Ukraine’s synchronized swimming team in competition Thursday. “They need to be very glamorous, glitzy,” explained one commentator. (Wong Maye-E/AP)

Deep into the Olympics — almost to the end, really — and we’ve reached the Land of the Women of the Pretty Sports.

Here is Russia, paddling to its fifth straight synchronized-swimming gold, in a routine called “Angels” that involved eyebrow-skimming blue eyeshadow and headpieces resembling starfish. Here are the semifinals of rhythmic gymnastics, in which shockingly flexible athletes hurl rubber balls in the air with control that rivals Kevin Durant, while wearing uniforms that rival “Showgirls.”

“They need to be very glamorous, glitzy — it’s all part of the sport,” said one announcer to the other during the finals of the synchronized swimming competition. “The headpieces, too, they have to be a certain size.”

“Cheeky!” her co-announcer replied a few moments later. “Really good fun.”

Laura Zeng of the United States competes in rhythmic gymastics — one of the Pretty Sports that rarely gets prime time coverage. (Elsa/Getty Images)

The Women of the Pretty Sports cannot be seen in prime time. The Women of the Pretty Sports — and yes, it is a women thing; these are the two female-only events in the Olympics — must be livestreamed in the middle of the day.

That well-used phrase about Ginger Rogers doing everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels? These athletes are the absolute best in the world at what they do, and they compete with giant gauze baubles pinned to their heads while nobody at home is even watching.

Australia's team competes during the synchronized swimming team technical routine final on Thursday. (Wong Maye-E/AP)

Trust us, we are as tired as you of analyzing the way female athletes are treated differently in these Olympics. After commentators credited Hungarian swimmer Katinka Hosszu’s world records to her husband (who remained on dry land), our eyes were too strained to keep rolling.

But as the Rio games come to a close, we can’t help but look back at what the ladies were wearing, and what that meant.

The moment when women’s Olympic attire became truly jarring was during the individual gymnastics competition. Oksana Chusovitina, a 41-year-old Uzbeki gymnast was competing in her seventh — seventh! — Olympics. The double-somersaulted vault that she chose is known as the “Vault of Death” and Chusovitina, who has a son older than many of her competitors, performed it while wearing a pink leotard covered in sequins, her hair secured into a high ponytail with a scrunchie.

Oksana Chusovitina warms up for her balance beam competition. (Rebecca Blackwell/AP)

Did she look ridiculous — half spangled, half crows feet? No, she looked like a finely tuned, slightly middle-aged machine. What Chusovitina’s presence revealed as ridiculous was the costume itself: the fact that any world-class athlete should be expected to push through torn ligaments and sprained ankles, complete literally death-defying feats, always stick the landing, and do it while wearing abundant glitter.

Rhythmic gymnast Marina Durunda of Azerbaijan competes in the individual all-around qualifying event on Friday. (Ben Stansall/AFP/Getty Images)

Would we expect a male gymnast to do the same? Usain Bolt? Michael Phelps? Of course not — it would be silly to expect glitter for a sport competed entirely in the water. And yet somehow elaborate makeup is de rigueur for the synchronized swimmers, whose workout routines include swimming three miles a day, hours of strength and flexibility conditioning, and practicing underwater routines with weights attached to their wrists and ankles to increase stamina, according a profile on British Olympian Olivia Federici. Federici told the Guardian, “In competition, I wear lipstick and dark eye-shadow and my hair is scraped back in a bun with gelatin to accentuate our facial features so the judges can see our expressions.”

Synchronized swimmers Katie Clark and Olivia Federici of Great Britain. (Christophe Simon/AFP/Getty Images)

Commenters and Twitter snarkers have already made note of the absurdity of “expressions” playing any kind of role at all in athletic competitions. “Please stop telling Gabby Douglas to smile,” begged a headline from Women’s Health magazine, because when Gabby Douglas comes in a disappointing seventh and looks a tad sad about it, she becomes “Crabby Gabby.” When Michael Phelps shoots death rays from his eyeballs at a competitor, he’s a delightful meme.

Same sport, different uniforms. Kerri Walsh Jennings and April Ross of the U.S. women’s beach volleyball team on Wednesday. . . (Quinn Rooney/Getty Images)

. . . and Alison Cerutti and Bruno Schmidt Oscar of Brazil of the Brazilian mens’ beach volleyball team on Thursday. (Rob Carr/Getty Images)

You tell me that all athletic costumes and accessories are designed specifically to enhance the performance of that particular sport, and I’ll believe you — I’m useless with anything involving a ball, a javelin, a hurdle, a kneepad. But if that’s the case, why do the male beach volleyball players compete in long shorts and loose tank tops, while their female counterparts are in bikinis? Why are female hurdlers in essentially underpants, and men in mid-thigh shorts? You tell me whether Simone Biles’s powerful routines would be any less physically impressive if she completed them in a solid-color unitard?

Neta Rivkin of Israel compete in rhythmic gymnastics on Friday in, well, let’s just call it a bedazzled red tuxedo lapel. (Ruben Sprich/Reuters)

“She’s been a bit inconsistent,” an announcer said of an Israeli rhythmic gymnast who faltered with a piece of equipment during her routine, around 2:30 p.m. Friday afternoon, peak time for the Women of the Pretty Sports.

“But what impressive shoulder flexibility,” his partner added.

It sounded like they were talking about an athlete — and she is one. It’s too bad she had to look like a tip-hungry server at Caesar’s Palace.

Women will outnumber men on Team USA's roster at the Rio Olympics for the second time in history. But there are still some small differences in the events in which they compete. (Jayne Orenstein/The Washington Post)