Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States: Uniformly Discussed [1st ed.] 9783030454760, 9783030454777

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NEW FEMININITIES IN DIGITAL, PHYSICAL AND SPORTING CULTURES

Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States Uniformly Discussed

Edited by Linda K. Fuller

New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures

Series Editors Kim Toffoletti School of Humanities and Social Sciences Deakin University Melbourne, VIC, Australia Jessica Francombe-Webb Department for Health University of Bath Bath, UK Holly Thorpe School of Health University of Waikato Hamilton, New Zealand

Palgrave’s New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures series is dedicated to exploring emerging forms and expressions of femininity, feminist activism and politics in an increasingly global, consumer and digital world. Books in this series focus on the latest conceptual, methodological and theoretical developments in feminist thinking about bodies, movement, physicality, leisure and technology to understand and problematize new framings of feminine embodiment. Globally inclusive, and featuring established and emerging scholars from multi-disciplinary fields, the series is characterized by an interest in advancing research and scholarship concerning women’s experiences of physical culture in a variety of cultural contexts. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15874

Linda K. Fuller Editor

Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States Uniformly Discussed

Editor Linda K. Fuller Communications Department Worcester State University Worcester, MA, USA

ISSN 2522-0330     ISSN 2522-0349 (electronic) New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures ISBN 978-3-030-45476-0    ISBN 978-3-030-45477-7 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: © National Geographic Image Collection / Alamy Stock Photo This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

This volume is dedicated to the following female American sportswear owners: runner Sally Bergesen (Oiselle), surfer Alana Blanchard (My Bikinis), yoga practitioners Jodi Gruber Brufsky and Michelle Wahler (Beyond Yoga), swimmer Sarah Buxton (TUTUblue), runner Leigh Cockram (RaesWear), triathlete/Ironman Nicole de Boom (SkirtSports), sustainability activist Ellie Dinh (Girlfriend Collective), swimmer Alecia Elasser (RipSkirtHawaii), basketball player Rachelle Fitz (FitzUDesign), surfer and shark attack survivor Bethany Hamilton-Dirks (Crush Sunglasses), recreationalist Taylor Haney (OutdoorVoices), Julie Foudy leadership assistant Briana Holland (bre33), Muslim activist Fatimah Hussein (Asiya), roller derby player Micki Krimmel (Superfit Hero), fitness buff Denise Lee (Alala), cyclist Lea Leopold (Zuma Blu), marathon runner Lara Mead (Varley), gymnast Shannon Miller (SMLifestyle), fencer Ibtihaj Muhammad (Louella), Olympic cyclist Beth Hernandez Newell (Keirin Cut Jeans), racer Danica Patrick (Warrior), captain of the National Women’s Soccer league Megan Rapinoe (Re, Inc.), basketball player Tywanna Smith (The Athlete’s NeXuss), rock climber Pam Theodosakis (prAna), gymnast Katie Valleau (Valleau Apparel), and tennis players Serena Williams (Signature Statement) and Venus Williams (EleVen).

Preface

Uniformly Uniform (noun): a special set of clothes worn by people belonging to an organization to show others that they are members of it. Cambridge Dictionary Uniform (adjective): consistent in conduct or opinion. Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Uniformly, it would seem, both sporting and nonsporting publics have opinions about what girls and women should wear while engaging in athletic forays, both private and professional. Titillating or tortuous, appealing or atrocious, skimpy or serious, those uniforms that sportswomen wear have long been under scrutiny in terms of their interpretation, mediation, and simple comfort. Sometimes they are not even uniforms per se, as proscribed by a particular sporting organization, but instead might be individual choices by individual athletes. Sometimes they are dictated by societal notions such as Victorian modesty, sometimes they need to conform to particular religious protocol or patriarchal control, and sometimes “uniforms” might be determined by peer pressure. Or not. The fitness industry in the United States continues to grow, many women using at-home treadmills costing more than $4000 (as well as vii

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monthly fees of $39 for streaming classes) or training apps (e.g., Jefit, Booya Fitness, Beachbody, SWEAT) or going to expensive health clubs, like SoulCycle, and using personal trainers. The fitness company Peloton recently reported reaching the four-billion-dollar mark and has added new categories of classes that include live music. The Mirror fitness device, which retails for $1495, along with a $39/month subscription fee, has become the darling of celebrities ranging from Alicia Keys to Ellen DeGeneres. Rent the Runway, a New  York City-based “rotating closet” that allows customers continually new outfits, is based on the notion that “The average American buys sixty-eight items of clothing, eighty percent of which are seldom worn” (Schwartz 2018, p. 44). Anecdotally, my friends report that family get-togethers like Thanksgiving or Easter see guests dressed in casual outfits by companies, like Juicy Couture sweat suits or various velour combinations. Lululemon predominates. The ZOZOSUIT, a stretchy bodysuit, enables a 3D body scan, and Reebok’s PureMove sports bra uses motion-sensing technology to adapt to users’ movements in real time. Bralettes, with or without blouses, are dominating another niche. American novelist/academic Alison Lurie (1981, p.  3) knew about this; drawing on French structuralist Roland Barthes (2006), she wrote about the semiotics of dress, arguing that “Clothing is a language, if part of a nonverbal system of communication, with its own vocabulary and its own grammar.” Seeing what we wear as a “sign system,” she labeled the uniform “The extreme form of conventional dress, the costume totally determined by others” (p.  17), something “determined by external authorities” (p. 18). At its extreme, “Constant wearing of official costume can so transform someone that it becomes difficult or impossible for him or her to react normally” (ibid.) We question that here. Introducing the topic of sportswomen’s apparel here will include a brief history, the economics of the industry, and some sociocultural implications. Although I have written elsewhere that “The standard mantra about female athletes claims that they have been trivialized, marginalized, hypersexualized, hierarchically devalued, made invisible, inferior, and infantilized” (Fuller 2016, p. 2), in fact, that notion has been challenged by recent studies and realities. Nevertheless, we know of far too many cases of gender inequity in the sporting world generally (see Hanson

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2012; Cooky and Messner 2018) as well as in specific worlds such as baseball/softball (Shattuck 2107), cycling (Nordland 2016), equestrian (Thompson 2016), golf (Pemberton 2002), ice hockey (Avery and Stevens 1997), soccer (Grainey 2012), and tennis (King 2008), among others. When women make up 40% of athletes but only appear in 4% of coverage, it behooves us to bring them to the fore. Since some contributors here (e.g., Deirdre Clemente and Nancy G. Rosoff) deal with a historical perspective on sportswomen’s clothing, suffice it to say that we have come a long way from hoop skirts and petticoats, crinolines and corsets, since the concept of sportswear was developed in the 1930s. Just thinking back to Winslow Homer’s 1877 painting In the Mountains: Women with Walking Sticks, Annie Londonderry’s “Women on Wheels” bicycle images, and/or the long skirts and restrictive clothing our foremother tennis players and golfers wore, it is evident we have come a long way since Title IX both in civil/social reform and comfort in clothing. “It was sports that brought women out-of-doors into new activities that took them away from their housebound roles,” Patricia Campbell Warner’s (2006, p.  5) has written, adding, “It was sports that encouraged their latent competitive instincts. It was sports and exercise that changed their way of thinking about themselves.” Some of those narratives are available at the Smith College Historical Clothing Collection in Northampton, MA—“an anthropological road map traces the story from Gibson girls to the Western Front to the Dust Bowl to bringing home the bacon and onward.” Sportswear began as a middle-class/leisure American institution according to Richard Martin (1985), curator of the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (see also Arnold 2008; Lockwood 2012). “From baseball skirts to hydrodynamic swimsuits,” Adena Andrews of espnW (2015) has written—providing pictorial contrasts in softball, basketball, skiing, track, tennis, swimming (e.g., Sarah Spain’s 2019 sexist reportage about a 17-year-old Alaskan state champion disqualified for how her swimsuit fit), skating, racing, gymnastics, golf, and soccer, uniforms continue to change. How appropriate is it that the US women’s soccer team has recently announced that they will soon start competing under their own brand or that for the Miss America pageant candidates will no longer need to be judged in bikinis? Are we at last

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making inroads from objectification and the male gaze to nonjudgmental assessments of performers’ performances alone? Today, when “loungewear” is a category unto itself, the trend known as “Athleisure-wear,” an outgrowth of our propensity to wear comfortable exercise clothing as fashion, made possible due to numerous technological improvements, has become a major market—estimated at $83 billion in 2016. Think fleece jackets or cashmere track pants, $40+ exercise classes, $320 workout tights, $1000 yoga mats. Starting at the bottom, take the sports sneaker (or trainer), which has gone from being simply a rubber-soled shoe to becoming part of a designer culture whereby special models can cost upward of $1000 (Milnes 2016). While denim flares, shirts, and jackets still are popular, lingerie leader Victoria’s Secret, which features the skimpy and the sexy in an anachronistic holdout that objectifies women, has seen its sales continue to crater such that its annual television spectacle has recently been removed from network television after a two-decade run. And then there is the newly offered “Woman’s World” by Cher line—“matching lacy thong and bra sets,” for trans women. Consider what has happened to J. Crew, whose “Not too trendy, not too girly” Madewell line soon outshone its parent company. While fashion has forever been political, concerns about sustainability continue to grow such that the Californian firms North Face and Patagonia are on board—the former’s “Clothes the Loop” initiative repurposing and recycling unwanted clothing and the latter aiming to be carbon neutral by 2025 and developing a “Worn Wear” program. Pierre-Louis (2019) reports that the latest data from the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) show that the United States “generated 11.9 million tons—or about 75 pounds per person—of textile waste, most of which ended up in landfills.” All part of the “fast fashion” movement, which encourages frequent purchase of inexpensive, easily disposable clothing, this is why we scholars see sporting apparel as worthy of investigation. As e-commerce platforms for fashion sportswear continues to escalate, Morgan Stanley has predicted it to have global sales of $350 billion by 2020. Underwear blogger Guy Trebay (2019) has noted the following: Fashion has had a long love affair with sports of all kinds, and it is easy enough to trace an arc from the genteel sports of the leisured classes of the

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19th century to the more crazily individualistic ones of today. Since the 1990s, at least, extreme and adventure sports have excited designers, who imported to their runways superficial elements of gear created for street lugers, off-piste snowboarders, artic surfers and, lately, those who push the outer limits of athletic pursuit.

Fabletics, a $330-million online subscription line selling women’s sportswear and “lifestyle sneakers,” cofounded by American movie star Kate Hudson, also has more than 22 brick-and-mortar stores and plans to quadruple that number. Fellow actress Jessica Biel has become the ambassador to yoga/active balance company Gaiam, both with Colorado roots. Then again, they have worry about Trump’s tariffs. You may not be familiar with sports-related websites such as The Chic Fashionista, Stiletto Sports, or Sweaty Betty, but we are encouraged by dancers taking up “Beyoncercise” (named for the singer/performer Beyoncé), young female activists such as those with buzz cuts leading the #Never Again movement, LGBTQ spokespersons, those speaking out against body-shaming and advocating for “body positivity,” and other “sheroes” in our midst (see Toffoletti et al. 2018). Decrying the lack of (positive) media representation of sportswomen, Toni Bruce (2015, p.  382) figured out that “The imbalance persists despite exponential increases in women’s sport participation and achievements in the past 60 years and exists independently of commercial considerations.”

Discussed No matter the sport, when it’s a team event we’re talking about, uniforms and equipment are a key part of the conversation. For starters, we want to look good … So we all have to think about what it takes to protect our bodies from whatever hazards are unique to our sports–all while looking good … When you dress well, you play well. Uncategorized, WomenTalkSports.com (May 4, 2018)

“Words matter” is a common refrain in the United States these days relative to vitriolic language emanating from the White House. Rhetoric,

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Michael L. Butterworth (2017, p. 11) reminds us, is “arguably the oldest of academic disciplines (whose) origins date back to the sixth century BCE.” Whether print, electronically, or one-to-one, the subject of sport is ubiquitous. It might take place literally at the watercooler—or its more recent manifestation of social media. Sportstalk takes place on more than 24/7 radio and television stations, so as a daily reminder of gendered relations, it begs examination. Poststructuralist analysis argues that, despite heightened sensitivities to the dangers of sexist language, the language of sport still contains rhetorical variations that are neither random nor indiscriminate but are, in fact, structured and discriminatory—direct consequences of the structured social variations found in gender relations in general and, as such, contributory factors to the perpetuation of gender inequality itself. What follows here is a review of the literature on the language of sport relative to the single aspect of sportswomen’s apparel, followed by a discussion on theoretical frameworks by which to better understand that phenomenon.

Literature Review Numerous autobiographies and biographies have dealt with the issue of what women athletes wear, and many disparate articles have been written about those outfits. Along with Joan Ryan’s Little Girls in Pretty Boxes (2000), about elite gymnasts and figure skaters, there are numerous other examples of sport-specific requirements: • Female bodybuilders, Debra Merskin (2010) has noted, are often reduced to having decorative or sexualized value. • Susan Burris (2006, p. 92) has pointed out how basketball players in the WNBA struggle with media preferences to portray them as “one of two general characters: a wife/mother or a sexual object.” • Frances E. Willard’s 1895 classic How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle has her in a long dress on the cover. • “The manly art” of boxing, despite having women participants dating to the eighteenth century, was long associated with the scantily clad

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“ring-card girl” who carried placards announcing numbers of upcoming rounds (Gat 2010). As a rugby player, Jessica Hudson (2010) has reported peoples’ reactions to her as “deviant,” “un-girly.” Runners, Amby Burfoot (2016, p. xiii) reminds us, might be “leggy teens with ribbons in their ponytails (or) women in their 20s and 30s who like they just stepped out of a CrossFit class or a triathlon training session,” pregnant women, or “leaner, gray-haired women.” Christine Brennan (2013) of USA Today has written about the flashy outfits of figure skating. Competitive or recreational, Leanne Shapton’s Swimming Studies (2016) introduces “technical suits, track blocks, false-start rules.” In accordance with Fédération Internationale de Volleyball (FIVB) rules of compulsory adherence to uniform specifications (basically bikinis), Michael Cantelon (2010, p. 15) has said that the volleyball uniform issue “is a graphic example of the patriarchal nature of much of international sport, also demonstrating the relentless drive to ‘sell’ particular images of female sport to the media.”

Still, to date, only the above-cited 2006 Warner book When the Girls Came Out to Play offers a historical perspective—discussing such topics as public/private spheres, how women’s clothing was for “courting” purposes, and the amazing adoption of trousers as a turning point for female athletes. This volume aims to fill that gap.

Gendered Critical Discourse Analysis (GCDA) Key is the theory of Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), which examines linguistic qualities of texts and their discursive social context, linking language and power across disciplines. Its central tenets, which are concerned with social power, dominance, and inequality, include notions of discourse shaped and constrained by social structures and culture. Linda K. Fuller, Female Olympian and Paralympian Events (2018)

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This section and its companion 16-chapter volume, Sportswomen’s Apparel Around the World: Uniformly Discussed (Palgrave Macmillan, 2020), aims to outline my developing theory of Gendered Critical Discourse Analysis (GCDA). Feminist sport studies (Markula 2005) encourage the researcher’s personal experience and voice to be involved, and while there are any number of theoretical ways of analyzing the social power of gender/sport, mine is through language. Specifically, it involves extending basic notions of critical discourse analysis, an interdisciplinary means of studying language as a social practice. “Motivated by goals of social emancipation and transformation, the critique of grossly unequal social orders characterizes much feminist scholarship and, in regard to discursive dimensions of social (in)justice, research in critical discourse analysis (CDA),” Michelle M. Lazar (2007, p. 141) has written, bringing feminist studies into the discussion. My notion is to add the term “gender” to the language of sportstalk, drawing on Eckert and McConnell-­ Ginet (2013, p. 6), where the dynamic performance of gender is a “social construction—as the means by which society jointly accomplishes the differentiation that constitutes the gender order.” Beyond biology, the psychosocial determination of gendered thoughts and actions is often witnessed in our everyday speech, as well as in our conscious and subconscious writings. Relative to sport, GCDA might analyze the amount of airtime for male vs. female athletes by sports announcers; gender markings such as “”defensemen,” “workmanlike orientation,” Ladies Final, and other delineators of sexist sports language (Segrave et al. 2006; Fuller 2009). It also has application in reportage on appearance through both live-action descriptions and on various social media. Facilitated by fourth-wave feminism, which focuses on (in)justices, the hope is that reportage and representations of sportswomen by groups such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube will move beyond being self-identifying merely as platforms to realizing that they also have socio-legal responsibilities. Darija Omrčen (2017, p. 143) has introduced the notion that “Gender-­ sensitive language, gender-neutral language, gender-inclusive language, gender-free language and gender-fair language are terms used in English to refer to the usage of a tactful and respectful selection of vocabulary devoid of unfounded, unfair and discriminatory reference to women in contrast with men.” ExcelleSports.com (Linehan 2016) cites tennis player

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Serena Williams: “We are constantly reminded we are not men, as if it is a flaw … People call me one of the ‘world’s greatest female athletes.’ Do they say LeBron is one of the world’s best male athletes? Is Tiger? Federer? What not?” More recently, returning to the game after having a baby to her first French Open match since 2016, Williams wore a form-fitting black bodysuit that, she said, “represents all the women that have been through a lot mentally, physically with their body to come back.” Fashion writer Vanessa Friedman (2019) has this insight: For most of the history of women’s tennis, the “dress”—once upon a time a long skirt, now more of a wisp of an idea—has symbolized the feminine side of the game in its most retrograde sense, and it has been used as a means of gender stereotype, self-expression, and eyeball-attracting marketing. It has flirted with the tropes of fashion-as-decoration, and fashion as an extension of a personal brand, but only within well-behaved bounds. Finally, however, in the hands of Serena Williams, it has become a political tool: an unabashed statement of female empowerment and independence not just for herself, but for all.

Imagine being a four-time Olympic Gold medalist and then, at age 37, being a star at New York’s “Fashion Week” (Goodman-Hughey 2019). Although Serena lost the US Open final, that same week her “S” line (for “shine,” “strong,” “saucy,” and “spectacular”) debuted, Williams declaring that, “It’s important to be yourself in fashion. In designing or on the court, I want to be expressive. You have to be true to yourself.” The media had to comment on 2-year-old daughter Olympia, if adding that “this collection is her baby.” Whether by directly quoting athletes or analyzing media commentary, it is encouraging that discourse analysis is being used in sports research. The work of the late philosopher/social theorist Michael Foucault, which focuses on societal power relationships expressed through language, has stimulated case studies on many different topics relevant here: feminist sexuality (McNay 1992; Thorpe 2008), women’s body images (Duncan 1994), sociology of sport (Harvey and Rail 1995), the fitness publishing industry (Maguire 2002), hegemonic masculinity (Pringle 2005; Pringle and Markula 2005), exercise (Markula and Pringle 2006), snowboarding (Thorpe 2008).

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Introduction to American Sportswomen’s Apparel Analyzing gender norms and gender binaries in terms of uniforms, it turns out, provides a valuable means for understanding societal attitudes toward sporting females. Linda K. Fuller, Female Olympians (2016, p. 71)

As we continue to challenge traditional sexist barriers about female athletes’ appearances, these chapters loosely fall into categories of historical, sociopolitical, sociocultural, and sport-specific perspectives. Specifically, you will be enlightened here by chapters in these subdivisions:

Historical Perspectives Nancy G. Rosoff traces athletic clothing for American women from 1880 to 1920, while Deirdre Clemente and Evan M. Casey introduce us to the tennis dresses, golf sweaters, and bicycling shorts that college women wore from 1890 to 1960 (clue: they are a far cry from Kim Kardashian West’s thigh-length Lycra numbers).

Sociopolitical Perspectives Meredith M. Bagley and Judy Liao discuss WNBA uniform politics in protests such as the Black Lives Movement, and Molly Yanity examines the absence of military promotion in women’s team sports.

Sociocultural Perspectives Dunja Antunovic and Kellee Clay scrutinize female sportscasters’ professional clothing, Kate Harman offers a gendered critique of magazine covers depicting female athletes, Caitlyn Hauff and Christy Greenleaf explore how plus-size apparel is a social justice issue, Leelannee K. Malin analyzes FloJo fashion as cultural appropriation, and Claire M. Williams uses the SkirtSports to check intersections of running, flirting, and fashion.

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Sport-Specific Perspectives Colleen English and Heidi Mau undertake a “clothes’ textual analysis of female roller derby participants; Elizabeth Fairchild and Elizabeth A. Gregg report on collegiate women gymnasts’ reflections on their uniforms; Elizabeth A. Gregg, Elizabeth A. Taylor, and Robin Hardin report how the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) dress code polices players; Caitlyn Hauff, Christina Gipson, Nancy L. Malcom, and Hannah Bennett bring us badass CrossFit women; and Leandra Hinojosa Hernandez analyzes women climbers’ clothing vis-à-vis the social construction of thinness through cyberbullying media discourses.

