There was a time when hosting the Winter Olympics meant one simple thing: winter. With reliable winter came reliable snow and mountains that did not require human improvisation to look alpine. That assumption is rapidly melting.
As the latest Winter Games unfold in Milano Cortina and extend to the Paralympics, they have become a test case of whether and how global institutions cope with climate reality.
Historically, the Winter Olympics has rotated across North America, Europe, and East Asia – regions where snowfall has been a certainty in winter. Rising temperatures are shrinking the pool of climatically suitable host cities. A study funded by the International Olympic Committee (IOC) found that by mid-century, the number of cities cold enough to stage events safely and consistently would be almost halved.
The Winter Olympics are entering a different era in which snow cannot be taken for granted and infrastructure cannot be justified by optimism alone.
As winters become more uncertain, organisers have found a solution through industrial-scale climate engineering. At the core of this shift is an expanding reliance on artificial snow production. Artificial snow is not new, but the dependency on it is. Consider Beijing 2022, for example. The Games were visually stunning, as always. But almost all the snow used in competition was artificial. Millions of litres of water were diverted to produce machine-made snow in a region already facing water stress.
Snowmaking requires reservoirs, pipelines, pumping stations, and electricity grids robust enough to sustain prolonged production. In fragile alpine ecosystems, diverting water, especially during dry winters, can alter stream flows and local hydrology. The Olympic movement has increasingly emphasised sustainability, carbon neutrality and climate responsibility. The growing reliance on artificial snow exposes a paradox. Can an event built around cold weather credibly expand its carbon footprint to simulate the very climate it claims to respect?
One option is to invest in more energy-efficient snowmaking. To its credit, the IOC has pushed sustainability benchmarks for the 2026 Games, including a commitment to use 100% renewable electricity for snow production. That is a meaningful step, but renewable power addresses only the energy source, not the structural dependence on artificial snow. If the Games are to remain credible in a warming world, they will require a more fundamental reckoning with long-term ecological limits.
There is another dilemma facing host regions. Successful Olympic bids promise economic revitalisation through new transport links, upgraded utilities, expanded tourism and global visibility. In alpine towns facing demographic decline, that promise is tempting. Yet the very infrastructure built to stimulate growth can strain ecosystems already stressed by warming temperatures. To sustain the economy, they must invest in infrastructure that may, over time, undermine the environmental conditions on which that economy depends.
Mega-events such as the Olympics have always struggled with the problem of white elephant venues that gleam during the fortnight of competition but are left largely unused thereafter. Winter sport facilities are especially vulnerable. Snow tracks and specialised ice arenas are expensive to build and even more expensive to maintain. Without steady post-Games demand, they become financial burdens for local governments.
The IOC could institutionalise a rotational system anchored in a small group of climate-reliable venues, eliminating the need to rebuild expensive facilities every four years. A strict “no new permanent venues without demonstrable legacy use” rule would further curb white elephants, shifting emphasis toward temporary, modular or pre-existing infrastructure. Legacy planning is admittedly more feasible for the Summer Olympics than for the Winter Games. Still, the winter venues can be used for year-round training programs and binding agreements can be undertaken with international federations for recurring events.
As a case in point, this year’s Winter Games are being held in Italy, which previously hosted the Games in 2006. Yet rather than reusing the facilities built for Turin 2006, this year’s events centred on a different configuration of venues. Some Turin facilities have struggled with underuse and financial strain over the past 20 years, raising uncomfortable questions about continuity and institutional memory. In a warming world where building new infrastructure carries both economic and ecological costs, reactivating and upgrading existing sites is the more logical path.
The athletes themselves are not indifferent to this transformation. They have raised concerns that artificial snow behaves differently from natural snowfall. It can be denser and icier, increasing the risk of high-speed crashes and repetitive strain injuries. For elite athletes who train constantly, the proliferation of artificial snow also means escalating costs. Teams must secure access to snowmaking facilities, often in limited high-altitude locations. This pushes up travel, accommodation, and training expenses.
Climate change also reshapes who can afford to compete at the highest level. Smaller national federations – already operating on tight budgets – feel this squeeze acutely. The Paralympic movement has become one of the most powerful symbols of inclusion in global sport, and for these athletes, consistent snow quality and safe course conditions are even more critical.
None of this means the Winter Olympics are doomed. It does mean they are entering a different era in which snow cannot be taken for granted and infrastructure cannot be justified by optimism alone. The Games were built around winter and their endurance will depend on how wisely they adjust to its retreat.
