin is better than no pin. There will be other opportunities for secondary and even tertiary trades. This is why I never wore my pins during the week: there was no need for any presumptive bravado before I had finished all possible trades. Plus, many of my best exchanges occurred in the six-hour waiting-line all athletes partake in before marching into the stadium for Closing Ceremonies. Only at this final moment, when it was all said and done, did I proudly show off my haul.
Here’s a final caveat: I am a greedy nerd. I have always loved the art of pin-trading, because it forced me to be present in the moment, emboldened me with social moxie, and helped me make friends. Anyone and everyone is approachable with the prospect of a pin trade. The Olympics comes around once every four years, and in the span of those three weeks, what ends up mattering the most is a shared lived experience. Tokyo 2021 had its shortcomings, but pin-trading continued on for those of us inside the Village, helping us connect even as we wore masks and ate at tables with plexiglass barriers.
In an era where everything has gone digital, there is something sacred about a tradition that remains so physical. Pin-trading happens on elevators and on buses, spontaneously and pre-planned, as athletes walk towards and away the biggest moments of their career. It makes an athlete remember they’re actively taking part in a culture, and not just a competition.
So am I just being excessively sentimental over some pieces of enamel?
Yes. But when else does one have such a convenient and productive excuse to talk to so many impressive strangers? Maybe instead of trading socials, we should try trading pins with each other, irl, more often. It’s fun.
Originally Appeared on Teen Vogue