Reflections Uniformly, any of my friends can confirm that I am clearly not a fashionista, even if I have always been intrigued by fabric and textures. My grandmother’s Singer Sewing Machine has helped me produce everything from my bridal gown to bedspreads and curtains and, more recently, quilts and simple repairs. Mainly, though, I adore costumes, constructed lately for Armenia, Cuban, Tanzanian, and other dinner parties we have hosted. It probably wasn’t until meeting Mary Peacock, coeditor of the 1970s’ counterculture magazine Rags that I became sensitized to the notion that clothing could make such bold statements. A word about the Dedication. My first thought was to honor the Williams sisters for their contributions to my tennis wardrobe, but the more I determined how many female athletes have their own sportswear lines, it seemed appropriate to cite them. All that, of course, doesn’t even take into consideration celebrity lines such as Beyonce’s Ivy Park or Jessica Biel’s Gaiam, or Kate Hudson’s Fabletics, and names of other such entrepreneurs are welcome. With the encouragement of Lough and Geurin’s (2019) proclamation that women’s sport is breaking ground both economically and socially, never mind Mattel’s gender-neutral Barbie doll, the time should be right for this study.

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Thanks to a recent panel on “The problem of appearance for women journalists and athletes” at a Women, Sports and Media conference at the University of Maryland, this project began to take its own form. As we are positioned in an age of the #MeToo movement, overarching concerns about gender parity, discrimination, and sexual exploitation demand our attention. Nowhere are these issues more relevant, it turns out, than in women’s sportswear—whether that be bloomers, sports bras, thongs, tennis “whites,” wet suits, studio socks, unitards, hijabs, plus-size pants, cashmere loungewear, and/or athleisurewear. Just before submitting this book it was my pleasure to have chaired a panel on “Women’s sportswear relative to social justice” with several of its contributors at the annual meeting of the North American Society for the Sociology of Sport (NASSS). Clearly, while rhetorical activism can help fulfill many goals, our main one here is to sensitize the sportswear buying public to its many sociopolitical implications.

References Andrews, A. (2015, March 20). The A-list: 11 ways women’s sports uniforms have evolved. espnW. Retrieved from http://www.espn.com/espnw/athleteslife/article/12494884/11-ways-women-sports-uniforms-evolved Arnold, R. (2008). The American look: Fashion, sportswear and the image of women in the 1930s and 1940s New York. London: I.B. Tauris. Avery, J., & Stevens, J. (1997). Too many men on the ice: Women’s hockey in North America. Vancouver: Polestar. Barthes, R. (2006). The language of fashion. Bloomsbury Academic. Brennan, C. (2013). Edge of glory: The inside story of the quest for figure skating’s Olympic gold medals. Scribner. Bruce, T. (2015). Assessing the sociology of sport: On media and representations of sportswomen. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 50(4–5), 380–384. Burfoot, A. (2016). First ladies of running: 22 inspiring profiles of the rebels, rule breakers, and visionaries who changed the sport forever. Rodale Press. Burris, S. (2006). She got game, but she don’t got fame. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sport, rhetoric, and gender: Historical perspectives and media representations (pp. 85–96). Palgrave Macmillan.

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Butterworth, M. L. (2017). Sport as rhetorical artifact. In A. C. Billings (Ed.), Defining sport communication (pp. 11–25). New York: Routledge. Cantelon, M. (2010). Sex-a-side: Volleyball uniforms and the reproduction of female objectivity. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Global and universal contexts (pp. 13–23). New York: Peter Lang. Cooky, C., & Messner, M. (2018). No slam dunk: Gender, sport, and the unevenness of social change. Rutgers University Press. Duncan, M.  C. (1994). The politics of women’s body images and practices: Foucault, the panopticon and Shape magazine. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 18, 48–65. Eckert, P., & McConnell-Ginet, S. (2013). Language and gender (2nd ed.). Cambridge University Press. Friedman, V. (2019, June 2). Serena Williams wears a message. The New York Times, p. ST2. Fuller, L. K. (2009). Gender markings, male generics, naming conventions, descriptive linguistics, and the metaphorical language of sport. Paper presented to the National Communication Association, Chicago, IL. Fuller, L.  K. (2016). Female Olympians: A mediated socio-cultural/political-­ economic timeline. Palgrave Macmillan. Gat, S. A. (2010). Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am!: The rhetoric surrounding female professional boxers. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 233–246). New York: Peter Lang. Goodman-Hughey, E. N. (2019, September 11). Serena Williams didn’t take the US Open title, but she won New York fashion week. espnW. Grainey, T. F. (2012). Beyond bend it like Beckham: The global phenomenon of women’s soccer. University of Nebraska Press. Hanson, V. (2012). The inequality of sport: Women < Men. The Review: A Journal of Undergraduate Student Research, 13, 15–22. Harvey, J., & Rail, G. (1995, June). Body at work: Michael Foucault and the sociology of sport. Sociology of Sport Journal, 12(2), 164–179. Hudson, J. (2010). Women playing rugby: Rejection of ‘The Girly’ by girls. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 247–256). New York: Peter Lang. King, B. J. (2008). Pressure is a privilege: Lessons I’ve learned from life and the battle of the sexes. New York: LifeTime Media. Lazar, M. M. (2007). Feminist critical discourse analysis: Articulating a feminist discourse praxis. Critical Discourse Studies, 4(2), 141–164.

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Linehan, M. (2016, December 2). What do we call you?: The controversies, conveniences of gender marking ‘female’ athletes. ExcelleSports.com. Lockwood, L. (2012, September 8). Sportswear: An American invention. Women’s Wear Daily. Lough, N., & Geurin, A. N. (2019). Routledge handbook of the business of women’s sport. Routledge. Lurie, A. (1981). The language of clothes. New York: Random House. Maguire, J. S. (2002). Fitness publishing and the cultural production of the fitness consumer. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 37(3–4), 449–464. Markula, P., & Pringle, R. (2006). Foucault, sport and exercise: Power, knowledge and transforming the self. Routledge. Martin, R. (1985). All-American: A sportswear tradition. New  York: Fashion Institute of Technology. McNay, L. (1992). Foucault and feminism: Power, gender and the self. Polity Press. Merskin, D. (2010). Powerful or pornographic? Photographs of female bodybuilders in Muscle & Fitness Magazine. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 205–217). New York: Peter Lang. Milnes, H. (2016, March 22). Designer sneakers and $200 leggings: How luxury stepped into the rise of athleisure. Digiday. Nordland, R. (2016, April 27). Afghan women, eager to play, are kept on sidelines. The New York Times, p. A8. Omrčen, D. (2017). Analysis of gender-fair language in sport and exercise. Rasprave, 43(1), 143–161. Pemberton, C. L. A. with de Varona, D. (2002). More than a game: One woman’s fight for gender equity in sport. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Pierre-Louis, K. (2019, September 30). It’s time to start buying clothes that are built to last. The New York Times, p. B8. Pringle, R. (2005). Masculinities, sport and power: A critical comparison of Gramscian and Foucauldian inspired theoretical tools. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 29(3), 256–278. Pringle, R., & Markula, P. (2005). No pain is sane after all: A Foucauldian analysis of masculinities and men’s rugby experiences of fear, pain, and pleasure. Sociology of Sport Journal, 22(4), 472–497. Ryan, J. (2000). Little girls in pretty boxes: The making and breaking of elite gymnasts and figure skaters. Grand Central Publishing. Schwartz, A. (2018, October 22). Costume change: Rent the runway wants to lend you your look. The New Yorker, pp. 44–49.

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Segrave, J. O., McDowell, K. L., & King III, J. G. (2006). Language, gender, and sport: A review of the research. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sport, rhetoric, and gender: Historical perspectives and media representations (pp. 31–52). Palgrave Macmillan. Shapton, L. (2016). Swimming studies. Blue Rider Press. Shattuck, D.  A. (2017). Bloomer girls: Women baseball pioneers. University of Illinois Press. Spain, S. (2019, September 11). Alaska swimmer the latest athlete to be subject to sexism. espnW. Thompson, K. (2016, August 18). Equal but not the same: Equestrian sports’ unisex approach hides inequity. The Conversation. Thorpe, H. (2008). Foucault, technologies of self, and the media: Discourses of femininity in snowboarding. Journal of Sport & Social Issues, 32(2), 199–229. Toffoletti, K., Francombe-Webb, J., & Thorpe, H. (Eds.). (2018). New sporting femininities: Embodied politics in postfeminist times. Palgrave Macmillan. Trebay, G. (2019, August 8). The X Games? No, X fashion. The New  York Times, p. D1. Warner, P.  C. (2006). When the girls came out to play: The birth of American sportswear. University of Massachusetts Press. Willard, F. E. (1895). How I learned to ride the bicycle. Fair Oaks Publishing.

Praise for Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States “This is an important collection that brings much needed critical attention to an understudied subject. At its core, the contributions demonstrate that what female athletes have worn reveals much more than the changing tastes and mores of American society. Indeed, women’s sporting apparel highlights the gender inequities, sexual double standards, and body politics woven into the very fabric of sport.” —C. Richard King, Professor and Chair of Humanities, History and Social Sciences, Columbia College Chicago, USA “The ways that sportswomen have chosen, or been required, to outfit themselves for competition have been scrutinized, normalized, and often criticized for at least a century. Linda K. Fuller’s impressive new collection of articles fruitfully examines this subject from historical, socio-political, and socio-cultural angles, analyzing the expectations imposed upon sportswomen as well as opportunities for subversion and change.” —Pam R. Sailors, Professor of Philosophy, Missouri State University, USA “As a pre-Title IX athlete, I knew the quintessential girl’s sport uniform to be a one piece gym suit. Why were we forced to wear such an ugly, impractical garment when boys got to wear ‘real’ uniforms? Uniformly Discussed is an important resource that investigates the reality and changes in women’s sporting clothes, and the meanings of covering and displaying myriad women’s bodies in the realm of sport/physical activity.” —Dayna B. Daniels, Professor Emerita of Women and Gender Studies, University of Lethbridge, Canada “A clever and timely volume, Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States is a welcome contribution to the study of women, sport, gender, and sexuality.” —Jaime Schultz, Associate Professor in the Department of Kinesiology, Penn State University, USA

“This fascinating volume on uniforms and clothing for sports and exercise answers questions that have been on our minds for a long time. These historical and contemporary nuggets show the age-old tension between appearance and performance as well as women’s potential for circumventing fashion dictates and following a tennis champion’s 1916 advice: ‘Do not put your clothes above your game.’” —Linda Steiner, Professor at the Philip Merrill College of Journalism, University of Maryland, USA

Contents

An Introduction to American Sportswomen’s Apparel  1 Linda K. Fuller Part I Historical Perspectives  17  hapter 1: “Exercise Requires the Greatest Freedom”; Athletic C Clothing for American Women, 1880–1920 19 Nancy G. Rosoff  Chapter 2: Of Tennis Dresses, Golf Sweaters and Bicycling Shorts; College Women and the Making of the American Sportswear Industry, 1890–1960 35 Deirdre Clemente and Evan M. Casey Part II Socio-Political Perspectives  55  Chapter 3: Blocked Out; Athletic Voices and WNBA Uniform Politics 57 Meredith M. Bagley and Judy Liao xxv

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 Chapter 4: Apathy and/or Ambivalence?; Women’s Sport and Military Promotion 75 Molly Yanity Part III Socio-Cultural Perspectives  89  Chapter 5: “It’s Always Something”; The Scrutiny of Female Sportscasters’ Professional Clothing 91 Dunja Antunovic and Kellee Clay  Chapter 6: Jumping Through Hoops; A Post-structural Gendered Critique of Magazine Covers Depicting Female Athletes111 Kate Harman  Chapter 7: Exploring Plus-Size Exercise Apparel as a Social Justice Issue; Understanding How All Pants ARE NOT Created Equal129 Caitlyn Hauff and Christy Greenleaf  Chapter 8: In Flo Jo Fashion; The Cultural Appropriation of Sportswomen’s Apparel153 Leelanee K. Malin  Chapter 9: Buying What’s for Sale?: Running, Flirting, and Fashion at the Skirt Chaser 5k Race Series167 Claire M. Williams Part IV Sport-Specific Perspectives 185  Chapter 10: Skating with Style; Rolling with Reflection and Resistance in Roller Derby Uniforms and Fashion187 Colleen English and Heidi Mau

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 Chapter 11: “We Wear So Little”; Collegiate Women Gymnasts’ Reflections on Their Uniforms205 Emily Fairchild and Elizabeth A. Gregg  Chapter 12: “I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt”; The LPGA Dress Code217 Elizabeth A. Gregg, Elizabeth A. Taylor, and Robin Hardin  Chapter 13: Badass CrossFit Women; Redefining Traditional Femininity, One Handstand Push-Up at a Time231 Caitlyn Hauff, Christina Gipson, Hannah Bennett, and Nancy L. Malcom  Chapter 14: A Feminist Media Analysis of the Digiulian-Kinder Incident; Rock Climber Cyber-Bullying on Instagram249 Leandra Hinojosa Hernández Index271

Notes on Contributors

Dunja  Antunovic is an assistant professor, School of Kinesiology, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN, USA. Her research focuses on the representation of sportswomen in media, the status of women in sports journalism, and feminist discourses in online spaces. Her articles on these issues have appeared in journals such as Feminist Media Studies, the International Review for the Sociology of Sport, and Communication & Sport. Meredith M. Bagley  (PhD, Communication, University Texas-Austin) is Professor of Rhetoric, Department of Communication at the University of Alabama. Her research program centers on social protest rhetoric in sport, and her teaching and activism engage public memory on universities as well as LGBTQ advocacy. A lifelong athlete who had played and coached rugby, she lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with her husband and kids. Hannah  Bennett has a PhD in human performance from Middle Tennessee State University. Her line of research focuses on sociocultural aspects within the areas of sport, fitness, physical education, and performance.

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Evan  M.  Casey (MA, American history, University of Nevada, Las Vegas) has curated Ready to Roar: Women’s Evening Fashions in the Prohibition Era at the Mob Museum and coauthored “Clothing and Contadini: Migration and Material Culture, 1890–1924.” Working at the Burlesque Hall of Fame, archiving and caring for the museum’s collection, she utilizes material and visual culture in her research to examine the intersections between fashion, gender, labor, and social signifiers. Kellee  Clay recently obtained her bachelor’s degree from Bradley University with a major in Sports Communication and a minor in Organizational Communication. She was a student athlete and a team captain on the women’s basketball team. Clay was also a founding member of the Sports Media Empowerment Group, which brings awareness to issues in sports media. Deirdre Clemente  is a scholar of the American sportswear industry who studies dress as social and cultural change. Director of Public History at University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), she is the author of Dress Casual: How College Kids Redefined American Style (2014), which considers collegians as the driving force behind the popularization of sportswear. Her project, East Coast/West Coast: A History of the American Fashion Industry, plots the development of New York and Los Angeles as global fashion capitals. Clemente’s work has been profiled in The New  York Times, USA Today, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, GQ, The Atlantic, and Harper’s Bazaar. Colleen English  (PhD, Penn State University) is Assistant Professor of Kinesiology at Penn State Berks in Reading, PA. Her teaching and research centers on the philosophy and history of sport. Her research focuses on gender, feminism, values, and competition in sport, with historical concentration on women in roller derby and Olympic track and field. Emily  Fairchild is Professor of Sociology and Director of Gender Studies at New College of Florida. She works at the intersection of social psychology and sociology of culture to examine patterns of inequality.

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Specifically, she has studied how ideas about gender are manifest in weddings, athletics, and popular culture. Linda  K.  Fuller (PhD, University of Massachusetts) is Professor of Communications at Worcester State University and the author/(co-) editor of more than 30 books—including Sport, rhetoric, and gender (2006), Sportscasters/sportscasting (2008), the two-volume Sexual sports rhetoric (2009), The power of global community media (2012), Female Olympians: A mediated socio-cultural/political-economic timeline (2016), and Female Olympian and Paralympian events (2018). She was awarded Fulbrights to teach in Singapore and to do HIV/AIDS research in Senegal. Check out her website at www.LKFullerSport.com. Christina  Gipson is Associate Professor of Sport Management at Georgia Southern University. She has a PhD in sport sciences from Brunel University, with an interdisciplinary specialization in sport sociology and sport management of gender issues within sport organizations. Her line of research focuses on sociological aspects related to Cross Fit— specifically, examining body image and its relation to social media, community, and self, as well as perspectives of Cross Fit from girls’ and women’s perspectives. Christy Greenleaf  holds a PhD in exercise and sport science with a specialization in sport and exercise psychology from University of North Carolina at Greensboro and an ACSM/NPAS Physical Activity in Public Health Specialist certification. Greenleaf ’s work focuses on psychosocial aspects of the body, including weight-related stigma and body image. Elizabeth A. Gregg  is an associate professor and chair of the Department of Leadership, School Counseling, and Sport Management at the University of North Florida. She teaches classes in issues in sport, intro to sport management, foundations of sport management, and leadership. Her research interests include issues in intercollegiate athletics, sport history, women in sport, and branding.

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Robin  Hardin is a professor in the Department of Kinesiology, Recreation, and Sport Studies at the University of Tennessee. His research interests lie within the areas of collegiate athletics, sport management education, and governance. He is particularly interested in the holistic care of collegiate student athletes, issues impacting sport management education, and women’s career mobility. Kate Harman  (MS, Women and Gender Studies: Women, Leadership and Public Policy, Towson University) is Professor of Communication Studies at Rowan University in Glassboro, NJ, teaching courses that focus on sport, gender, media, and politics. An award-winning sports journalist formerly with The Philadelphia Inquirer, her research interests include Title IX compliance, depictions of athletes in media, as well as portrayals of gender in popular culture texts. She was a member of a fiveperson steering committee to bring a Sports Communication and Media program to Rowan. Caitlyn  Hauff is Assistant Professor of Health Promotion at the University of South Alabama. She has a PhD in kinesiology with a specialization in psychosocial aspects of weight and physical activity from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Hauff’s line of research focuses on sociological and psychological aspects related to the body, including the utilization of social media from a health and exercise standpoint, weight stigma and weight bias, eating disorder and disordered eating prevention, and enhancement of exercise experiences. Leandra  Hinojosa  Hernández (PhD, Texas A&M University) is Assistant Professor of Communication Studies at Utah Valley University, where she utilizes Chicana feminist approaches to study Latino/a health, Latina/o journalism/media representations, and Latina/o cultural identities. She is the coauthor of Challenging Reproductive Control and Gendered Violence in the Americas, which was presented the 2018 NCA Feminist and Women’s Studies Division Bonnie Ritter Book Award. As the editor of Lexington Studies in Health Communication, she enjoys collaborating with scholars on new and innovative health communication research projects.

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Judy  Liao  (PhD, Sport Sociology, University of Alberta) is Assistant Professor of Sport Studies at the University of Alberta’s Augustana Campus. Her research agenda is located in the poststructuralist/new materialist exploration of gendered sporting bodies. Formerly a competitive basketball player, she is particularly interested in the politics operated in and expressed through the Women’s National Basketball Association. Occasionally, Liao can be seen riding on her motorcycle or walking her dog, Polaris, around town. Nancy L. Malcom  holds a PhD in Sociology from Vanderbilt University. Her focus, for both teaching and research, is on the social aspects of gender, sport, and childhood. In addition to research involving women who Cross Fit, Malcom has conducted a content analysis examination of the portrayal of gender-nonconforming boys in children’s picture books, done interview research with competition cheerleaders, and performed participant observation research with youth softball players. Leelanee  K.  Malin  (PhD, Howard University) is a communications professor and practitioner with over 15 years of experience in the industry. As the owner of Malin PR, she provides services to organizations in sports and entertainment, nonprofit, and government arenas. She also serves as a lecturer in the Department of Strategic, Legal and Management Communications, at the Howard University Cathy Hughes School of Communications. Malin’s research, writing, and speaking agenda include gender stereotypes, film studies, social media, sports, and the popular culture. Heidi  Mau  (MFA, PhD Temple University) is Assistant Professor of Communications at Albright College in Reading, PA, where she teaches courses in digital and media communications. Her research in media intersects the areas of memory studies, technology and culture, visual communication, popular culture, and gender and sexuality studies. Nancy  G.  Rosoff  a proud alumna of Mount Holyoke College, is the dean of Graduate and Undergraduate Studies at Arcadia University. Her research interests include history of women; women’s athletic activity;

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sports, gender, and popular culture; history of education; and American and British cultural history. A former athlete and coach whose creaky knees prevent her from participating in sports, she is an avid fan especially of soccer and field hockey. Elizabeth  A.  Taylor is Assistant Professor of Sport and Recreation Management at Temple University. Her work broadly focuses on improving diversity and inclusion within the sports industry, specifically as it relates to gender discrimination and homophobia, sexual harassment and sexual assault education, and harassment of female faculty members. Claire M. Williams  (PhD, Sport Humanities, the Ohio State University) is Associate Professor of Kinesiology at Saint Mary’s College of California. She teaches courses of sport law, sport marketing, and women in sport. Her research interests include discrimination and harassment targeted at LGBT athletes, the marketing of female athletes, and women’s sportswear. Molly  Yanity (PhD, Mass Communication, Ohio University) is Associate Professor of Journalism at Quinnipiac University in Hamden, CT. Her articles have appeared in International Journal of Sports Communication, Journal of Sports Media, and Chronicle of Higher Education, as well as in the popular press. Her research primarily focuses on experiences of sports journalists, particularly where those experiences intersect with gender issues, technology, and/or the political.

