Hello, Internet. My name is Chris Trew. Since 2008, I’ve been hosting what I’ve deemed the most important sporting event in the history of the world: the Air Sex Championships. It’s like air guitar, but replace the invisible guitar with a person. Then, instead of strumming the pretend strings, you’re fucking that person. Or object. Or multiple people and objects. Really, whatever you want… as long as it’s invisible. You show us as much as you want, from meeting your partner to the climax. Oh, and your climax has to be simulated. That’s one of only a few rules in the Air Sex Championships.
This show started as a one-off joke at the Alamo Drafthouse in 2007 after viewing this. Tim League (American Hero and owner of the Alamo Drafthouse) organized the first competition, held at his amazing movie theater in Austin, Texas. I developed the show to what it is today, which is very far removed from the previous Japanorama clip. The contestants aren’t all lonely, straight men, and the audience isn’t seated, bored, and waiting for a movie to start. The Air Sex Championships has the energy of a sporting event, the atmosphere of a comedy show, and most importantly, it feels good (like actual sex for most of us).
Here’s how it works: You sign up by emailing me, tweeting at me, or if you’re lucky and there’s spots open, showing up and telling me you want to perform. Contestants choose a song and are called up in random order. A panel of judges (usually comedians, members of the local press, and occasionally a real life celebrity) gives each contestant feedback, sending three Air Sex’ers to the final round where they make love to nothing at all once more. This time, however, it’s to a mystery song, usually influenced by the city we’re in. In Washington D.C., for example, we make people have sex to The Star-Spangled Banner. In Nashville, the finalists are making love to country and western tunes. Sometimes we just go with cheesy TV theme music because watching “The Vagina Explorer” explore a vagina to the opening song of Family Matters is the most fulfilling way to go.
Then it’s in the audience’s hands, as they cheer loudest for the individual (that’s right, no teams allowed) they feel is most deserving of the title “(insert city here) Air Sex Champion.” That person not only is guaranteed actual sex the night of the competition from an excited audience member, they also get to brag to strangers for the rest of their life that they won an Air Sex contest. The only thing more badass than saying you won an Air Sex contest is saying you won the National Championship, because only five people can say that.
After winning a regional competition, we fly you to the site of the big finale, which was held in Austin for the first four seasons and New Orleans for the most recent one (note: our last tour was filmed for an upcoming documentary feature). Those shows are usually the most competitive of the year as something strange happens after you travel across the country to have fake sex—you want to win very, very badly. Every National Championship show has come down to the wire and we’ve seen all kinds of winners.
Lots of people assume the only competitors are lonely, straight, white males. This is far from the truth. If there was an Air Sex Hall of Fame (note to self) we would have entire halls dedicated to the athletic thrusts of TyTy Sparklepants, a gay man from Eugene, Oregon, and winner of Season 3. I see a beautiful sculpture of our first female National Champion Cuntastrope, with a playable voicebox so that visitors can hear her believable moans. My point is all kinds of people perform in this show. Comedians with rehearsed routines, drunken college students who don’t know what they are doing, and middle-aged people with real jobs who say “fuck it”. As long as the contestant shows an ability to communicate and commit to what they are doing on stage they’ll do fine.
Is it the Olympics? Is it art? Is it actual sex? No, it is better than all of those. Combined. This is the Air Sex Championships.