List of Figures

 Chapter 13: Badass CrossFit Women; Redefining Traditional Femininity, One Handstand Push-Up at a Time Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5

Hannah Bennett jump roping Hannah Bennett rowing Christina Gipson competing a handstand push-up Christina Gipson rope climbing Christina Gipson completing a snatch

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An Introduction to American Sportswomen’s Apparel Linda K. Fuller

Uniformly Uniform (noun): A special set of clothes worn by people belonging to an organization to show others that they are members of it. Cambridge Dictionary Uniform (adjective): Consistent in conduct or opinion. Merriam-Webster Dictionary

Uniformly, it would seem, both sporting and non-sporting American publics have opinions about what girls and women should wear while engaging in athletic forays both private and professional. Titillating or tortuous, appealing or atrocious, skimpy or serious, those uniforms that sportswomen wear have long been under scrutiny in terms of their

L. K. Fuller (*) Communications Department, Worcester State University, Worcester, MA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; http://www.LKFullerSport.com © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_1

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interpretation, mediation, and simple comfort. Sometimes they are not even uniforms, per se, as prescribed by a particular sporting organization, but instead might be individual choices by individual athletes. Sometimes they are dictated by societal notions such as Victorian modesty, sometimes they need to conform to particular religious protocol or patriarchal control, and sometimes “uniforms” might be determined by peer pressure. Or not. The fitness industry in the United States continues to grow, many women using at-home treadmills costing more than $4000 (as well as monthly fees of $39 for streaming classes), training apps (e.g., Jefit, Booya Fitness, Beachbody, SWEAT), or going to expensive health clubs, like SoulCycle, and using personal trainers. The fitness company Peloton recently reported reaching the four-billion-dollar mark and has added new categories of classes that include live music. The Mirror fitness device, which retails for $1495, along with a $39/month subscription fee, has become the darling of celebrities ranging from Alicia Keys to Ellen DeGeneres. Rent the Runway, a New  York City-based “rotating closet” that allows customers continually new outfits, is based on the notion that, “The average American buys sixty-eight items of clothing, eighty percent of which are seldom worn” (Schwartz 2018, p. 44). Anecdotally, my friends report that family get-togethers like Thanksgiving or Easter see guests dressed in casual outfits by companies like Juicy Couture sweat suits or various velour combinations. Lululemon predominates. The ZOZOSUIT, a stretchy bodysuit, enables a 3-D body scan, and Reebok’s PureMove sports bra uses motion-sensing technology to adapt to users’ movements in real time. Bralettes, with or without blouses, are dominating another niche. American novelist/academic Alison Lurie (1981, p.  3) knew about this; drawing on French structuralist Roland Barthes (2006), she wrote about the semiotics of dress, arguing that, “Clothing is a language, if part of a nonverbal system of communication, with its own vocabulary and its own grammar.” Seeing what we wear as a “sign system,” she labeled the uniform “The extreme form of conventional dress, the costume totally determined by others” (p.  17), something “determined by external authorities” (p.18). At its extreme, “Constant wearing of official costume

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can so transform someone that it becomes difficult or impossible for him or her to react normally” (ibid.). We question that here. Introducing the topic of sportswomen’s apparel here will include a brief history, the economics of the industry, and some socio-cultural implications. Although I have written elsewhere that, “The standard mantra about female athletes claims that they have been trivialized, marginalized, hypersexualized, hierarchically devalued, made invisible, inferior, and infantilized” (Fuller 2016, p. 2), in fact, that notion has been challenged by recent studies and realities. Nevertheless, we know of far too many cases of gender inequity in the sporting world generally (see Hanson 2012; Cooky and Messner 2018) as well as in specific worlds such as baseball/softball (Shattuck 2017), cycling (Nordland 2016), equestrian (Thompson 2016), golf (Pemberton 2002), ice hockey (Avery and Stevens 1997), soccer (Grainey 2012), and tennis (King 2008), amongst others. When women make up 40% of athletes but only appear in 4% of coverage, it behooves us to bring them to the fore. Since some contributors here (e.g., Deirdre Clemente and Nancy G. Rosoff) deal with an historical perspective on sportswomen’s clothing, suffice it to say that we have come a long way from hoop skirts and petticoats, crinolines and corsets, since the concept of sportswear was developed in the 1930s. Just think back to Winslow Homer’s 1877 painting In the Mountains: Women with Walking Sticks, Annie Londonderry’s “Women on Wheels” bicycle images, and/or the long skirts and restrictive clothing our foremother tennis players and golfers wore, and it is evident we have come a long way since Title IX both in civil/social reform and comfort in clothing. “It was sports that brought women out-of-doors into new activities that took them away from their housebound roles,” Patricia Campbell Warner (2006, p. 5) has written, adding, “It was sports that encouraged their latent competitive instincts. It was sports and exercise that changed their way of thinking about themselves.” Some of those narratives are available at the Smith College Historical Clothing Collection in Northampton, MA—“an anthropological road map traces the story from Gibson girls to the Western Front to the Dust Bowl to bringing home the bacon and onward.” Sportswear began as a middle-class/leisure American institution according to Richard Martin (1985), curator of the Costume Institute of

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the Metropolitan Museum of Art (see also Arnold 2008; Lockwood 2012). “From baseball skirts to hydrodynamic swimsuits,” Adena Andrews of espnW (2015) has written—providing pictorial contrasts in softball, basketball, skiing, track, tennis, swimming (e.g., Sarah Spain’s 2019 sexist reportage about a 17-year-old Alaskan state champion disqualified for how her swimsuit fit), skating, racing, gymnastics, golf, and soccer, uniforms continue to change. How appropriate is it that the US women’s soccer team has recently announced that they will soon start competing under their own brand, or that for the Miss America pageant candidates will no longer need to be judged in bikinis? Are we at last making inroads from objectification and the male gaze to nonjudgmental assessments of performers’ performances alone? Today, when “loungewear” is a category unto itself, the trend known as “Athleisure-wear,” an outgrowth of our propensity to wear comfortable exercise clothing as fashion, made possible due to numerous technological improvements, has become a major market—estimated at $83 billion in 2016. Think fleece jackets or cashmere track pants, $40+ exercise classes, $320 workout tights, $1000 yoga mats. Starting at the bottom, take the sports sneaker (or trainer), which has gone from being simply a rubber-soled shoe to becoming part of a designer culture whereby special models can cost upward of $1000 (Milnes 2016). While denim flares, shirts, and jackets still are popular, lingerie leader Victoria’s Secret, which features the skimpy and the sexy in an anachronistic holdout that objectifies women, has seen its sales continue to crater such that its annual television spectacle has recently been removed from network television after a two-decade run. And then there is the newly offered “Woman’s World” by Cher line—“matching lacy thong and bra sets,” for trans women. Consider what has happened to J. Crew, whose “Not too trendy, not too girly” Madewell line that soon outshone its parent company. While fashion has forever been political, concerns about sustainability continue to grow such that the Californian firms North Face and Patagonia are on board—the former’s “Clothes the Loop” initiative repurposing and recycling unwanted clothing and the latter aiming to be carbon neutral by 2025 and developing a “Worn Wear” program. Pierre-Louis (2019) reports that the latest data from the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) shows that the United States “generated 11.9 million tons—or

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about 75 pounds per person—of textile waste, most of which ended up in landfills.” All part of the “fast fashion” movement, which encourages frequent purchase of inexpensive, easily disposable clothing, this is why we scholars see sporting apparel as worthy of investigation. As e-commerce platforms for fashion sportswear continue to escalate, Morgan Stanley has predicted it to have global sales of $350 billion by 2020. Underwear blogger Guy Trebay (2019) has noted the following: Fashion has had a long love affair with sports of all kinds, and it is easy enough to trace an arc from the genteel sports of the leisured classes of the 19th century to the more crazily individualistic ones of today. Since the 1990s, at least, extreme and adventure sports have excited designers, who imported to their runways superficial elements of gear created for street lugers, off-piste snowboarders, arctic surfers and, lately, those who push the outer limits of athletic pursuit.

Fabletics, a $330 million online subscription line selling women’s sportswear and “lifestyle sneakers,” co-founded by American movie star Kate Hudson, also has more 22 brick-and-mortar stores and plans to quadruple that number. Fellow actress Jessica Biel has become the ambassador to yoga/active balance company Gaiam, both with Colorado roots. Then again, they have worry about Trump’s tariffs. You may not be familiar with sports-related websites such as The Chic Fashionista, Stiletto Sports, or Sweaty Betty, but we are encouraged by dancers taking up “Beyoncercise” (named for the singer/performer Beyoncé), young female activists such as those with buzz cuts leading the #Never Again movement, LGBTQ spokespersons, those speaking out against body-shaming, advocating for “body positivity,” and other “sheroes” in our midst (see Toffoletti et al. 2018). Decrying the lack of (positive) media representation of sportswomen, Toni Bruce (2015, p. 382) figured out that, “The imbalance persists despite exponential increases in women’s sport participation and achievements in the past 60 years and exists independently of commercial considerations.”

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Discussed No matter the sport, when it’s a team event we’re talking about, uniforms and equipment are a key part of the conversation. For starters, we want to look good… So we all have to think about what it takes to protect our bodies from whatever hazards are unique to our sports–all while looking good…When you dress well, you play well. Uncategorized, WomenTalkSports.com (May 4, 2018)

“Words matter” is a common refrain in the United States these days relative to vitriolic language emanating from the White House. Rhetoric, Michael L. Butterworth (2017, p. 11) reminds us, is “arguably the oldest of academic disciplines (whose) origins date back to the sixth century BCE.” Whether via print, electronically, or one-to-one, the subject of sport is ubiquitous. It might take place literally at the water cooler—or its more recent manifestation of social media. Sportstalk takes place on more than 24/7 radio and television stations; so, as a daily reminder of gendered relations, it begs examination. Poststructuralist analysis argues that, despite heightened sensitivities to the dangers of sexist language, the language of sport still contains rhetorical variations that are neither random nor indiscriminate but are, in fact, structured and discriminatory—direct consequences of the structured social variations found in gender relations in general and, as such, contributory factors to the perpetuation of gender inequality itself. What follows here is a review of the literature on the language of sport relative to the single aspect of sportswomen’s apparel, followed by a discussion on theoretical frameworks by which to better understand that phenomenon.

Literature Review Numerous autobiographies and biographies have dealt with the issue of what women athletes wear, and many disparate articles have been written about those outfits. Along with Joan Ryan’s Little Girls in Pretty Boxes

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(2000), about elite gymnasts and figure skaters, there are numerous other examples of sport-specific requirements: • Female bodybuilders, Debra Merskin (2010) has noted, are often reduced to having decorative or sexualized value. • Susan Burris (2006, p. 92) has pointed out how basketball players in the WNBA struggle with media preferences to portray them as “one of two general characters: a wife/mother or a sexual object.” • Frances E. Willard’s 1895 classic How I learned to ride the bicycle has her in a long dress on the cover. • “The manly art” of boxing, despite having women participants dating to the eighteenth century, was long associated with the scantily clad “ring-card girl” who carried placards announcing numbers of upcoming rounds (Gat 2010). • As a rugby player, Jessica Hudson (2010) has reported peoples’ reactions to her as “deviant,” “un-girly.” • Runners, Amby Burfoot (2016, p. xiii) reminds us, might be “leggy teens with ribbons in their ponytails (or) women in their 20s and 30s who like they just stepped out of a CrossFit class or a triathlon training session,” pregnant women, or “leaner, gray-haired women.” • Christine Brennan (2013) of USA Today has written about the flashy outfits of figure skating. • Competitive or recreational, Leanne Shapton’s Swimming Studies (2016) introduces “technical suits, track blocks, false-start rules.” • In accordance with FIVB (International Volleyball Federation) rules of compulsory adherence to uniform specifications (basically, bikinis), Michael Cantelon (2010, p. 15) has said that, the volleyball uniform issue “is a graphic example of the patriarchal nature of much of international sport, also demonstrating the relentless drive to ‘sell’ particular images of female sport to the media.” Still, to date, only the above-cited 2006 Warner book When the Girls Came Out to Play offers an historical perspective—discussing such topics as public/private spheres, how women’s clothing was for “courting” purposes, and the amazing adoption of trousers as a turning point for female athletes. This volume aims to fill that gap.

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Gendered Critical Discourse Analysis (GCDA) Key is the theory of Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), which examines linguistic qualities of texts and their discursive social context, linking language and power across disciplines. Its central tenets, which are concerned with social power, dominance, and inequality, include notions of discourse shaped and constrained by social structures and culture. Fuller (2018)

While numerous diverse theories are presented throughout, this section and its companion 16-chapter volume, Sportswomen’s apparel around the world: Uniformly discussed (Palgrave Macmillan, 2020), aims to outline my developing theory of Gendered Critical Discourse Analysis (GCDA). Feminist sport studies (Markula and Princle 2006) encourage the researcher’s personal experience and voice to be involved, and while there are any number of theoretical ways of analyzing the social power of gender/sport, mine is through language. Specifically, it involves extending basic notions of critical discourse analysis, an interdisciplinary means of studying language as a social practice. “Motivated by goals of social emancipation and transformation, the critique of grossly unequal social orders characterizes much feminist scholarship and, in regard to discursive dimensions of social (in)justice, research in critical discourse analysis (CDA),” Michelle M. Lazar (2007, p. 141) has written, bringing feminist studies into the discussion. My notion is to add the term “gender” to the language of sportstalk, drawing on Eckert and McConnell-Ginet (2013, p.  6), where the dynamic performance of gender is a “social construction—as the means by which society jointly accomplishes the differentiation that constitutes the gender order.” Beyond biology, the psycho-social determination of gendered thoughts and actions are often witnessed in our everyday speech, as well as in our conscious and sub-conscious writings. Relative to sport, GCDA might analyze the amount of airtime for male versus female athletes by sports announcers; gender markings such as “defensemen,” “workmanlike orientation,” Ladies Final, and other delineators of sexist sports language (Segrave et al. 2006; Fuller 2009). It also has application in reportage on appearance through both live-action descriptions and on various social media. Facilitated by fourth-wave feminism, which focuses on (in)justices,

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the hope is that reportage and representations of sportswomen by groups such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube will move beyond being self-identifying merely as platforms to realizing that they also have socio-legal responsibilities. Darija Omrčen (2017, p.  143) has introduced the notion that, “Gender-sensitive language, gender-neutral language, gender-inclusive language, gender-free language and gender-fair language are terms used in English to refer to the usage of a tactful and respectful selection of vocabulary devoid of unfounded, unfair and discriminatory reference to women in contrast with men.” ExcelleSports.com (Linehan 2016) cites tennis player Serena Williams: “We are constantly reminded we are not men, as if it is a flaw…People call me one of the ‘world’s greatest female athletes.’ Do they say LeBron is one of the world’s best male athletes? Is Tiger? Federer? What not?” Jaime Schultz, who has written on Serena’s catsuit (2005), has later (2018, pp. 70–71) made this observation: Women should not have to outperform men to be respected as phenomenal athletes. Tennis great John McEnroe once commented that Serena Williams is the ‘best female player ever’ but that ‘if she played on the men’s circuit, she’d be, like 700 in the world.’ Should it matter if Williams can beat the top 699 men in tennis? Can she be a great athlete if she only competes against women? Why do we have to qualify women’s accomplishments by comparing them to men?

Again we see an intersection between gender, race, and power as, more recently, returning to her first French Open match since 2016, after having a baby, Williams wore a form-fitting black bodysuit that caused quite a commotion. She declared that it “represents all the women that have been through a lot mentally, physically with their body to come back.” New York Times fashion writer Vanessa Friedman (2019) has this insight: For most of the history of women’s tennis, the “dress”—once upon a time a long skirt, now more of a wisp of an idea—has symbolized the feminine side of the game in its most retrograde sense, and it has been used as a means of gender stereotype, self-expression, and eyeball-attracting

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­ arketing. It has flirted with the tropes of fashion-as-decoration, and fashm ion as an extension of a personal brand, but only within well-behaved bounds. Finally, however, in the hands of Serena Williams, it has become a political tool: an unabashed statement of female empowerment and independence not just for herself, but for all.

Imagine being a four-time Olympic Gold medalist and then, at age 37, being a star at New York’s “Fashion Week” (Goodman-Hughey 2019). Although Serena lost the US Open final, that same week her “S” line (for “shine,” “strong,” “saucy,” and “spectacular”) debuted, Williams declaring that, “It’s important to be yourself in fashion. In designing or on the court, I want to be expressive. You have to be true to yourself.” The media had to comment on her two-year-old daughter Olympia, by adding that “this collection is her baby.” Whether by directly quoting athletes or analyzing media commentary, it is encouraging that discourse analysis is being used in sports research. The work of the late philosopher/social theorist Michael Foucault, which focuses on societal power relationships expressed through language, has stimulated case studies on many different topics relevant here: feminist sexuality (McNay 1992; Thorpe 2008); women’s body images (Duncan 1994); sociology of sport (Harvey and Rail 1995); the fitness publishing industry (Maguire 2002); hegemonic masculinity (Pringle 2005, Pringle and Markula 2005); exercise (Markula and Pringle 2006); snowboarding (Thorpe 2008).

Sportswomen’s Apparel Analyzing gender norms and gender binaries in terms of uniforms, it turns out, provides a valuable means for understanding societal attitudes toward sporting females. Linda K. Fuller, Female Olympians (2016, p. 71)

As we continue to challenge traditional sexist barriers about female athletes’ appearances, these chapters loosely fall into categories of historical, socio-political, and socio-cultural, and sport-specific perspectives.

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Specifically, you will be enlightened here by chapters in these sub-divisions:

Historical Perspectives Nancy G. Rosoff traces athletic clothing for American women from 1880 to 1920 while Deirdre Clemente and Evan M. Casey introduce us to the tennis dresses, golf sweaters and bicycling shorts that college women wore from 1890 to 1960 (clue: they are a far cry from Kim Kardashian West’s thigh-length Lycra numbers).

Socio-political Perspectives Meredith M. Bagley and Judy Liao discuss WNBA uniform politics in protests such as the Black Lives Movement, and Molly Yanity examines the absence of military promotion in women’s team sports.

Socio-cultural Perspectives Dunja Antunovic and Kellee Clay scrutinize female sportscasters’ professional clothing, Kate Harman offers a gendered critique of magazine covers depicting female athletes, Caitlyn Hauff and Christy Greenleaf explore how plus-size apparel are a social justice issue, Leelannee K. Malin analyzes FloJo fashion as cultural appropriation, and Claire M. Williams uses the SkirtSports to check intersections of running, flirting, and fashion.

Sport-Specific Perspectives Colleen English and Heidi Mau undertake a clothes’ textual analysis of female roller derby participants, Elizabeth Fairchild and Elizabeth A. Gregg report on collegiate women gymnasts’ reflections on their uniforms, Elizabeth A. Gregg, Elizabeth A. Taylor, and Robin Hardin report how the LPGA dress code polices players, Caitlyn Hauff, Christina

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Gipson, Nancy L. Malcom, and Hannah Bennett bring us badass CrossFit women, and Leandra Hinojosa Hernandez analyzes women climbers’ clothing vis-à-vis the social construction of thinness through cyber-­ bullying media discourses.

Reflections Uniformly, any of my friends can confirm that I am clearly not a fashionista, even if I have always been intrigued by fabric and textures. My grandmother’s Singer Sewing Machine has helped me produce everything from my bridal gown to bedspreads and curtains and, more recently, quilts and simple repairs. Mainly, though, I adore costumes, constructed lately for Armenia, Cuban, Tanzanian, and other dinner parties we have hosted. It probably wasn’t until meeting Mary Peacock, co-editor of the 1970s counter-culture magazine Rags that I became sensitized to the notion that clothing could make such bold statements. A word about the Dedication. My first thought was to honor the Williams sisters for their contributions to my tennis wardrobe, but the more I determined how many female athletes have their own sportswear lines, it seemed appropriate to cite them. All that, of course, doesn’t even take into consideration celebrity lines such as Beyonce’s Ivy Park or Jessica Biel’s Gaiam or Kate Hudson’s Fabletics, and names of other such entrepreneurs are welcome. With the encouragement of Lough and Geurin’s (2019) proclamation that women’s sport is breaking ground both economically and socially, never mind Mattel’s gender-neutral Barbie doll, the time should be right for this study. Thanks to a recent panel on “The problem of appearance for women journalists and athletes” at a Women, Sports and Media conference at the University of Maryland, this project began to take its own form. When I issued a Call, wondering if other sports scholars could be interested in the top of women’s sportswear, the response was so overwhelming that the obvious solution appeared to be having two volumes—one on the United States and the other on international cases. As we are positioned in an age of the #MeToo movement, overarching concerns about gender parity, discrimination, and sexual exploitation demand our attention. Nowhere

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are these issues more relevant, it turns out, than in women’s sportswear— whether that be bloomers, sports bras, thongs, tennis “whites,” wetsuits, studio socks, unitards, hijabs, plus-size pants, cashmere loungewear, and/ or athleisurewear. Just before submitting this book it was my pleasure to chair a panel on “Women’s sportswear relative to social justice” with several of its contributors at the annual meeting of the North American Society for the Sociology of Sport (NASSS). Clearly, while rhetorical activism can help fulfill many goals, our main one here is to sensitize the sportswear buying public to its many socio-political implications.

References Andrews, A. (2015, March 20). The A-list: 11 ways women’s sports uniforms have evolved. espnW. Retrieved from http://www.espn.com/espnw/athleteslife/article/12494884/11-ways-women-sports-uniforms-evolved Arnold, R. (2008). The American look: Fashion, sportswear and the image of women in the 1930s and 1940s New York. London: I.B. Tauris. Avery, J., & Stevens, J. (1997). Too many men on the ice: Women’s hockey in North America. Vancouver: Polestar. Barthes, R. (2006). The language of fashion. Bloomsbury Academic. Brennan, C. (2013). Edge of glory: The inside story of the quest for figure skating’s Olympic gold medals. Scribner. Bruce, T. (2015). Assessing the sociology of sport: On media and representations of sportswomen. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 50(4–5), 380–384. Burfoot, A. (2016). First ladies of running: 22 inspiring profiles of the rebels, rule breakers, and visionaries who changed the sport forever. Rodale Press. Burris, S. (2006). She got game, but she don’t got fame. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sport, rhetoric, and gender: Historical perspectives and media representations (pp. 85–96). Palgrave Macmillan. Butterworth, M. L. (2017). Sport as rhetorical artifact. In A. C. Billings (Ed.), Defining sport communication (pp. 11–25). New York: Routledge. Cantelon, M. (2010). Sex-a-side: Volleyball uniforms and the reproduction of female objectivity. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Global and universal contexts (pp. 13–23). New York: Peter Lang.

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Cooky, C., & Messner, M. (2018). No slam dunk: Gender, sport, and the unevenness of social change. Rutgers University Press. Duncan, M.  C. (1994). The politics of women’s body images and practices: Foucault, the panopticon and Shape magazine. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 18, 48–65. Eckert, P., & McConnell-Ginet, S. (2013). Language and gender (2nd ed.). Cambridge University Press. Friedman, V. (2019, June 2). Serena Williams wears a message. The New York Times, p. ST2. Fuller, L. K. (2009). Gender markings, male generics, naming conventions, descriptive linguistics, and the metaphorical language of sport. Paper presented to the National Communication Association, Chicago, IL. Fuller, L.  K. (2016). Female Olympians: A mediated socio-cultural/political-­ economic timeline. Palgrave Macmillan. Fuller, L. K. (2018). Female Olympian and Paralympian events: Analyses, backgrounds, and timelines. Palgrave Macmillan. Gat, S. A. (2010). Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am!: The rhetoric surrounding female professional boxers. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 233–246). New York: Peter Lang. Goodman-Hughey, E. N. (2019, September 11). Serena Williams didn’t take the US Open title, but she won New York fashion week. espnW. Grainey, T. F. (2012). Beyond bend it like Beckham: The global phenomenon of women’s soccer. University of Nebraska Press. Hanson, V. (2012). The inequality of sport: Women < Men. The Review: A Journal of Undergraduate Student Research, 13, 15–22. Harvey, J., & Rail, G. (1995, June). Body at work: Michael Foucault and the sociology of sport. Sociology of Sport Journal, 12(2), 164–179. Hudson, J. (2010). Women playing rugby: Rejection of ‘The Girly’ by girls. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 247–256). New York: Peter Lang. King, B. J. (2008). Pressure is a privilege: Lessons I’ve learned from life and the battle of the sexes. New York: LifeTime Media. Lazar, M. M. (2007). Feminist critical discourse analysis: Articulating a feminist discourse praxis. Critical Discourse Studies, 4(2), 141–164. Linehan, M. (2016, December 2). What do we call you?: The controversies, conveniences of gender marking ‘female’ athletes. Excelle Sports.com. Lockwood, L. (2012, September 8). Sportswear: An American invention. Women’s Wear Daily.

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Lough, N., & Geurin, A. N. (2019). Routledge handbook of the business of women’s sport. Routledge. Lurie, A. (1981). The language of clothes. New York: Random House. Maguire, J. S. (2002). Fitness publishing and the cultural production of the fitness consumer. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 37(3–4), 449–464. Markula, P., & Pringle, R. (2006). Foucault, sport and exercise: Power, knowledge and transforming the self. Routledge. Martin, R. (1985). All-American: A sportswear tradition. New  York: Fashion Institute of Technology. McNay, L. (1992). Foucault and feminism: Power, gender and the self. Polity Press. Merskin, D. (2010). Powerful or pornographic? Photographs of female bodybuilders in Muscle & Fitness Magazine. In L.  K. Fuller (Ed.), Sexual sports rhetoric: Historical and media contexts of violence (pp. 205–217). New York: Peter Lang. Milnes, H. (2016, March 22). Designer sneakers and $200 leggings: How luxury stepped into the rise of athleisure. Digiday. Nordland, R. (2016, April 27). Afghan women, eager to play, are kept on sidelines. The New York Times, p. A8. Omrčen, D. (2017). Analysis of gender-fair language in sport and exercise. Rasprave, 43(1), 143–161. Pemberton, C. L. A. with Donna de Varona. (2002). More than a game: One woman’s fight for gender equity in sport. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Pierre-Louis, K. (2019, September 30). It’s time to start buying clothes that are built to last. The New York Times, p. B8. Pringle, R. (2005). Masculinities, sport and power: A critical comparison of Gramscian and Foucauldian inspired theoretical tools. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 29(3), 256–278. Pringle, R., & Markula, P. (2005). No pain is sane after all: A Foucauldian analysis of masculinities and men’s rugby experiences of fear, pain, and pleasure. Sociology of Sport Journal, 22(4), 472–497. Ryan, J. (2000). Little girls in pretty boxes: The making and breaking of elite gymnasts and figure skaters. Grand Central Publishing. Schultz, J. (2005). Read the catsuit: Serena Williams and the production of blackness at the 2002 US Open. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 29(3), 338–357.

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Schultz, J. (2018). Women’s sports: What everyone needs to know. Oxford University Press. Schwartz, A. (2018, October 22). Costume change: Rent the Runway wants to lend you your look. The New Yorker, pp. 44–49. Segrave, J. O., McDowell, K. L., & King, J. G., III. (2006). Language, gender, and sport: A review of the research. In L. K. Fuller (Ed.), Sport, rhetoric, and gender: Historical perspectives and media representations (pp. 31–52). Palgrave Macmillan. Shapton, L. (2016). Swimming studies. Blue Rider Press. Shattuck, D.  A. (2017). Bloomer girls: Women baseball pioneers. University of Illinois Press. Spain, S. (2019, September 11). Alaska swimmer the latest athlete to be subject to sexism. espnW. Thompson, K. (2016, August 18). Equal but not the same: Equestrian sports’ unisex approach hides inequity. The Conversation. Thorpe, H. (2008). Foucault, technologies of self, and the media: Discourses of femininity in snowboarding. Journal of Sport & Social Issues, 32(2), 199–229. Toffoletti, K., Francombe-Webb, J., & Thorpe, H. (Eds.). (2018). New sporting femininities: Embodied politics in postfeminist times. Palgrave Macmillan. Trebay, G. (2019, August 8). The X Games? No, X fashion. The New  York Times, p. D1. Warner, P.  C. (2006). When the girls came out to play: The birth of American sportswear. University of Massachusetts Press. Willard, F. E. (1895). How I learned to ride the bicycle. Fair Oaks Publishing.

Part I Historical Perspectives

Chapter 1: “Exercise Requires the Greatest Freedom”; Athletic Clothing for American Women, 1880–1920 Nancy G. Rosoff

Introduction Historical Perspective Just as contemporary perceptions of athletic women are shaped by the mass media and other aspects of popular culture, so too did various forms of popular culture shape and reflect contemporary responses to women’s athletic activity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as women engaged in an increasing variety of athletic activity, including bicycling, golf, tennis, and basketball. They learned how to play and dress for sports through pieces in popular periodicals and by reading guides to participation in athletic activities. Advertisements, too, documented the growing presence of athletic women as well as the development of products attractive and useful to them. N. G. Rosoff (*) Dean of Graduate and Undergraduate Studies, Arcadia University, Glenside, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_2

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Many popular periodicals featured articles about athletic girls and women at the end of the nineteenth century and in the early years of the twentieth that illuminated several topics related to women’s athletic activity as they provided instruction in how to play, guidance about what to wear, and noted the relationship of athletic activity to women’s health. The articles, ranging from the whimsical to the pragmatic, made the new athletic woman a familiar figure to their readers and usually did so in a manner indicating approval of her athletic activity. These pieces created interest in sports for women and in athletic women themselves. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, American women engaged in an increasing variety of athletic activity, including bicycling, golf, tennis, and basketball. They learned how to play and dress for sports through pieces in popular periodicals and by reading guides to participation in athletic activities. The articles, ranging from the whimsical to the pragmatic, made the new athletic woman a familiar figure to readers, usually in a manner indicating approval of her athletic activity. As images of athletic women filtered onto the pages of popular magazines and newspapers, these representations revealed perceptions about such women and suggested how they might be viewed in a cultural context. This chapter offers representative examples of pieces that appeared in popular magazines and newspapers, such as the Ladies’ Home Journal, The New York Times, and Harper’s Bazaar, as well as guidance provided in instruction manuals and rule books for various sports. Articles in magazines and newspapers, advertisements, and stories for and about schoolgirls and college women, as well as instruction manuals and rulebooks, all combined to shape popular perceptions. Through such sources, women could learn about what sort of attire would be required for comfortable activity. Gender ideology informed the guidance that women received about appropriate attire, suggesting how women could engage in athletic activity without challenging conventions of appearance. Athletic women could be not only active but fashionable. Many sources suggested the importance of clothing that did not appear to be designed solely for athletic functions. Multiple authors addressed the advisability of loose clothing that allowed the wearer to move freely on the tennis court or golf links. No item limited women’s freedom of movement more than the corset, and authors and advertisers alike advocated

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the use of less restrictive undergarments. A pragmatic tone imbued the advice about appropriate clothing for athletic activity, as authors even noted that the exigencies of fashion must take a back seat to comfort and utility. Articles and advertisements in popular periodicals suggested how women should dress in order to engage in particular athletic endeavors. Many of these suggestions followed a practical turn and also revealed the conflict inherent in women’s athletic participation at the turn of the century. Women’s participation in athletic activities challenged conventional limits on their behavior, which had insisted that middle-class and elite women focus on and remain in the private sphere. By engaging in public and non-traditional activities, women began implicitly to challenge those conventions. Dressing in conventional clothing kept women from appearing too threatening while they engaged in their athletic activities.

Adelia K. Brainerd and Harper’s Bazaar: A Case Study Over the course of five years in the 1890s, Harper’s Bazaar columnist Adelia K. Brainerd wrote “The Outdoor Woman,” and the magazine also included her series in an 1896 advertisement for what readers might expect in the upcoming year (Harper’s Bazaar 1897, 1896). In articles such as those described in this chapter, Brainerd addressed matters of fashion, suggesting what could be worn to engage in athletic activity, and advised readers to select clothing that allowed for maximum movement. These articles offer an introduction to how advice about athletic attire was presented in popular periodicals. Brainerd’s first column, entitled “Sports on the Water,” served as a harbinger of what lay ahead, as she addressed matters of fashion, the importance of proper instruction, and the health benefits of athletic activity, especially for college women. The article covered water sports and immediately drew attention to a critical safety issue. “It is not too much to say that those who spend a great deal of time on the water ought to feel under an actual obligation to learn to swim.” She also framed fashion in a safety context, writing that a woman who falls into the sea in a boating mishap would struggle mightily to swim in ordinary clothing; hence, Brainerd

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(1894) advocated knowing how to swim as essential in such circumstances and called for instruction in swimming, noting its availability in several women’s colleges. Brainerd also devoted space in her columns for suggesting what women might wear to engage in athletic activity, her advice focusing on comfort and utility rather than solely on the appearance of the wearer. After noting that women had difficulty producing the full swing that golf required, she speculated that this inability stemmed in part from women’s unfamiliarity with such movement, but also pointed to the tight clothing worn by many women as further hindrance. The design of women’s garments, especially closely fitted sleeves, did not allow for the free motion necessary to swing a golf club successfully. In addition, “the proper movement of the body … is usually impossible on account of the snugness of her corsets” (Brainerd 1896b). She recommended clothing, “carefully selected with reference to the looseness of the armholes,” as well as a wide skirt paired with a sweater, and offered as an example, “[o]ne of the best players in the Morristown club” who was “on the links last week wearing a light-blue shirt-waist with sleeves rolled up to the elbow to give her more freedom, a brown cloth skirt of moderate length, and a brown Tam O’Shanter.” Her columns reflected ongoing discussions about what to wear for athletic activity. In 1896, she proclaimed the death of the bloomer, noting that, although it had fallen out of favor in New York and the East, it still had the advantages such as enabling safe riding on bicycles. In the long run, though, perhaps the comfort of bloomers led to their downfall due to their then-considered unfashionable appearance: “Pretty and becoming most emphatically they are not, and this has been their death blow.” Brainerd (1896a) astutely observed, “Women are too anxious about their personal appearance to be willing to wear what their own eyes tell them is ugly.” She did, however, suggest that bloomers could be worn under a properly cut skirt that allowed for the movement requisite to cycling. Tight-fitting clothing and corsets inhibited adequate breathing, so should be avoided and be replaced by corsets and waists specifically developed for athletic activity. Tennis, too, required clothing that aided, rather than prevented, mobility on the court. Women who insisted on wearing long skirts, she wrote, “do not realize how greatly they are handicapped by the

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yards of useless cloth flapping around their feet. Owing to the agility and swiftness of motion required in tennis, it is a sport for which the short skirt is as necessary as it is for bicycling or golf ” (Brainerd 1897). For her, a short skirt was one raised a scant few inches above the ground, and she recognized the importance of freedom of movement to women’s successful engagement in sports. As Adelia K. Brainerd’s columns showed, popular literature that provided information about athletic activity for girls and women served as a variety of prescriptive literature. It suggested guidelines for what sort of clothing would enable its wearer to move freely enough to engage in physical pursuits. Even advertisements joined in, urging readers to wear a more loosely structured undergarment to allow for greater freedom of movement. Descriptions of suitable attire gave women a strategy to pursue their new activities in comfort. By providing guidance and examples, these articles, advertisements, rule books, and even college catalogues prescribed strategies for athletic women to follow in selecting the clothing in which they would engage in athletic activity.

Corsets Of course, the garment that most restricted movement was the corset. Most of those who offered advice about appropriate attire noted the need for loosening, or perhaps removing, the corset. Anthony Barker, writing about physical training, noted that, “Scarcely any women can be found to-day who believes that tight corsets are conducive to health.” He suggested loosening one’s corset before engaging in exercise, but added that soon the support of the corset would become unnecessary, replaced for each woman by “a corset of her own beneath the skin, a corset of strong and elastic muscular tissues, much better than steel and whalebone” (Barker 1903). Ellen Le Garde (1894), in one of her many articles about athletic activity for the Ladies’ Home Journal, challenged the need for corsets, especially for growing girls: “What live boy would but rebel with disgust if corsets were suggested to him?” She described the negative effects of the confinement imposed by corsets. “It cannot be expected that a strong-lunged and strong-hearted girl can be reared properly if the

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part of the body holding the vital organs is cramped or compressed in any degree,” she explained. Le Garde called for a garment that was less restrictive, noting that “happily, a good-sized waist is now much more fashionable than that patterned after the hour-glass of former years” (p. 27). An advertisement for Ferris Brothers, a leading corset manufacturer, noted that “Exercise fails of its purpose when respiration is retarded by a stiff and rigid corset” (Exercise 1899). These advertisements explicitly linked the product with athletic activity. The text that accompanied the image of a woman on a bicycle wearing her Bicycle Corset Waist noted that “She rides with easy grace because every motion, every muscle is absolutely free” (Perfect Poise 1900). Another ad by the Good Sense Waist claimed that “development of the body and muscles is assisted, not hindered” (Development 1897). Abandoning the rigid corset made athletic activity not only possible but desirable. The clearest and strongest message came from an advertisement that proclaimed boldly, “Don’t Wear a Corset” (Don’t wear a corset 1896). The images surrounding the model sporting Model No. 296 showed women at the gymnasium, on a bicycle, and playing tennis. This series of advertisements not only encouraged women to engage in athletic activity but also reflected the presence of female athletes as a sizable market.

Sport-Specific Clothing Gymnastics At Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, the dress specified for gymnastics allowed students to move comfortably while still meeting the parameters of modesty. “The dress may be of flannel (dark blue is preferred), made with blouse-waist, loose belt, sleeves moderately full, good length, and closed at the wrist,” read the college catalogue, clarifying that the hem of the skirt should be seven inches from the floor (Catalogue 1885–1886). All students at Mount Holyoke participated in gymnastics classes two days per week; such mandatory physical activity followed the tradition established by Mary Lyon, the founder of Mount Holyoke, who insisted

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that students partake of at least one hour of daily exercise. According to the 1839–1840 catalogue, “[t]he regular hours for recreation embrace the time from half past eleven to half past one, and from four to seven in winter, and from five to eight in summer. Young ladies do not study during the regular hours for recreation. Their health and improvement are more promoted by giving up these hours cheerfully to relaxation, exercise and social intercourse.” Cornelia Clapp, first an instructor in gymnastics at Mount Holyoke and later a renowned zoologist and professor, offered instructions that stressed the need for clothing that allowed for the free movement required for the exercises. The style ensured the wearer’s mobility, while additional trim should not be restrictive. Clapp (1883) specified that “The waist should be made long enough under the arms to allow the arms to be stretched upward to their uppermost limit without drawing upon the belt at all. Shoulders should be short and arm-holes large. Corsets and high-heeled shoes are out of place in the Gymnasium.” Thus, appropriate attire was intimately intertwined with the development of athletic skills. Clapp’s manual served as an archetype for the lessons imparted by instruction in the skills of athletic activity as well as those for dress. The physical training of women challenged the boundaries of expected behavior by giving women new skills and strength, while the clothing worn by Clapp’s gymnastics students resembled conventional clothing yet allowed for significant freedom of movement. Potential participants in athletic activity learned how to engage in such pursuits and how to dress for them through a variety of popular culture sources.

Bicycling Most of the attention about women’s sporting fashions focused on bicycling. Members of the Ladies Cycling Club of New York, subjects of an 1891 feature story in The New York Times, sought to minimize the potential shock value of their appearance, so they decided to avoid riding in an uninterrupted line. According to the article, “The ladies are keenly sensitive to anything unusual in their appearance, and as the spectacle of nineteen young women wheeling along in close order and blue dresses might

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look something like procession, they will be allowed to string out until their sense of the inconspicuous is satisfied” (The Ladies Bicycling Club 1891). While their clothing and riding practices served symbolically to indicate conformity, the organization of the club and the very activity of riding on public streets staked claim to new territory for women and challenged beliefs about gendered propriety. Discussion of a new bicycling skirt developed by Mrs. Lena Sittig occupied considerable space in The New York Times. Headline trumpeted its glories: “perfect of its kind and the invention of a woman” and “A Garment for Wheelwoman that Will Not Wind, Catch, or Pull-Comfort, Grace, Modesty, and Convenience Combined in It--Its Value Tested in a Moment of Danger--A Safety Watch or Money Pocket and Light Flexible Leggings Are Adjuncts--The Story of Its Creation.” This wondrous garment featured two skirts in one: the one worn underneath was sewn together for about two or three inches in the center, and “the openings on either side are gathered like the bottoms of knickerbockers.” Over this garment, a bicyclist wore a plain straight skirt. The entire combination was bound together by a complex system of straps and cords, which allowed the wearer to adjust the inner skirt to her own style; this skirt offered a pragmatic, if complicated, solution to the demands of fashion, propriety, and sport. The cyclist would also wear leggings of a material to match the overskirt, which slipped over one’s shoes (A New Bicycle Skirt 1893). Sittig’s garment provided for both movement and modesty and proved tremendously popular among New York’s wheelwomen. Mary Sargent Hopkins of Boston explained that her own cycling attire consisted of a skirt weighted around the bottom with shot, to keep it from riding up. It also had a cord system which allowed her to raise the hem of the skirt when she mounted and rode her bicycle, but which would quickly restore the skirt to conventional length upon dismounting. “Under this suit,” reported Hopkins, “I wear a suit of cotton underwear, a hygienic waist, never corsets, and a pair of black silk Turkish trousers. You see, it is all very simple and easy, but it is perfectly efficient, being safe, neat, and suitable” (Dress for Wheelwomen 1894). The simplicity the outside costume presented to the world belied the complexity of its underpinnings. Hopkins’ stress on conventional appearance underscored the conflict inherent in women’s athletic participation at the turn

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of the century. Women’s participation in athletic activities challenged conventional limits on their behavior, which had insisted that women focus on and remain in the private sphere. By engaging in public and non-traditional activities, women began implicitly to challenge those conventions. Dressing in conventional clothing kept women from appearing too threatening while they engaged in their athletic activities. The new athletic woman began to develop the freedom that comes with mobility, but she still had to concern herself with the expectations or opinions of others. Reflecting the concerns of many, the school board of College Point, Long Island, banned its female teachers from riding their bicycles to the school. Although the three women teachers in question wore skirts when they cycled, a corrupt future was not far away, as these women might choose to follow New York style “and wear bloomers. Then how would our schoolrooms look with the woman teachers parading among the boys and girls wearing bloomers. They might just as well wear men’s trousers. I suppose it will come to that, but we are determined to stop our teachers in time, before they go that far” (Object to Women Cyclists 1895). Women who did not dress properly could not be expected to conform to the conventional roles prescribed for them. By their action, the school board sought to protect their students and the community from a potentially dangerous concept—women who refused to accept the strictures of conventional behavior. The teachers involved in the dress controversy represented the changing nature of womanhood, as independence and self-reliance emerged as important components of the ideal.

Golf The attire recommended for golf and tennis did not spark nearly as much debate as what constituted proper dress for bicycling. Long skirts and outfits that copied daily dress presented a nonthreatening appearance on the links and the court. Articles that offered advice about how to dress for these sports stressed comfort and practicality, although they gave more than a passing nod to questions of fashion. Quite often reports of players’ success on the links featured their attire, suggesting, perhaps, that

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appropriate clothing made victory possible and revealing that journalists initially assigned to write about women golfers had not yet learned how to describe their athletic accomplishments without focusing on the women’s appearance. A club tournament in Morristown, New Jersey, included nine “daintily clad feminine golfers,” one of whom, defending champion Anne Howland Ford, was described as “Prettily and comfortably dressed in a light pink waist, russet shoes and gaiters, and a black straw hat. Her drives, in general, were well calculated” as was the rest of her game, as Ford beat her closest opponent by nine strokes. The golfers’ attire received more space than did reports of their games. Several golfers wore shirt waists with “well-puffed sleeves,” and “[a]ll the skirts were cut in the approved golfing style, reaching to the tops of the players’ russet boots and overgaiters.” The author implicitly linked fashion sense with golfing skill, noting that “Mrs. Arthur Dean then played. She looked bewitchingly attractive in a white dress, with a delicate yellow sash around the waist, giving her the appearance of personified coolness. Her drives, if not covering long distance, were gracefully made” (Miss Ford Wins Again 1895). Golfing costumes resembled ordinary clothing: “golf gowns are not distinctive, and the woman dressed for golf does not carry ‘links’ written all over her” (Dress for the Golf Links 1894). A woman clad for a golf outing did not present a visible threat to the social structure, even though her actions represented the emergence of the new athletic woman.

Tennis Isabel Mallon, fashion columnist for the Ladies’ Home Journal, suggested several outfits for tennis that emphasized ease of movement and offered a practical side to fashion. Mallon emphasized that women could be comfortably and practically dressed for play, but still be in keeping with the exigencies of fashion. One of the illustrations that illustrated her article showed “a tennis suit that suggests that its wearer is an expert at the art of tossing a ball, or following its swift career.” She continued that, “It has a decidedly business-like look, and would suggest that the girl who wore it played tennis to win and not merely to look fashionable, or because it was pretty.” Function, in this case, took precedence over form. Mallon (1892)

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explained some of the fashion basics that applied to tennis wear. “[A] moderately full skirt is required for swiftness in running; … a skirt too full will tend to fly forward as she runs and cause her to trip.” She reminded her readers that “[a]s much thought is given to the tennis get­up as to an evening toilette, and more to its material, for, after all, artistic effect alone is sought in the dancing dress, while that worn on the tennis ground must be of good material, well fitted, and well sewed” (Mallon 1890). Tennis player and author J.  Parmly Paret (1903) emphasized the importance of mobility, explaining that women’s tennis skirts should be “short and stiff enough not to get in the way of the knees or to bend so much around them as to bind or interfere with the player when she is making a stroke or running to reach the ball.” Taking his role as fashion advisor seriously, Paret recommended snug shoes and thick stockings, but advised against gloves, since “they prevent the best grip of the racket and always interfere with the delicacy of the stroke” (p.102). Appropriate clothing for tennis should allow for the facile execution of all necessary strokes and encourage ease of movement around the court. Champion tennis star Molla Bjurstedt (1916), winner of multiple United States championships and an Olympic bronze medal, believed that both sport and fashion could be easily served: “There is nothing incompatible between looking trim and being free and comfortable.” Above all, the ability to move easily around the tennis court took precedence over appearance. “You will,” Bjurstedt directed, “select your costume with the idea of freedom of movement, and therefore your skirt should be short enough and wide enough not to hamper any jump or stride you may happen to make.” Bjurstedt further instructed her readers that they “should forsake the prevailing style and choose the skirt with the greatest freedom and the least weight. It should be at least six inches from the ground…. I suggest washable materials.” As the champion simply advised, “Do not put your clothes above your game” (pp. 151–154). For some women, the sense of freedom that came with unrestricted movement around the tennis court could well have served as the springboard to new opportunities. Function dictated fashion; women’s athletic activity required clothing that would allow them freedom of movement and rid them of unnecessary restrictions. Only clothing that allowed

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mobility and a free range of motion enabled its wearer to demonstrate her athletic skills. Thus, appropriate attire complemented and facilitated, rather than hindered, the exercise of athletic activity.

Field Hockey For Englishwoman Constance M.K. Applebee (1921), who brought field hockey to the United States, much of the appeal of the game derived from the appearance of players on the field; she wrote: “In the interest of the game it behooves hockey players to be suitably dressed. Few women will be induced to join hockey teams when they see their friends coming off the field presenting a generally disheveled [sic] appearance; a good-­ looking hockey costume enables one to come off as trim as they went on, and in itself can be as becoming as any other dress” (p. 15). In the 1920 edition of Spalding’s Field Hockey Guide, Applebee stated that, “If skirts are worn they shall be at least 12 inches off the ground all the way around” (p. 15). Some teams abandoned skirts in favor of bloomers; for example, at Temple University in Philadelphia, “[t]he students play in bloomers, not skirts, which are maroon in color, midi, red neck and head scarfs, ankle high tennis shoes and heavy ribbed black woolen stockings” (Applebee 1921). Sporting goods manufacturer Spalding offered not only approved sticks named for Applebee but also a “regulation field hockey costume” that “consists of a short skirt made of college or club colors, with scant bloomers worn underneath,” noting also that “the regulation gymnasium bloomers, not too full, may be used.”

Swimming Advice about suitable garb for swimming focused on the need to be able to move freely in the water. Paret (1901) made a distinction between costumes for swimming and bathing, noting that fashion could be served by the latter, but that, “Nothing tight should be worn for swimming.” Explaining that, “The exercise requires the greatest freedom, and a swimming costume should never include corsets, tight sleeves, or a skirt below

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the knees” (p. 75), he suggested that, in order to swim effectively, a woman’s costume had to be loose enough to allow for movement, but not so loose that the swimmer would be impeded by voluminous clouds of fabric. Once again, freedom of movement had paramount importance in the design and selection of attire appropriate to a particular sport. The strongest indictment of voluminous swimming costumes came from the pen of Edwyn Sandys (1903), who declared that, “Anything more absurd and useless than the skirt of a fashionable bathing suit would be difficult to find.” Sandys wrote not only from observation but also from experience, having tried to swim while wearing “a close imitation of the usual suit for women. Not until then,” he exclaimed, “did I rightly understand what a serious matter a few feet of superfluous cloth might become in water. The suit was amply large, yet pounds of apparently dead weight seemed to be pulling at me in every direction.” Sandys further observed that in such attire, swimming “one hundred yards was as serious a task as a mile in my own suit. After that experience, I no longer wondered why so few women swim really well, but rather that they are able to swim at all” (pp.  97–99). Sandys recommended a loose-fitting garment that would allow its wearer to move easily through the water, not slowed by dragging extra yards of heavy fabric with her.

Conclusion Advice about what clothing was appropriate and practical for athletic women suggested not only the need for such guidance but also approval of athletic activity for women. Instructional literature and advertisements joined together to insist that tightly corseted women could not move freely, advocating loosening one’s corset or replacing it with a more elastic product. The examples drawn from popular periodicals and instructional manuals revealed the cultural approval of the athletic women as well as her appeal. Columnists included those who wrote regularly in the popular press as well as experts in physical culture and champion athletes. They joined to offer guidance to women about athletic attire needed for particular sports, writing in language that did not challenge gender conventions but rather accommodated them.

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The athletic woman played a vital role in American popular culture between 1880 and 1920. She represented individual strength, confidence, skill, and good health and also exuded such admirable character traits as pluckiness and resilience. The new athletic woman who appeared in a variety of American popular culture sources in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries revealed the acceptance of women’s athletic activity in society at large. Between 1880 and 1920, images of athletic American women permeated American popular culture. Articles, advertisements, rulebooks, and instruction manuals offered guidance about appropriate clothing for athletic activity, focusing their advice on comfort and movement. In addition, these pieces contributed to and indeed constructed a positive perception of athletic women.

References Applebee, C.  M. K. (Ed.). (1921). Spalding’s field hockey guide. New  York: American Sports Publishing Co. Barker, A. (1903). Physical training at home. In L. E. Hill (Ed.), Athletics and out-door sports for women (pp. 17–34). New York: The Macmillan Company. Bjurstedt, M. (1916). Tennis for women. Garden City: Doubleday, Page & Company. Brainerd, A. K. (1894, August 4). Sports on the water. Harper’s Bazar, p. 626. Brainerd, A. K. (1896a, May 2). The outdoor woman. Harper’s Bazaar, p. 383. Brainerd, A. K. (1896b, May 9). The outdoor woman. Harper’s Bazaar, p. 406. Brainerd, A. K. (1897, October 2). The outdoor woman. Harper’s Bazaar, p. 831. Catalogue. (1885–1886). Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, 30. Retrieved from http://clio.fivecolleges.edu/mhc/catalogs/1885/index.shtml?page=30 Clapp, C. M. (1883). Manual of gymnastics prepared for the use of the students of Mount Holyoke Seminary. Boston: Beacon Press. Development. (1897). N.W.  Ayer Collection, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Don’t wear a corset. (1896). N.W. Ayer Collection, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Dress for the golf links: What may be worn in the course of ‘Drives’ and ‘Lies’. (1894, June 24). The New York Times, p. 18.

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Dress for wheelwomen: Bloomers and knickerbockers unsuitable and unnecessary. (1894, October 20). The New York Times, p. 18. Exercise. (1899). N.W. Ayer Collection, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Harper’s Bazaar in 1897. (1896, December). Scribner’s Magazine, p. 11. The Ladies’ Cycling Club. (1891, September 24). The New York Times, p. 9. Le Garde, E. (1894, January). A gymnasium at home. Ladies Home Journal, p. 27. Mallon, I. A. (1892, July). Costumes for lawn tennis. Ladies Home Journal, p. 25. Mallon, M. (1890, July). In the world of fashion. Ladies Home Journal, p. 21. Miss Ford Wins Again. (1895, May 30). The New York Times, p. 6. A new bicycle skirt: Perfect of its kind and the invention of a woman. (1893, October 15). The New York Times, p. 18. Object to women cyclists: College Point School Trustees say they must not ride to and from their duties. (1895, June 15). The New York Times, p. 1. Paret, J. P. (1901). Swimming. In The woman’s book of sports: A practical guide to physical development and outdoor recreation (pp.  58–75). New  York: D. Appleton and Company. Paret, J. P. (1903). Lawn tennis. In L. E. Hill (Ed.), Athletics and out-door sports for women (pp. 187–204). New York: The Macmillan Company. The Perfect Poise. (1900). N.W.  Ayer Collection, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Sandys, E. (1903). Swimming. In L. E. Hill (Ed.), Athletics and out-door sports for women (pp. 91–108). New York: The Macmillan Company.

Chapter 2: Of Tennis Dresses, Golf Sweaters and Bicycling Shorts; College Women and the Making of the American Sportswear Industry, 1890–1960 Deirdre Clemente and Evan M. Casey

Where Do Our Clothes Come From? It depends who you ask. Economists trace the production and distribution of clothing in a global market, providing a fuller understanding of modern capitalism. Sociologists look at how groups and individuals use clothing to express social and cultural affiliations. In doing so, sociologists provide other scholars with much of the fundamental theory for the study of dress. Those in fashion studies offer everything from in-depth D. Clemente (*) Department of History, University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), Las Vegas, NV, USA e-mail: [email protected] E. M. Casey Burlesque Hall of Fame, Henderson, NV, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_3

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histories of couturiers to the many meanings of secondhand clothes. The answer to the question of where clothes come from is one of perspective, time period, and academic bent. We use Herbert Blumer’s (1969) theory of “collective selection,” which argues that dress standards change through group choice derives from when “people [are] thrown into areas of common interaction and, having similar runs of experience, develop common tastes.” As historians of clothing and fashion, our interest is about the evolution of the garments and the cultural contexts that make or break sartorial change. As a narrative of fashion history, this study falls at a nexus of industry, invention, design, and consumption. Hence, this analysis builds upon a foundation of diverse scholarship, drawing theoretically from a range of perspectives and disciplines, including sociologists (Goffman 1959; Blumer 1969; Simmel 1971; Davis 1992; Crane 2000), historians (Peiss 1998; Blaszczyk 2006; Paulicelli 2016), and experts in material culture (Kidwell and Christman 1974; Martin and Koda 1989; De La Haye and Wilson 2000; McNeil 2018). Based on a foundation in global fashion production history (Rosen 2002; Rivoli 2005; Khan and Dhar 2009), with an emphasis on the rise of sportswear as a fashion genre and the popularity of the “American Look” (Kohle 1998; Webber-Hanchett 2003; Arnold 2009; Gordon 2001), we illuminate the journey of shorts and sweaters into mainstream fashion from the same seemingly unlikely place: the college gymnasium. The history of sporting garments, especially gym wear and bicycling attire, is of particular import to this discussion. Literature on the bicycling craze at the turn of the century addresses the sartorial demand and influence generated by this fashionable pastime (Rubinstein 1977; Garvey 1995; Gray and Peteu 2005). Where gym wear is concerned, costume historian Patricia Campbell Warner, author of When the Girls Came Out to Play: The Birth of American Sportswear (2006), is the leading scholar; a specialist on dress in women’s physical education classes, Warner also details the history of the gym suit (1993) and writes more broadly on the importance of dress in female collegiate institutions (2001). Technological advances also shaped the adoption of shorts and sweaters into the American feminine wardrobe. The introduction of the zipper (Friedel 1996) and the development of fully synthetic fibers such as rayon, polyester, and nylon were gamer-changers for the sportswear

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industry (Darby 1929; Schneider 1994; Handley 1999; Blaszczyk 2006; Keist 2009). The evolution of the American knitting industry is also pertinent in regard to the popularity and availability of sweaters (Macdonald 1990; Strawn 2007). The cultural place of female collegians has received increasing attention in academia. Lynn Peril’s 2006 College girls: Bluestockings, sex kittens, and coeds then and now and Lynn Gordon’s (1987) excellent article on the Gibson Girl were of particular importance to this work. College girls were themselves tastemakers, leading the emergence of a national youth culture in the 1920s (Fass 1977; Lefkowitz-Horowitz 1987; Lowe 2003). Sweaters and shorts first found mass acceptance as women’s gym uniforms, but within two decades, they became street wear. The “how” and “why” of this transformation is tied up with “bigger picture” changes of the past century: new cultural mores about women and their bodies, the rise of sports, the development of American consumer culture, and the birth of the many-headed monster that became the modern clothing industry. Yet, explanations of “bigger picture” changes and cultural context don’t mean that we do not talk about actual people doing actual things—in this case, college women. The number of females pursuing higher education skyrocketed from 85,000 in 1900 to nearly three million in 1970 (Solomon 1985; U.S. Census Bureau 2008, pp. 7–8). College women in the twentieth century were a political, social, and economic powerhouse, their muscle as cultural tastemakers overshadowing their power as actual consumers. The “college girl” (a term chosen by journalists) defined American fashion. In 1940, the weekly forecasting newspaper the Tobé Report told retailers that, while only “a small percentage of the business you do” is “with college girls, it’s her fashion and her standards that set the pace for the rest of young America. She has been responsible for so many fashions it’s hard to count them.” College women were the first meaningful demographic to wear shorts and sweaters. Still, they stepped into a cultural maelstrom when they donned these garments, their clothing putting them and their bodies up for dissection by social commentators, college administrators, and anyone else who wanted to vent about women pushing the boundaries of “acceptable” attire and behavior. A sportswriter for Esquire (Gallico 1936, p.  13) argued that the women, their

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athleticism, and their clothing were offensive: “Females who don track shorts and jerseys and run and jump in track meets are just wasting their time, and ours, because they can’t run fast enough or jump high enough or throw things far enough to matter, and besides they weren’t built for that sort of costume.” Our research attests to something we already know: the combination of women, exercise, and personal appearance became a flashpoint in the early twentieth century, and the cultural remnants of this tension remain today. What we don’t know, however, is how these tensions played out in the lives of the college women and their educators. This chapter uses student letters, diaries, and publications, as well as archival documents from university administrators sourced from university archives across the country including Penn State, University of California, University of Southern California, University of Pittsburgh, Harvard University, Dartmouth College, Princeton University, Spelman and Morehouse Colleges, University of Miami, Barnard College, and Columbia University. In addition to newspapers, magazines, and a myriad of trade journals for the clothing and retail industry, sources also include archival documents from department stores such as Lord & Taylor, Saks Fifth Avenue, Burdine’s, I.  Magnin, Gimbels, Kaufman’s, Strawbridges, Dewees, Bonwit Teller, Horne’s, and Best & Co. These diverse accounts exhibit how shorts and sweaters transitioned from clothing for sports to sportswear—a genre of dress that redefined what people around the world wear every day. Internal memos from department stores, reports from forecasting firms, and industry trade publications provide a gauge of how the fashion industry came to understand the demands of this demographic (and all of those consumers who followed this demographic). These sources show how the growing fashion industry made and marketed shorts and sweaters. We ask—and aim to answer—broader questions about the changing roles of women in the twentieth century, the intersections between youth and consumer cultures, and the unrelenting nature of cultural change, making yet another case for clothing as a tool for studying social and cultural change.

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“ Something Closely Resembling Underwear”: Shorts as Gym Uniform and Fashion Shorts are one of the most contested garments in the history of the American wardrobe, forming a love/hate scenario: young women loved them and everyone else hated them. Mothers, boyfriends, and fashion writers alike bemoaned the infiltration of shorts. Sure, “girls” had to wear them to exercise, which was bad enough, but to grocery stores, luncheonettes, and social halls? With little more than a nod to protestors, “girls” just kept wearing shorts. We explore their history with bicycling and gym activities, then look in depth at the 1930s, which saw the mass adoption of shorts as gym uniform and the contested beginnings of shorts as streetwear, and then conclude with a look at the Bermuda shorts in the postwar period when college women endorsed, bent, or downright ignored many campus dress codes. Shorts were born of bicycling and of necessity. Americans took to bicycling in the 1890s, presenting an immediate problem for women: what to wear. Etiquette writers took it upon themselves to educate college women in the “when” and “where” of bicycle clothing. A 1902 advice book for college women, The correct thing in good society, reminded women it was not correct “To wear a bicycle skirt when making a formal call,” or “to drive alone with a gentleman on lonely and unfrequented roads at” (cited in Hall 1902, p. 13). Clothing for sports existed in a specific time and place, and college women needed direction on the “when” and “where.” College women were central to the second craze for bicycling in the early 1930s. Images of bare-legged, tennis-shoe clad young women in shorts were seen in magazines and Hollywood films. Shorts became mainstream in every variety: printed rayon shorts; shorts that looked like skirts; shorts that had a loose leg; and shorts that had a more fitted, longer leg. They had a specific purpose of allowing for freedom of movement while covering what needed to be covered. Of course, how much was covered and in what context it was shown was a matter of opinion. The 1930s popularity of shorts came from two distinct streams of influence, the first being gym clothing. In most cases, women wore the shorts in gym class but were required to either change onsite or wear a

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large overcoat to cover their bare legs. When and where shorts could be worn in public spaces varied based on the school’s geographical location (rural schools being more tolerant than city schools), the presence of men (all-women schools having fewer regulations than co-ed), and the administrators’ dispositions. In the gymnasium, many universities took to shorts as gym garb quite readily, while others took surprisingly longer. At Radcliffe, for example, the requirement for bloomers endured far too long; students hated them. Marjorie Hatch admitted, “I didn’t like them when I first saw them. Shorts would be much nicer” (‘News’ survey 1938, p. 3); soon, she got her wish when school administrators changed to a “new gym outfit (which) promises to be a real improvement over the somewhat outmoded bloomer and shirt affair of past years and combines practicality with smartness and economy.” The outfit featured “a suit of pleated shorts, the attractive kind resembling a skirt with zipper fastenings and a matching shirt, with pearl buttons, that is long enough to stay tucked in” (Shorts and sweat shirts 1938, p. 2). Tennis played a key role in the popularization of women’s shorts and in their public acceptance. In the summer of 1938 at the Savin Hill Tennis Club in Massachusetts, young female tournament players called off their games through a unanimous vote, “Because the authorities at the field refused to allow them to play in shorts.” The higher-ups wanted women to wear skirts, but “They had been playing in shorts for two years and could not get used to playing in skirts again” (Radcliffe College athletes 1938, p. 24). Such defiance on an organized scale and as everyday acts of resistance slowly watered down the potency of such dress codes. The second stream of influence that allowed shorts to transition from gym to street clothes was the European couture houses such as Redfern, Patou, and Chanel that brought to market jersey sportswear featuring a long-and-lean silhouette with bare arms, legs, and backs. From knitted sweater sets and swimwear to tennis dresses and beach pajamas, European couturiers created clothing to be worn to watch or play sports. Much of this push came from women themselves, and trend scouts scoured fashionable destinations. Initially, many women wanted the comfort of shorts but not the attention of wearing them. A trend scout and fashion writer advised Bonwit Teller executives, “For women fearful of shorts, many couturiers have designed knee-length dresses with skirts that open over

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shorter shorts. The skirts may be left unfastened from hip to hem or wrapped around enough to practically disguise the fact that only shorts are worn underneath” (Tilden 1934). In the 1930s, shorts were made readily available to American women through department stores and mail-order catalogs, and some women also made them for both economic and aesthetic reasons. Those willing to wear shorts included college women, their teenage sisters, and young mothers ready to embrace casual sportswear. By the end of the decade, more high-end American fashion designers offered shorts as part of two-piece sets or rompers. Profiles of the garment in Vogue showed them as resort wear, perhaps paired with a matching bolero jacket—a far cry from the less glamorous cousins worn in gymnasiums across the country. The dramatic rise of man-made fibers fueled the adoption of fashionable shorts, rayon redefining the American clothing industry. It was cheap, washable, highly durable, and could be dyed and printed in innumerable ways. After decades of consumer rejection, rayon had broken free of its reputation as “artificial silk” and became a staple of the textile industry. These fibers, as one historian put it, “permanently alter the way in which clothes were to be designed, made, bought, and worn” (Handley 1999, p.  28). Consumers appreciated that they were wrinkle free, had superior abrasion resistance, and better resistance to high temperatures, higher strength, qualities Hounshell and Smith (1988, p.  70) said, “Helped the synthetic fibers industry to penetrate and, in some cases, drive out natural fibers from particular markets.” Synthetic fiber drove down prices for shorts to allow mass consumption, making it possible for women to own multiple pairs in diverse colors and patterns. College women were at the nexus of the economic, technological, and cultural change of the 1930s. Their dating and sexual practices, social mores, and appearances had been subject to scrutiny, study, and all social commentators. Sartorial habits were central to how these women were depicted and understood in national media, and their wardrobes were where “old-fashioned beliefs about what ‘respectable’ ladies wore in public collided with new ideas about informality” (Peril 2006, p. 122). In 1935, the Boston Post told readers, “Shorts are okay for college girls on the tennis court or for sun-bathing in some secluded spot but at most all girls’ colleges in Massachusetts, the wearing of shorts on any other

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occasion is taboo. That is the situation in a nutshell” (Radcliffe College athletes, p. 24). Newspaper reporters assured the public that women followed the rules, but in reality, most dress codes at elite women’s schools were ignored; indeed, the acceptance of shorts in public came first to the college campus where women skirted around dress codes or outright defied them. Shorts on women challenged cultural notions of modesty. Even students, such as Mildred Madden, Radcliffe Class of 1938, admitted to the Boston Globe reporter that sometimes shorts struck her as “something closely resembling underwear,” but she still wore them. Women in shorts stirred up all kinds of cultural issues with physical exercise and female bodies on display. As one writer put it, women in sports “stick out places when they play, wear funny clothes, get out of breath, or perspire. It’s a lady’s business to look beautiful, and there are hardly any sports in which she seems able to do it.” Shorts were considered by swaths of Americans to be unattractive. An etiquette writer tsk-tsked, “If you gals really knew how cute you look in a well-cut dress, you wouldn’t hanker to wear shorts. Of course, you’ve got to be comfortable, ah, me! Even if you have to insult the aesthetic sense of men to do it?” (Gallico 1936). Many considered the duckling yellow, kid leather variety of Bermuda shorts—as featured in the 1947 Back to School issue of Mademoiselle—to be different than dirty tennis shorts. Diverse in styling as well as economical and practical, they enjoyed a plum spot in college women’s wardrobes. Janet C. Cohen, Radcliffe ’55, admitted, “I can’t imagine what they did before they had Bermuda shorts” (Radcliffe girls 1954). Even with a ringing endorsement from Mademoiselle, Bermuda shorts remained controversial well into the late 1950s. Consider this from the 1955 Freshman Handbook at Spelman College: “Bermuda shorts and/or jeans are worn only on occasions when the activity warrants such attire. Halters and short shorts are never permitted on campus.” As with many schools, the cafeteria was the most contested area: “Slacks, pedal pushers or Bermuda shorts may be worn to Sunday morning breakfast in the dining room. They must be clean and neat.” Schools with a high degree of student governance generally left the policy-making to the women themselves. The women of Radcliffe College enjoyed a great deal of autonomy and regulated shorts use to exercise and private spaces. Being a

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“city-college,” the students explained to incoming freshmen in 1949, “Radcliffe taboos dungarees, Bermuda shorts, etc., in public (and also on the first floor of the dorm after 5 p.m.), unless covered by a street length coat” (Redbook 1949). By the 1950s, many openly complained that with shorts for gym, it was inconsistent to prohibit women from wearing them on the dormitory quad. Lauren R. Brown (Class of 1954) commented, “It is silly to ask girls to wear coats over their shorts when they are going to and from the tennis courts.” Another student felt, “Girls ought to use discretion, depending on how nice their legs are when they wear shorts” (Radcliffe girls 1954). In these internal discourses, one can glean the ways in which women regulated both individuals and groups to define the boundaries of “appropriate attire.” At Penn State, practicality mattered. Students’ “studying clothes,” explained the local newspaper, aimed for “the ultimate in what is comfortable with Bermuda shorts, shirts, knee socks and ‘sneaks’ leading the popularity poll.” Women prized the shorts for their comfort, but administrators attempted to contain the shorts to dorm rooms or libraries. In 1947, the Dean of Students proposed via memo that, “Bermuda shorts and kilts may not be worn in the dining halls except during finals when they may be worn for all meals except Sunday noon.”

“ At Least a Dozen Sweaters”: College Women’s Love Affair with Knitwear Knitting had been around for nearly 2000 years when sweaters finally became fashionable in the early-twentieth century. Long considered more “costume” than “fashion,” they endeared themselves to collegians because they were durable and utilitarian (Flugel 1932). The American knitwear industry was an upstart on the fashion scene, attributing its success to collegians’ increasing demands for their products. Knitted Outerwear Times acknowledged, “The practical character of the clothing demanded by this market, together with the emphasis placed on simplicity and good taste, have made the college boy and girl partial to knit goods” (Back to school 1937). Male collegians pioneered the campus sweater, but the

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garment quickly fell into the realm of women. In 1940, a Harvard student explained, “At one time, sweaters were considered mostly for men. That’s out today. One instinctively thinks of a woman in a sweater”; after all, he wondered, “Where would a girl be without a sweater? Out in the cold” (Sweaters and jewelry 1940). Like shorts, sweaters really broke into the mass market in the late 1920s and early 1930s when advancements in knitting machines allowed for a mind-boggling array of options. Collegians bought them in many shapes and forms. Their mass adoption “amazed” the editors of Vogue who reported that 80% of female collegians owned between 5 and 15 sweaters (99% campus uniform,” 1939). Upperclassmen at Boston colleges advised incoming freshmen: “You should have at least four pull-­ overs and four cardigans when you enter the college gates and you should increase that to eight of each kind come finals in June” (Girls take to boys clothes 1940). Sweaters had moved from a time- and place-specific garment to a mainstay of American fashion in just two decades. The collegiate craze began with the letterman’s sweater, an outward emblem of one’s participation in a campus’ all-important sports culture. John Thelin (2004, p. 162) wrote, “On each campus, special deference was given to those who wore the varsity sweater sport.” Women, too, had to earn the right to wear regalia. A fashion writer in 1904 told incoming freshmen that, while a sweater and tam in school colors was becoming a popular purchase for the collegiate fall wardrobe, one should refrain from wearing the ensemble until one is “a chesty soph” and will then be “allowed to wear undisturbed her college colors out of doors” (The college girl’s wardrobe 1906). The letterman sweater lost its social clout when high school students began wearing the garment in the 1940s (Martin and Koda 1989, p. 139). Women were encouraged to participate in gym events and rewarded with emblems such as letterman’s sweaters. Various criteria existed for securing a sweater, such as playing in the many interclass competitions. Vassarite Hazel Hunkins wrote to her mother: “Just to let you know that yesterday I played left wing in the Freshman Soph hockey game and I won my numerals. So now the next time you see my sweater you will see a nice big 13[class of 1913] on it” (cited in Hallinan 1910). The awarding of letterman’s sweaters began in 1912 at Radcliffe, with complex

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requirements such as if a woman played “three games against other colleges the Athletic Association awards a white sweater with a red R for hockey, and a grey sweater with a red R for basketball. A girl who has won her numerals three times may wear an R.A.A. [Radcliffe Athletic Association] on her sweater.” In 1917, Radcliffe adopted a point system to award such honors. Penn State implemented a similar system in 1920, ten points for “being a first-class team member of major sports,” and five points for second-class members. Team managers got six points, and any woman who walked 70 miles in each season was awarded 10 points. Once 50 points were accumulated, the student received “a sweater and an Old English’s”—presumably to complement her masculine tendencies or to mask the smell of prolific exercise (La Vie 1925, p. 45). While students initially adopted the sweater as an emblem of school pride and athletic ability, the garment became fully ingratiated because it was practical. Agnes Edward found it the perfect accessory for California’s unpredictable weather, writing to her mother that, “I initiated my sweater today. I like it so much. It’s just warm enough for these spring days and it is such a pretty shade of blue” (Partin 1918). A year earlier, she had reported that, “Nearly every girl has a knitted sweater and you see every color under the sun. But I don’t know whether I want one. I’m afraid the craze might die out suddenly” (Partin 1917). It did not! The “craze” for sweaters grew exponentially in the years following World War One because women were able to knit them both for soldiers and for themselves. “Everyone here knits,” Edward told her mother: “The girls carry those big cretonne bags around with them and knit during lectures and meetings and on the street cars.” In contrast to bulky homemade pullovers, fine-gauge knits for golf gave the knitwear industry a true-blue moneymaker. Lightweight sweaters and sweater sets became popular both on and off the course. The rise of golf knits as fashionable daywear owes much to French couturiers who provided women with ideas about what such sportswear could look like and advancements in knitting machines allowing for tighter gauges, and different kinds of patterns enabled manufacturers to meet consumer demand. The interconnections between the rise of sports and changes in women’s daywear did not go unnoticed. In 1922, Bessie Rudd, an instructor at Radcliffe, told a journalist that, “The common sense styles of the

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modern girls are directly attributable…to the introduction of sports here at college,” and Rudd believed that, “The more women go in for healthy exercising, such as tennis, golf and walking the more they become addicted to wide, short skirts, and sensible shoes.” The trend toward simplicity flowed in one direction: “Once a woman has known the joys and comfort of unrestricted movement, she will be very loath to go back to trailing cumbersome skirts” (‘Rolled socks’ 1922, p. 14). The integration of sportswear into the American wardrobe was closely tied to an emerging cultural emphasis of youth and health, their mass acceptance attesting to a new appreciation for the athletic body—a form freed from layers of fabric and body-distorting undergarments. By the late 1920s, the sweaters themselves had changed. Mass market offerings were demurer, with a smaller gauge knit and collars and cuffs for a polished appearance. Rather than being just a line of garments made from a knitting company, these pieces were designed by actual designers and then produced by knitting mills. The rise of the sweater set allowed collegians to mix and match sweaters and skirts. Less expensive than a suit, knits became the most interchangeable element of the co-ed’s wardrobe. By 1940, fashion editors at the Daily Californian told women to budget $250 for a two-year wardrobe, advising the purchase of two slip­on sweaters, one cardigan, and one functional wool sweater. Sweaters gave collegians variety, then, at a bargain price. An important element of the sweater’s transition to fashionable garment was its new role as one part of an ensemble, complemented by accessories. No longer considered a drab add-on, the sweater was the basis for a complete look. In 1930, the New York Times commented: “The era of wearing any old sweater and an orphan skirt seems to have passed. In its place the Smith student is insisting upon much smarter versions of the sweater and skirt, often the sweater of vivid color contrasting with a skirt which is no less interesting.” Sweater-based outfits inspired creativity such as the short-lived fad of wearing one’s sweater backward. A report on the clothing at Vassar declared that, “The only thing to wear is a short tweed skirt, sweater buttoned on backwards, and flat heeled shoes” (Questionnaires reveal oddities 1934.) Those at Smith favored “a string of pearls with a sweater and a ribbon or bandeau around the hair” (Smith College fashions 1930). Pearls with sweaters were so prevalent at Radcliffe

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that a yearbook editor told seniors to try a new accessory for class pictures because “Too many sweaters worn with pearls would look monotonous” (Seniors to wear sweaters 1938). Accessories were paramount to sweater versatility. Radcliffe women recommended dickies to “perk up your sweaters after the first newness wears off,” but the accessory was also useful in “freshening [outfits] when sweater necks are hopelessly stretched” (Radcliffe News 1941). Spelman fashion suggested that, “Class-time is skirt and sweater time,” and called it “good ‘clothes sense’ to get serviceable ones in colors that go well with many blouses and sweaters, as well as your own complexion” (Spelman College handbook 1946). Female students used sweater accessories to accent their individuality. At a 1938 roundtable held by a department store to better understand what college women wanted in sweaters, the respondents endorsed “gadgets”—a catch-all term for pins, Liberty of London silk scarves and kerchiefs, miniature ski boot pins, and embroidered monograms (College girls shun 1938). As with shorts, sweaters ruffled feathers because women appropriated them from men, and it did not help that many women bought them from the men’s department. In particular, students of the Seven Sisters adopted Brooks Brothers’ crew neck sweaters in the first half of the 1930s, and soon other women followed. In 1939, the trend was so pervasive that Vogue wrote: “All college girls, from Smith to Stanford, are sisters under their Brooks sweaters” (Compulsory for campus 1937). The female interest in Brooks clothing was not new. Women of New England prep schools and women’s colleges had borrowed men’s polo coats, a collegiate craze that began in the 1910s, and continued to cherry-pick items. The button-down collar shirts worn by many college women in the 1940s were not all Brooks by name but certainly by inspiration. The fashion industry struggled to shape—or even predict—collegians’ preferences. Their tastes were the subject of much discussion by manufacturers, retailers, and company executives. In 1941, knitwear company Woolknits enlisted the help of Mademoiselle’s Advisory Board, a hand-­ selected group of college women from across the country. The idea that comfort was paramount to collegians was widely acknowledged: college women “love and insist on comfortable clothes, and one of the chief virtues of Woolknits is that they are tops in comfort. From that angle,

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Woolknits are naturals for college girls” (Woolknits get opinions 1941). The willingness of the young women to ignore suggestions from fashion editors and to purchase garments on their own terms was not as easily understood by the industry. To come to grips with what college women actually wanted in sweaters required retailers to study and to listen—and they tried. Such was the case when the Boston-based department store Slattery’s first “initiated the idea of getting college women together early enough to incorporate their suggestions about clothes in Fall models now going into production.” Beginning in the mid-1930s, the store began to host its annual College Clinic that pulled together 18 delegates from local colleges to give their take on back-to-school wardrobe requirements. The store’s findings were published in local papers. One 1941 report confirmed that, “Any well-­ dressed co-ed or college woman wants at least a dozen sweaters,” but the writer was baffled to learn that these “sweaters definitely must be three sizes at least too large for the female form divine.” The trend for baggy cardigans called “Sloppy Joes” was more pronounced at women’s colleges than at coeducational institutions. (College clinic 1941). Slattery’s had a fashion show with an all-male jury that “represented average male opinion of Betty Co-Ed’s Clothes: to which they responded by vetoing “sloppy sweaters, pushed-up sleeves, sweaters buttoned up the back” (College girls at Slattery’s 1940). A Harvard student (Caracalla 1937) who wrote an intermittent fashion column for the Radcliffe News launched a diatribe about the “evils” of oversized sweaters, as well as those that are “scrupulously ornamented with pompoms and angora lace!” Tailored sweaters were the ticket. He praised “the heights that a classic Brooks attains. It soars to lofty summits of aristocratic casualness. It suggests a British title vacation in the Lake Country.” The writer only hoped that “many Radcliffe girls want to be elevated above the Cambridge streets to the wild pasture of the Shetland Isles!” To female collegians, however, an array of sweaters—some fitted, others oversized—fit the purpose of their collection. They wore what they deemed the appropriate sweater.

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Binding Off: A Conclusion Where do our clothes come from? In the case of bicycling shorts and golf sweaters, a confluence of cultural, technological, and economic trends came together to create an environment where sartorial standards could be challenged and changed: the popularity of playing and spectating sports, especially bicycling, tennis, and golf; college women’s setting the standard for American’s increasing casual (and practical) wardrobe; French couturiers designing and promoting fashionable sportswear; and engineers, chemists, and marketing executives making rayon and other man-made fibers acceptable to American consumers. This is actual people doing actual things. The growth of the sportswear industry, coupled with the demands of young, sports-friendly women, ultimately redefined how Americans dressed. Shorts and sweaters are central to that story, and the current case study offers broader conclusions about cultural change. First, shaking off centuries of “his” and “hers” is not easy. Indeed, part of the reason that shorts and sweaters irked so many people was because women appropriated these garments from men. In an era of boyfriend jeans and man buns, we must remember that unisex is—in fashion history—an amazingly new thing. In many ways, sportswear has democratized American fashion in terms of both gender and socioeconomic class. What has endured is the cultural “stickiness” around exercise, clothing, and women’s bodies. We still hear snarls about the bodies of female athletes and controversies around women’s workout clothes crop up every year or so. Just ask Serena Williams, whose summer 2018 appearance at the French Open in a black “cat suit” prompted officials to call for players to “respect the game and the place.” A second takeaway from these case studies is that American youth defined fashion in the twentieth century. In the first half of the twentieth century, collegians led them to a new position of power, one that was solidified in the 1920s and grew stronger with each passing decade. They became both the purveyors of and the audience for a revolution in how we dress. For much of the century, collegians held sway over the younger demographic—high schoolers who aped their elder sister’s saddle shoes and Bermuda shorts. But the collegian’s sartorial influence also engulfed

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an older demographic. In 1958, The New  York Times’ “College togs extend past campus” explained that the “gray-haired matron,” “the 13-year-old who was sizing up Bermuda shorts,” and “women of all ages” were “in search of the kind of easy classic clothes that are identified with campus life” (p. 87). In the rise of American sportswear, we see the economic ramifications of cultural change. The casual clothing pioneered by collegians has spawned billion-dollar industries, facilitated partnerships between all branches of the fashion industry (magazines, manufacturers, retailers, and consumers), and defined the very tenets of modern consumerism. Business executives, fashion designers, marketing forecasters, retailers, and magazine editors watched as the tastes of American youth killed off entire industries. Neckties, girdles, waistcoats, hats, heels, and eventually suits were unceremoniously cut off from collegians’ everyday wardrobes, because “comfort not glamour is the point.” (College clinic 1941). The garments that collegians did buy created new standards of comfort. You are probably wearing some of them right now: sweatpants, tennis shoes, oxford collar shirts, and T-shirts. Those who didn’t get on the sportswear bandwagon died out—literally. In their place came more and more shorts-loving women (and men) who wanted to wear Bermuda shorts to PTA meetings and sweaters to the office. Here is a third “take home” from this case study: cultural change is slow but unrelenting. In a pushback from the old guard, one can hear fear about changing mores and morals, anger about the power of youth culture, and utter confusion as to why anyone would want this kind of change. But the change comes. In 1938, the Boston Post commented on the transformation: “American women live 24 hours a day in sports clothes. They even do their housework in shorts. Husbands no longer come home and deliver stern lectures upon finding their wives cooking supper in shorts. It’s just taken for granted” (Radcliffe college athletes 1938). As the case studies presented here demonstrate, what we wear—and why we wear it—is a powerful lens for understanding both how Americans have lived and how our culture has evolved. This chapter demonstrates that clothing is a primary and enduring aspect of the human experience and challenges scholars in other disciplines to consider it as such.

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References 99% campus uniform: Sweater, skirt, jacket. (1939, August 15). Vogue. Arnold, R. (2009). The American look: Sportswear, fashion, and the image of women in the 1930s and 1940s. New York: I.B.Tauris. Back to school merchandising to feature knits. (1937, July 16). Knitted Outerwear Times. Blaszczyk, R. L. (2006, Autumn). Styling synthetics: DuPont’s marketing of fabrics and fashion in postwar America. Business History Review, p. 519. Blumer, H. (1969, Summer). Fashion: From class differentiation to collective selection. Sociological Quarterly, p. 275. Caracalla: His humble opinions and particular views. (1937, November 19). Radcliffe News. College clinic at Slattery’s decides for roomy comfort. (1941, July 10). The Boston Globe. College girls at Slattery’s parade in campus fashions. (1940, August 22). The Boston Herald. College girls shun campus clothes group tell E. T. Slattery experts. (1938, August 19). The Boston Herald. Compulsory for campus. (1937, August 15). Vogue. Crane, D. (2000). Fashion and its social agendas: Class, gender, and identity in clothing. Chicago: University of Chicago. Darby, W. D. (1929). Rayon and other synthetic fibers: A brief account of the origin, etc. New York: Dry Goods Economist. Davis, F. (1992). Fashion, culture, and identity. Chicago: University of Chicago. De La Haye, A., & Wilson, E. (Eds.). (2000). Defining dress: Dress as meaning, object and identity. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Fass, P. (1977). The damned and the beautiful: American youth in the 1920s. New York: Oxford University Press. Flugel, J. C. (1932). The psychology of clothes. London: Hogarth Press. Friedel, R.  D. (1996). Zipper: An exploration in novelty. New  York: W.W. Norton and Co. Gallico, P. (1936, June 15). Women in sports should look beautiful. Vogue. Garvey, E.  G. (1995, March). Reframing the bicycle: Advertising-supported magazines and scorching women. American Quarterly, p. 66. Girls take to boys clothes for college wear this fall. (1940, June 25). Boston Traveler. Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York: Anchor.

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Gordon, L. (1987). The Gibson Girl goes to college: Popular culture and women’s higher education in the progressive era, 1890–1920. American Quarterly, 39(2), 211. Gordon, S. A. (2001). ‘Any desired length’: Negotiating gender through sports clothing, 1870–1925. In Beauty and business: Commerce, gender, and culture in modern America. New York: Routledge. Gray, S.  H., & Peteu, M.  C. (2005). Invention, the angel of the nineteenth century: Patents for women’s cycling attire in the 1890s. Dress, 32(1), 27. Hall, F. H. (1902). Correct thing in good society. Boston: Estes & Co. Hallinan, H. H. Letter to her mother. (1910, November 19). Hazel Hunkins Hallinan papers, Schlesinger library. Cambridge: Harvard University. Handley, S. (1999). Nylon: The story of a fashion revolution. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Hounshell, D., & Smith, J.  K. (1988). Science and corporate strategy: DuPont R&D. New York: Cambridge University Press. Keist, C. N. (2009). Rayon and its impact on the fashion industry in its introduction 1910–1924. MA thesis. Iowa State University, Ames. Khan, S. R., & Dhar, D. (2009). Export success and industrial linkages: The case of readymade garments in south Asia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Kidwell, C., & Christman, M. (1974). Suiting everyone: The democratization of clothing in America. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Kohle, Y. (1998). Claire McCardell: Redefining modernism. New  York: Harry N. Abrams. La Vie. (1925). University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University. Lefkowitz-Horowitz, H. (1987). Campus life: Undergraduate cultures from the end of the eighteenth century to the present. New York: Alfred A Knopf. Lowe, M. (2003). Looking good: College women and body image, 1875–1930. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press. Macdonald, A. L. (1990). No idle hands: The social history of American knitting. New York: Ballantine Books. Martin, R., & Koda, H. (1989). Jocks and nerds: Men’s style in the twentieth century. New York: Rizzoli. McNeil, P. (2018). ‘Pretty gentlemen’: Macaroni men and the eighteenth-century fashion world. London: Yale University Press. ‘News’ Survey of Opinion Reveals Freshmen Denounce Gym Uniforms as Offensive to Feminine Vanity, Too Expensive. (1938, February 25). Radcliffe News.

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Partin, A.  E. (1917, September 29). Letter to parents. Agnes Edward Partin papers, University Archives. Berkeley, CA: University of California at Berkeley. Partin, A. E. (1918, March 2). Letter to parents. Agnes Edward Partin Papers, University Archives. Berkeley: University of California at Berkeley. Paulicelli, E. (2016). Italian style: Fashion & film from early cinema to the digital age. New York: Bloomsbury Academic. Peiss, K. (1998). Hope in a jar: The making of America’s beauty culture. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Peril, L. (2006). College girls: Bluestockings, sex kittens, and coeds then and now. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Questionnaires reveal oddities of fashions at girls’ schools. (1934, 9 October). Daily Collegian. Radcliffe College athletes ‘blossom out’ in shorts. (1938, 30 October). The Boston Post, 24. Radcliffe girls claim rule on short shorts not really practical. (1954, May 7). The Harvard Crimson. Radcliffe version of campus fashions decrees snuggly woolens for winter Boston breezes. (1941, September 2). Radcliffe News. Rivoli, P. (2005). The travels of a t-shirt in the global economy: An economist examines markets, power, and the politics of world trade. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. ‘Rolled socks,’ short skirts are defended. (1922, February 14). San Francisco Call and Post, p. 14. Rosen, E. (2002). Making sweatshops: The globalization of the U.S. apparel industry. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rubinstein, D. (1977). Cycling in the 1890s. Victorian Studies, 21(1), 47. Schneider, J. (1994). In and out of polyester: Desire, disdain and global fiber competitions. Anthropology Today, 10, 2(4). Seniors to wear sweaters in year book pictures. (1938, November 18). Radcliffe News. Shorts and sweat shirts to be feature of entirely new gym outfit next year. (1938, May 17). Radcliffe News. Simmel, G. (1971). On individuality and social forms. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Smith College fashions: students wear country clothes on campus but dressing up is a different story. (1930, November 30). The New York Times. Solomon, B. M. (1985). In the company of educated women: A history of women and higher education in America. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Spelman College handbook 1946–1947. (1946). Atlanta, GA: Spelman College.

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Strawn, S. M. (2007). Knitting America: A glorious heritage from warm socks to high art. New York: Voyager Books. Sweaters and jewelry and scarves and hats keep filling in wardrobes, aid to attract. (1940, September 5). The Harvard Crimson. The college girl’s wardrobe—what should go in the freshman trunk (1906, September 9). The New York Times. Thelin, J.  R. (2004). A history of American higher education. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press. Tilden, G. (1934). Memo to executives of Bonwit Teller of New York. Gladys Tilden Papers, Bancroft Library Archive. Berkeley: University of California. Warner, P. C. (1993). The gym suit. In P. A. Cunningham & S. V. Lab (Eds.), Dress in American culture. Bowling Green: University Popular Press. Warner, P. C. (2001). ‘It looks very nice indeed’: Clothing in women’s colleges, 1837–1897. Dress, 28(1), 23–39. Warner, P.  C. (2006). When the girls came out to play: The birth of American sportswear. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press. Webber-Hanchett, T. (2003). Dorothy Shaver: Promoter of ‘The American Look’. Dress, 30, 80–90. Woolknits get opinions on knit goods from Mademoiselle’s college board. (1941, August 2). Knitted Outerwear Times.

Part II Socio-Political Perspectives

Chapter 3: Blocked Out; Athletic Voices and WNBA Uniform Politics Meredith M. Bagley and Judy Liao

Introduction Debates over Women’s National Basketball Association’s (WNBA) uniforms have functioned as a rhetorical battleground for core tensions within the league since its inception. In 2016, familiar and emergent tensions arose: in April the WNBA signed its first league-wide jersey sponsorship contract, and in June it lauded its teams for honoring LGBTQ victims of the Pulse Nightclub shooting in Florida with special warm-up T-shirts, but in July it punished players who manipulated their pre-game gear to protest police

M. M. Bagley (*) Professor of Rhetoric, Department of Communication, University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa, AL, USA e-mail: [email protected] J. Liao Department of Social Sciences, Augustana Faculty, University of Alberta, Camrose, AB, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_4

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violence against African-Americans. We consider these uniform decisions as one overarching context: which voices are elevated or disciplined on the rhetorical terrain of WNBA team garb? More broadly, how are player bodies and uniforms part of sport rhetoric? The summer of 2016 witnessed a culmination of athlete activism motivated by police shootings of unarmed black citizens. As Bryant (2018) and others have demonstrated, extreme episodes of police violence and the attendant social uproar motivated athlete activism not seen since the 1960s. In 2012, NBA megastar LeBron James organized his Miami Heat teammates to take a team photo in hoodie sweatshirts to express solidarity with protests over the killing of black teenager Trayvon Martin, while 2014 had players from both the NBA and the National Football League (NFL) wearing T-shirts quoting police shooting victim Eric Garner’s last words, “I can’t breathe,” and several St. Louis Rams’ players entered their stadium for a game versus the Dallas Cowboys with their arms in the “hands up don’t shoot” position, honoring police shooting victim Michael Brown’s last actions. Notably, WNBA players contributed their own voices in 2016 to these protests by supporting San Francisco 49er quarterback Colin Kaepernick who began his highly scrutinized practice of kneeling during the national anthem to protest police brutality. We organize our analysis around corporate (or managerial) voice, sanctioned political voice, and unsanctioned protest. In our discussion of these three instances of uniform politics, we engage scholarship of neoliberal rhetoric, commercialization of feminist principles, and intersectional protest solidarity. Analysis suggests that the WNBA league office embraces corporate voice readily, struggles to act intersectionally regarding topics impacting its players, and that players may be able to adopt solidarity tactics to construct “weak publics” to persuade their league’s central office. We conclude with implications for future activism in sport.

Sport Clothing as Politics Sport clothing is political; so, in the context of women’s sport, it is inevitably gendered. Using an infamous uniform rule as an example, when the Fédération Internationale de Volleyball (FIVB) changed its rule in

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1999 in preparation for the 2000 Sydney Olympics, it defined uniform requirement for female athletes in great details: “[t]he top must fit closely to the body… with deep cutaway armholes on the back, upper chest and stomach … The briefs should be…a close fit and be cut on an upward angle towards the top of the leg. The side width must be maximum 7 cm” (Corlett 2017, p. 7); however, it did not impose such refined measurement for fit, cut, and dimensions for men (Weaving 2012). These sex-­segregated rules indicate that requirements might have little to do with athletic performance, safety, and fairness, but rather with how bodies are gendered and how (hetero-)sexualization of female athletic bodies occurs (Brooks 2001; Corlett 2017; Weaving 2012). Messner (1988, p. 197) has described how, along with popularization of women’s sport and increasing visibility of female athleticism, the female athletic body “has become a contested ideological terrain.” Sex-segregated and sexualized sport uniform codes function to (re)frame female sporting, and muscular, bodies with normative heterosexual feminine images; hegemonic masculinity reclaims its victory against the challenge of female athleticism. Furthermore, the gender politics of the uniform is about more than the dichotomy of wo/men. This hierarchy of femininities produced through (hetero-)sexualized uniforms is coded with racialized ideology. The uniform codes define acceptable expression of femininity—remaining heteronormatively attractive if excluding, and sometimes penalizing, other types of femininity. For example, in women’s beach volleyball, the revealing nature of their required uniform marginalizes those femininities expressed and experienced through modesty clothing (Dagkas and Benn 2013; Nakamura 2002; Weaving 2012). Combining with the Western liberal imagination of (women’s) sport as utopic space of freedom, liberation, and celebration, marginalized femininities are marked as primitive, oppressive, and potentially harmful (Hamzeh 2015; Lakhami 2008). This intersection of gender and race in sporting uniform and uniform codes may be observed through one of the most debated sport apparel in women’s sport in the past decade: the hijab, a veil that some Muslim girls and women use to cover their head. If at first banned for “health concerns” (Ahmed 2004; Ayub 2011), the framing included racialized narratives that fortunately are being resolved (Agergaard 2016; Hamzeh 2015;

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Lakhami 2008). Precisely, it is the limitation of athletes’ agency, the boundaries of athletes’ options to wear or not to wear that we address in this chapter.

WNBA Uniform Politics, April–July 2016 The 2016 WNBA season witnessed three distinct episodes of what we call uniform politics. Here, we present key details of each instance, with attention to the ideological dimensions of voice, sanction, and league discipline.

 pril 2016: Economic Vulnerability and Corporate A Voice in the WNBA The financial status of the WNBA has been a constant source of tension and uncertainty from its inception—both materially and discursively. Launched with massive backing from the NBA, the league’s finances have been characterized as unfairly subsidized, allowing it to snuff out the rival American Basketball League (1996–1998) through superior television contracts, and yet also dubious since four of the original eight WNBA teams folded in the first decade, two more shut down by 2009, and at least five relocations have occurred. Economic footing has been far from stable in literal and rhetorical ways. This instability has led to several financial innovations in the league. In 2002, the Connecticut Sun (formerly the Orlando Magic) became the first team in the league to not reside under an NBA team umbrella; instead, the franchise relied on revenue from the Connecticut Mohegan Sun casino, associated with the Mohegan nation of Native Americans. In 2006, the Chicago Sky joined the league as a team in an NBA city, if unaffiliated with the men’s team there. And in 2008 the Seattle Storm remained in the city when the Sonics moved to Oklahoma City— although, in a fitting twist, the three women owners of the Storm group were all backers of the ABL Seattle Reign. Uniforms became another opportunity for revenue generation. In keeping with professional soccer’s long tradition of allowing sponsor logos

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on jerseys, the WNBA’s trajectory related to uniform sponsorship started innocuously enough: At the league’s launch in 1997 it announced Champion as the exclusive designer and then in 2003 moved into a new contract with Reebok. In 2007 it signed a contract with Adidas and unveiled a more dramatic redesign of shape and fabric. Logos first appeared on WNBA jerseys in 2009—individual teams were allowed to sign sponsor deals that included uniform space, and Phoenix broke ground first with a contract putting LifeLock, an Internet identity theft protection firm, on the front in the space where typically a team name would sit. The team’s “mercury” logo and wording moved lower down and onto the back. The Los Angeles Sparks adopted a uniform logo sponsor the next season, and by 2013 half of the league’s 12 teams had sponsor logos on the front of their jersey. Since then, at least 20 companies have had their logo on WNBA jerseys across the 12 teams (Gillian 2018). Despite this creeping commercial presence, it was still newsworthy when the WNBA signed a league-wide exclusive deal with a single sponsor in April of 2016. President Lisa Borders announced that Verizon Wireless had signed an agreement that placed their logo on the front of all team jerseys. The value of the deal has not been publicly reported, but the next largest contract signed with the league was a $222 million deal with the mobile company Boost in 2011, which only impacted 10 of 12 teams, so it stands to reason that the comprehensive Verizon deal was bigger. Also at this time, the league allowed teams to retire the traditional white home jersey, allowing them to design two jerseys such that team colors and sponsor logo colors would effectively be displayed all the time. As the 2016 season began, ten of the twelve WNBA franchises already had “Verizon” on the front of their jerseys instead of their city or state, the Atlanta Dream and the Washington Mystics being the holdouts. From a visual perspective, the league had become wholly corporatized.

J une 2016: #ORLANDO UNITED and Sanctioned Political Discourse in the WNBA Like many other women’s sports pioneers, voices have asked—or demanded—of WNBA players, coaches, and executives what the league “means for women’s sport.” In the overwhelming number of cases,

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WNBA representatives have positioned it in the safe waters of liberal feminism, trumpeting claims like “equality” for women athletes, pushing a strong “girl power” message, and taking on established “women’s issues” like breast cancer awareness. Not to downplay the importance of the WNBA and its ability to raise visibility and funds for basic issues related to gender equity, it remains vital to bracket our discussion of sport and “politics” when it remains safely within the confines of status quo interests. At times WNBA players have adopted what we might call oppositional stances, challenging the league’s careful market-driven politics. Oppositional politics describes stances or ideas that have established oppositions, supported financially and/or ideologically by major institutions and populations (see Cooper et al. 2017). When WNBA players have collectively advocated for higher salary structure or health benefits, for instance, they risk opposing the individualism at the heart of American capitalism, the “dog eat dog” ethos of competition. When they have used their off-season contracts in places like Israel, Italy, Russia, or China to make clear how difficult it is to make a living on American professional basketball, they incur backlash of not being “grateful” for the “opportunity” to play sports for a career. Since its inauguration, the WNBA has promoted itself on the “good (white, heteronormative) American women” image (Wearden and Creedon 2002; MacDonald 2000, 2002, 2008). While many lesbian players live their lives openly away from media attention, LGBTQ communities were the silenced players and fandom in the WNBA “progressive” political marketing platforms. In 2005, this carefully crafted heteronormative liberal feminist celebration was challenged by the coming out of Sheryl Swoopes, an American basketball and WNBA legend— if her impact was minimalized by the league’s rather disinterested stance, then WNBA President Donna Orender said that Swoopes’ sexuality was a “lifestyle choice” and redirected media attention to Swoopes (merely) as a player who entertained. Then, in 2013, WNBA’s disinterest in LGBT politics was again shaken by popular player Brittany Griner, who purposefully uses her media space to speak up about issues around LGBT youth. The WNBA Pride platform opened a door for the WNBA to safely engage with issues that might not be considered “(heteronormative)

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family-­oriented.” That expanded political stance made its mark after a national tragedy in June 2016 following a terrorist attack in a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, where 49 people were killed and 53 wounded. The fact that this was the deadliest mass shooting by a single shooter in the contemporary US history shook the nation. The WNBA and its players jumped to support victims, survivors, and their families through individual activism. All eight teams wore warm-up T-shirts with rainbow colors and “#ORLANDO UNITED,” which were auctioned off after the games to raise funds for the One Orlando Fund.

J uly 2016: Black Lives Matter and Unsanctioned Player Protest Less than one month after the pride T-shirt tribute, the league faced an unsanctioned Black Lives Matter protest from several teams and many marquee players. Defending league champion Minnesota Lynx announced it would warm up in specially designed T-shirts focused on the recent spate of police-citizen violence. The shirt fronts stated, “Change Starts With Us—Justice and Accountability,” the backs stated, “Black Lives Matter” and had the Dallas Police Department shield. The protest was widely reported as an extension of the Black Lives Matter movement, and the idea was that the WNBA had found its voice (Gibbs 2018). A significant element to the WNBA racial justice protest is the star status of its key players. The Lynx captains alone presented a formidable set of voices and the protest quickly expanded, with six other WNBA teams wearing black warm-up shirts of some kind. Notably, the New York Liberty entered their pre-game warm-up wearing black T-shirts with “#BlackLivesMatter” and “#Dallas5” on the front, and a blank hashtag (#__________) on the back, which they explained represented tragic deaths that are yet to come. The league had never experienced such a prolonged, broad, oppositional player demonstration. Then it responded with a crackdown. Initial warnings to players that they were not allowed to alter their uniforms were ineffective, and the New  York Liberty, Indiana Fever, and Phoenix Mercury responded by wearing plain black Adidas T-shirts (the league uniform sponsor) during

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warm-ups. The WNBA levied fines of $500 per player, $5000 per team— an authoritarian response that was not well received. Four teams (Seattle, New York, Indiana, and Washington) enacted media blackouts, refusing to speak after games until the fines were rescinded. Mega-star Seattle Storm guard Sue Bird posted a photo of her entire team in plain black T-shirts in a tweet stating that, “There comes a time when silence is betrayal—MLK,” with hashtags #WewillNOTbesilenced and #Blacklivesmatter. The post received over 9500 retweets and 12,000 likes. Soon, the league announced that the fines were being lifted. With the exception of anthem kneeling, the nearly month-long demonstration was unprecedented. Seven of the twelve league teams were directly involved, including super star players. Reaction was mixed, of course, with four Minnesota police officers walking off the job at a Lynx game and the Minneapolis police chief expressing disgust with the protest, but the league office was also roundly criticized for imposing monetary fines on the players.

Discussion and Implications Many conclusions can be drawn from the tumultuous WNBA summer of 2016. We focus on three themes that flow from the case studies presented here and may have lasting implications for uniform politics in women’s sport.

Corporate Voice and Neoliberal Rhetoric in Sport The league-wide sponsorship deal indicates the valued place of corporate voice in women’s sport. Many will defend the reliance on corporate support due to the league’s financial instability, and we note the strong role that sponsor logos (and priorities) play in much more well-funded leagues via stadium naming, advertising, and sponsored events or spaces such as timeout entertainment, concession areas, and kids’ entertainment space. Corporate voice is studied in many fields, but here we assess it as part of neoliberal rhetoric that emphasizes freedom, choice, and individuality

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while effacing the entrenched systematic imbalances that elevate an elite few. Newman (2007) traces neoliberal discourse in the context of NASCAR racing, showing how that sport league aligns its fans with political ideologies in which “the government’s ‘role’ is to facilitate ‘economic growth’, [with] a strong ‘belief ’ in trickle-down economics, American egalitarianism and meritocracy (although usually stated more concisely in terms of the ‘American dream’ and ‘hard work’), and the seemingly natural ‘place’ of corporate capitalism in American society” (p. 294). While car racing is particularly tied to sponsors, logos, and corporate identities, all for-profit sport leagues engage the neoliberal beast. Childers (2009) argues that competitive poker tournaments echo these values of choice, individualism, risk, and competition favoring neoliberal global capitalist logic. Even if the WNBA is not making millions, it is implicated in processes that favor this financial system. By placing one company’s name on every single jersey in its league, the WNBA visually demonstrates its allegiance to corporate interests on at least a significant, if not more dominant, level than its players and coaches. When a social issue violently intersects with its players, such as the trend of police shootings, the league may be less attuned to these voices than how the issue impacts sponsors’ bottom line. A counter view is that women’s sport leagues or associations have learned that a strategic engagement with progressive “women’s issues” can benefit their bottom line. Roy and Graeff (2003) discuss the WNBA’s corporate partnerships supporting breast cancer education. Irwin et al. (2003) found positive results when women’s sport events or leagues engage in cause-related marketing (CRM) such as health, charities, and education. Funk et al. (2003) extend prior research showing “support for women’s opportunity in sport” and “players as role models” as a significant motivating factor for women’s sports fans. We have seen the WNBA take a bolder step in resisting anti-LGBTQ violence, but also reacting more punitively when players demonstrated leadership and social advocacy skills related to racial justice. A year after the Black Lives Matter protests and fines, WNBA president Lisa Borders spoke of the league “finding our voice” when it came to protests and current events. In 2017 its all-star game occurred in Seattle, whose team is owned by an all-female and openly lesbian ownership team that has charted a new path through

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the world of sport finance; that same week, the Storm held a public rally with Planned Parenthood, bringing perhaps the most divisive social issue directly into the league’s orbit. Scholars and fans are still wise to remain skeptical of corporate-­ sponsored activism, no matter how genuine it seems. For the 2018 season, the WNBA launched an ad with the seemingly edgy tagline “take a seat, take a stand”; the phrase meant to draw in fans and ticket holders (those “sitting” in the seats) by linking the league with various contemporary social and protest topics. In the ad we see footage from the January 2017 Women’s March and rainbow flags or signs for LGBTQ acceptance, interspersed with action shots and key players interacting with fans or teammates. Phrases such as “We stand for her” and “We stand for us” highlight gender solidarity across the league. Yet, the ad does not show any of the 2016 Black Lives Matter protests. The one image of a full roster of players locking arms during an anthem shows them standing (not kneeling, as the Fever did), looking up, and wearing pink breast cancer ribbon T-shirts. None of the organizations that flash by at the final credits are recognizable as Black Lives Matter activists. The ad wants us to FEEL as if the league is on board with racial justice activism, but the official links remain in the safer realms of sex, gender, and sexuality.

Joy, Victory, and Commercialization of Affects In this era of commodity feminism (Banet-Weiser 2012), the market place has become a major activist space and market appeals a key indication of the political value. Women’s sport and female sporting bodies have also become prime real estates to promote social causes, and this market value for political activism can, in turn, increase the market value of female athleticism (Funk et al. 2003; Irwin et al. 2003). Particularly, the promotion of women’s sport and its associated causes is often conveyed through emotional storytelling. Although one can argue that the sport, games, and sporting bodies are the main products, it is through producing and circulating feelings, such as unity against the rivals and celebrations of overcoming adversaries, that professional sport claims the

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significant space in our imagining of civil identity (Whitson 1995). The WNBA, a relatively young league entering the already crowded North American sporting landscape, is fluent in this emotional storytelling. Tracing back to its launch in 1997, the WNBA announced itself with victorious homecoming stories of American women professional basketball athletes, best seen in the 2000 romantic movie Love and Basketball. This celebratory narrative imprints onto WNBA athletic bodies and continues to circulate and accumulate “affective value” (Ahmed 2004, p. 11). Being able to wield positive affects is crucial for a for-profit organization such as the WNBA. Its survival relies upon turning the toward-ness into commercial profits (Liao 2014). To accumulate value, to turn affects into capitals, the process of making that emotion will have to be erased. The often-brutal struggles before declaring the breakthrough will have to become a sidenote so that the joyful victory can take the center stage. In the case of the WNBA, this erasure is observed in its hesitation to take on more confrontational social critiques. The 2014 WNBA Pride rode on the coattails of popularity of Brittney Griner and of social momentum that eventually led to the United States Supreme Court’s legalizing same-­ sex marriage. The WNBA’s self-congratulatory narrative for being the first mainstream professional sport league offering a social progressive platform focusing on LGBT communities omits its long history of marginalizing lesbian athletes’ and LGBT fandom experiences (Muller 2007). We argue that this framing of LGBT communities as protagonists of the WNBA’s new storyline enabled the open stance with #OrlandoUnited in June 2016. Supporting LGBT communities was no longer a position evoking “negative” affects that orientates away-ness. It was not a confrontational tale of discrimination but a heroic story about overcoming hate against LGBT communities. We further argue that the WNBA’s victorious storytelling as positive affect values is about its “family-oriented” identity, particularly coded heteronormativity and whiteness (McDonald 2002). Linking the effect of witnessing pains to that of hyper-sexualization, it is easy to see why emotions evoked by confronting the painful reality of systematic injustice against minority social groups (such as Black Lives Matter) are rejected by the WNBA, a family-friendly space. This avoidance of struggles and failure, and this celebration of succeeding (within the system), turns the

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WNBA away from discussing complexities in “defeats” and critiques of unjust social structures. Continuously investing in the positive affective value of joys, of victories, the WNBA slowly orients itself, its athletes, and its audience toward the normativity, and unfortunately away from its potential for political impacts. It is not our intention to disagree with the WNBA’s tendency to rely on the emotional storytelling of victorious overcoming, or even the celebratory narrative heavily embedded in women’s sport in general; rather, we want to consider potentials and limitations of commodifying feminist politics. For a young league such as the WNBA, the risk to reframe positive/negative affects is high. Any expectation that the WNBA would spearhead radical changes in (feminist) politics, that it would full-­ heartedly embark on a journey that may evoke frustration, sadness, dismay, or even anger, is rather unreasonable. However, because the WNBA continuously impresses the capacity to orient towardness onto its athletes, these athletic bodies can become and have become (heroic) subjects of “failure” (Halberstam 2011). Their defeat would still be witness; their anger could still be “positive.” Emotions as a form of affective value means that the value of an emotion is neither universal nor given; it is through the process of recognition, exchange, and accumulation that an emotion has a value, and yet this value is never stable. When, in July 2016, WNBA athletes confronted the league and the public about racial injustice, their somber black warm-up shirts were in sharp contrast to those in rainbow color design worn just a month ago. When they “failed” to tell the media about their games during media blackouts, they disrupted the WNBA’s storytelling. They brought struggles and solemnity into the stadiums while they queered WNBA’s victorious storylines.

Intersectionality and Solidarity in Sport Activism The 2016 Black Lives Matter protest by WNBA players can be considered the first truly intersectional (Crenshaw 1997) political demonstration in the league’s history. Status quo institutions, such as a large for-profit sports league invested in American ideology, may resist an intersectional view of reality to serve its own interests. In this case, we

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argue that the WNBA prefers to see its players (and sometimes coaches) as women only, singly, exclusively, and not as the white, black, brown women that they also are (in addition to lesbian, international, disabled, etc.). Banet-Weiser (1999) first argued that the WNBA packaging of black women as domestic, maternal, and gender-first worked to mitigate threat of the unruly black male bodies in the NBA, which McDonald (2000, 2002, 2008) extends with analyses, noting how sexuality is disciplined through racial codes such that black lesbian players remain far less visible and white heterosexuality is still the preferred subjectivity. In effect, black WNBA women were not supported in expressing their blackness as much as their woman-ness. In the summer of 2016 we saw black WNBA players directly foregrounding their race. They spoke as black female basketball players, refusing to shelve their race behind their gender. Various black players shared deaths in their family from white cops, fears for other black men in their lives, or even direct experiences with law enforcement that focus on their identity as black Americans. We might argue, from standpoint theory, that female athletes who experience regular disrespect and marginalization are more attuned to other structural, persistent systems of injustice (Hartsock 1983). One year after the protests, while her city hosted the league All-Star game, Seattle Storm guard Sue Bird was asked about the after-effects of the protest, to which she replied: We’re still trying to prove ourselves and get things moving in the right direction. So I do think it’s innate within us to have that fighting mentality, to speak up on things that we see happening. And then at the same time, the makeup of our league, it’s a melting point. You’re exposed to things, you see your things, and you bring in your own story to it, and it lends to a certain type of activism. It just naturally fits.

The players’ hashtag “#We will NOT be silenced” did not exclude non-­ black players standing in solidarity, but it encompassed allied players who desired to express their support and their connections to the troubling issues of violence, race, and policing.

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An alternative framework to understand how athletes, particularly lower-status athletes like women in team sports, can express political voice is through public sphere theory. In this case, we saw elite professional women basketball players constituting a “weak public” to contest public debates. Brouwer (2001, p. 88) discusses how weak publics “instigate a critical publicity that provides a mechanism by which members can access stronger publics.” The notion of a weak public builds upon Felski’s (1989) and Fraser’s (1993) elucidation of counter-publics and oppositional publics—communities that are marginalized from official, formal decision-making bodies but mobilized to express their voice into or toward this dominant public. If we consider the WNBA league office—staffed by administrators, lawyers, corporate relation strategists, and so forth—as the dominant space that decides what political voice is sanctioned within the league (such as the #OrlandoUnited T-shirt demonstration), what we saw from the Lynx, Liberty, Mercury, Mystic, Fever, and Storm players (as well as other individual players on their social media platforms) can be considered a counter-public mobilized to assert an oppositional view and to influence decision-making. Of course weak or counter-publics are not guaranteed success, much less full victory, in their efforts. In Brouwer’s 2001 study on ACT-UP activists engaging with Congressional hearings amid the AIDS crisis of the 1980s, the “success” was bringing the topic into public discussion and “revitalizing public discourse” about it. The WNBA players of 2016 achieved a similar result, and perhaps more, as pressure from teammates, media, and fans seemed to be key factor in the central league office’s dropping the fines. The 2018 league promotional campaign, as discussed earlier, suggests that this alignment is still cautious and calculated; for a relatively disempowered group, the female players of the WNBA asserted themselves successfully within the discourse of race, justice, and sport. It also seems that the racial solidarity demonstrated in the WNBA, again at higher levels than in any of the dominant men’s leagues in the United States, contributed to the success of this counter-public move. White players, and super-star white players to boot, were involved from the get-go. Comments from players recognized the higher impact of the police violence issue in black communities as well as the anti-LGBTQ

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language at Orlando. The effect of this solidarity, from a rhetorical or argument perspective, can be profound; clearly, it is materially more difficult to dismiss a topic as “just a race issue” when solidarity is demonstrated.

Conclusions It seems likely that uniforms and athlete apparel in the WNBA will remain a battlefield of symbolic and material power relations. The league is still fighting for economic stability and respect from sport fans and media outlets. At the same time, its players seem bolder than ever to push their league into new ground when it comes to the nexus of sport, protest, and politics. What role will uniform politics play in this drama? Sponsor voice is likely to remain prominently displayed, openly embraced, and rarely questioned as the league continues to explore creative funding options for its franchises. We are not likely to see city or state names reclaim their front-of-the-jersey status anytime soon. It may be, however, that the WNBA explores sponsorship relationships with companies that are more comfortable with, or more aligned toward, political stances. In this way the WNBA may move from “stealth feminism” (Heywood and Dworkin 2003) to “stealth social justice” terrain. Observers (and fans) are wise to recall that politics under the banner of corporate profit remains, at the final whistle, corporate profit. We should also be cautious about the affective celebration of progress and the post-­ feminist narratives incorporated into the WNBA’s rhetoric. The victorious emotions employed in the WNBA’s marketing platforms continuously package minority politics into assimilated normativity. While it makes female muscularity and athleticism “appealing,” it deters the attention from social structures and silences sounds of struggling (of its athletes and fans) against the injustice. The limits of neoliberal politics for equitable social change are clear in the WNBA’s maneuvers for sustainability. We hold slightly higher hopes for athlete voice, solidarity, and counter-­ public rhetoric. Athletes’ mere physical non-/presences in stadia, or in media, can evoke emotions and produce storylines that are not planned

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according to corporate interests. Disruptions demonstrate solidarity across race, sexuality, and nation, serving to strengthen moments of athlete voice in the hyper-commercialized, highly commodified, resolutely escapist realm of sport and sport media.

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Messner, M. A. (1988). Sports and male domination: The female athlete as contested ideological terrain. Sociology of Sport Journal, 5(3), 197–211. Muller, T. K. (2007). Liberty for all? Contested spaces of women’s basketball. Gender, Place & Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography, 14(2), 197–213. Nakamura, Y. (2002). Beyond the hijab: Female Muslims and physical activity. Women in Sport and Physical Activity Journal, 11(2), 21–48. Newman, J. I. (2007). A detour through ‘Nascar Nation’: Ethnographic articulations of a neoliberal sporting spectacle. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 42(3), 289–308. Roy, D.  P., & Graeff, T.  R. (2003). Consumer attitudes toward cause-related marketing activities in professional sports. Sport Marketing Quarterly, 12(3), 163–172. Wearden, S. T., & Creedon, P. J. (2002). ‘We got next’: Images of women in television commercials during the inaugural WNBA season. Culture, Sport, Society, 5(3), 189–210. Weaving, C. (2012). Buns of gold, silver, and bronze: A critical analysis of the state of Olympic women’s beach volleyball. In M. Austin & H. Reid (Eds.), Olympics and philosophy (pp. 370–392). University Press of Kentucky. Whitson, D. (1995). Sport and civic identity in the modern Canadian city. Canadian Review of Comparative Literature, 22(1), 125–147.

Chapter 4: Apathy and/or Ambivalence?; Women’s Sport and Military Promotion Molly Yanity

On June 7 and 12, 2018, at respective stadia in Sandy, Utah, and Cleveland, Ohio, the United States Women’s National Soccer Team (USWNST) played China in a pair of nationally televised friendly matches. For the second consecutive year, the defending World Cup champion American squad donned kits with rainbow-striped numbers on their backs, their rainbow numerals representing US Soccer’s partnership with the You Can Play project—a social activism campaign dedicated to ending homophobia in sports, celebrating lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) Pride Month. A June 1 press release noted, “a special ‘One Nation. One Team’ hat and scarf with rainbow lettering will be available throughout the month of June…The Federation will also produce a public service video featuring members of both senior National Teams expressing acceptance and inclusion of athletes, coaches, and fans from all backgrounds.” In the previous year, after selling

M. Yanity (*) Journalism Department, Quinnipiac University, Hamden, CT, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_5

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rainbow-themed merchandise and auctioning off players’ rainbow-­ numbered jerseys, US Soccer had donated more than $65,000 to the You Can Play project. Just days prior to the USWNT’s games against China, Major League Baseball (MLB) players wore special jerseys to celebrate the Memorial Day weekend. Its website (www.mlb.com) described the jerseys: In honor of those who have lost their lives while serving their country, every team will sport a camouflage cap and a matching jersey. While most of those jerseys will be white or gray with camo font, the Royals will wear a royal blue jersey that works surprisingly well with the camo font.

It also described the socks players could opt to wear: “The Memorial Day weekend sock is busier with the camo theme, but it has a nice touch of five stars stitched just above the ankle, representing the five branches of the American military.” Finally, it also announced that proceeds from the sale of items on MLBshop.com would go to “MLB Charities” (Memorial Day and Independence Day), used to support programs for service men and women, veterans and military families.” This action recalls how, in 2016, MLB players wore similar uniforms that featured digicamo—a multi-scale camouflage that combines patterns at two or more scales—with proceeds going from sale of merchandise then to benefit the Welcome Back Veterans charity. Yet, according to MLB Charities’ Form 990/Schedule 1, the most recent form available, the non-profit wing of MLB Charities donated more than $5000 to 83 charities, none of which were listed as being designated for the Welcome Back Veterans group. Athletes—both amateur and professional, who wear gimmicky uniforms to promote inclusiveness, patriotism, and/or sponsorship opportunities—are common sights on sporting fields and in arenas and stadia. Since September 11, 2001, athletes and fans performing patriotic rituals in military-themed uniforms have become expected at sporting events (Bryant 2018a). Nearly every US-based professional sports team in the “Big Four” (the MLB, the National Basketball Association, the National Football League, and the National Hockey League), as well as Major League Soccer, hosts a Military Appreciation Night, performs

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nationalistically charged rituals, such as welcoming home members of the military and playing God Bless America in the middle of the seventh inning, and boasts branches of the US military as regular sponsors. Yet, when it comes to whipping up patriotic fervor and promoting the military, these rituals are almost completely absent in women’s sport. Through an interpretation of athletic uniforms as rhetorical texts, this chapter aims to explore the relationship between the US military, women’s sport, and promotion as one of both apathy and ambivalence.

The US Military and Women Women have served in the US armed forces, which “have their roots in time-honored masculine traditions” (Shields 1998, p.  100), in official capacities since World War I. They have typically served in nursing roles or taken on duties to free “men to fight by taking on other traditional jobs such as typing, sorting mail, and laundry.” Women’s presence in the military has mirrored their presence in the overall workforce, but after World War II, the US military used quotas such that only 2 percent of the force could be women, with policies such as that marriage or even pregnancy meant discharge to weed them out. Then, when the draft could not fully staff the military in the 1950s and 1960s, it was forced to turn to women. Male leadership tolerated women’s presence as nurses and office clerks but did not take them seriously as soldiers until such breakthroughs as the introduction of women in weapons training in 1975 and the West Point graduation of the first female cadet in 1980 (Holm 1992). The highly technical Operation Desert Storm of 1991 forced a critical review of the roles of women in combat, and the evolution from there was swift. In fiscal year 2017, the US Department of Defense reported that its military force included 1.29 million members, or roughly 0.5 percent of the population. Women currently make up 16 percent of that, or about 206,000 of new accessions and enlisted personnel—a steady increase since 2010 to its highest point in history. More than half (56 percent) of the enlisted women are Hispanic or racial minorities, and women hold 18 percent of officer titles throughout the four branches of armed forces

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(i.e., the Air Force, Army, Marines, and Navy). In 2016, all infantry combat positions were open to women, but the three most common occupational groups for women were administrators (25.0 percent), medical (14.5 percent), and supply (14.1 percent). The same 2017 Defense Department report listed the top three occupational groups for men as electrical (21.9 percent), infantry/gun crews/seamanship (18.0 percent), and supply (11.1 percent), noting that: These occupational differences between men and women are similar to those in previous years, and gender differences in the occupational distribution of the enlisted force are well known. The lack of women in warfighting occupations is the result of both people’s preferences and prior restrictions on women’s service in some of these occupations. (p. 30)

Patricia M. Shields (1998, p. 100) detailed the history of women in the US military and reached two conclusions: Women do not consider the military as just another employer; rather they are attracted to unique aspects of the military institution, such as discipline and adventure. Second, women soldiers are not fully supported in their institutional identities. Institutional attachment—often eroded by family responsibilities—is diluted because the military does not really accommodate women.

Sexism, sexual harassment, sexual assault, and poorly designed apparel, as well as pregnancy and/or parenting and their special implications for women are substantial hurdles to full assimilation of women into the military (Holm 1992; Iskra 2010; Shields 1998).

The US Military and Sport The US military and sport have a long history, dating back to the days when the country’s founding higher educational institutions used organized sport to prepare young men for military service under the guise of “muscular Christianity” (Putney 2003). In 1910, President and

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Commander-in-Chief Robert Taft threw out the first pitch at a Washington Senators baseball game, and in 1924, Commander-in-Chief Calvin Coolidge was the first president to invite a sports team to the White House when the Senators celebrated their pennant chase on Pennsylvania Avenue. Since the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks in the USA, “militaristic spectacles have increasingly defined the ‘normal’ experience” of televised sports, particularly in the National Football League” (Butterworth 2011, p. 139). After 9/11, in addition to the pre-­ game ritual of playing The Star-Spangled Banner, Major League Baseball adopted a pre-seventh inning stretch ritual of requesting fans to stand and remove their caps for a playing of God Bless America as well (Bryant 2018b) The federal government has also gotten involved in the spectacle. In 2015, US senators from Arizona—John McCain and Jeff Flake— published an oversight report revealing that the Department of Defense had spent $53 million of taxpayer monies between 2012 and 2015 on marketing and advertising contracts with professional sport leagues and universities. More than $10 million went to the “Big Four” and Major League Soccer, with about $7 million going specifically to anthem presentations, salutes, color guards, enlistment ceremonies, and more rituals that the senators dubbed “paid patriotism” (McCain and Flake 2015, p. 6): While well intentioned, we wonder just how many of these displays included a disclaimer that these events were in fact sponsored by the DOD at taxpayer expense. Even with that disclosure, it is hard to understand how a team accepting taxpayer funds to sponsor a military appreciation game, or to recognize wounded warriors or returning troops, can be construed as anything other than paid patriotism.

While the McCain/Flake report led to certain changes relative to what the Department of Defense could pay for, the on-field spectacle has neither retracted nor toned down its ultimate pursuit of recruiting young American sports fans to join the military. Journalist Howard Bryant (2018b) noted this in an interview on National Public Radio: a lot of times, as you watch on TV, these displays haven’t changed. It’s a part of sports now. It’s something that is—it must be dealt with in a certain way

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that you’re selling—one, you’re continuing two wars that are being fought at the ballpark. It’s also something that the Pentagon is doing on purpose, and they don’t hide it. That’s one of the interesting things about this. They’re recruiting soldiers. They need soldiers to man the force, and they view sports as a great recruiting tool.

Formalized financial-promotional relationships between the US military and professional sports leagues are common, but they also exist between the military and college sports conferences and teams, as well as with high school sports entities such as the US Army All-American Bowl and the Semper Fidelis All-American Bowl (Butterworth 2016).

 he Uniform as Text: Post 9/11 “Patriotism” T and Sport The modern interpretation of rhetoric as theorized by Lloyd Bitzer (1968) and Kenneth Burke (1969) suggests that many factors determine what can—and cannot—be said, and that what is said is likely done so with careful consideration in order to shape attitudes and behaviors. Thus, when looking at sport in America, “[It] is not a distraction from socio-­ political issues; rather, it is a constitutive site which these issues are communicated” (Butterworth 2011, p. 326). Here, the athletic uniform is analyzed as a rhetorical text, not simply as functional athletic apparel but how it is carefully designed as a speech-­ act and its rhetorical situation. To analyze any speech-act and its rhetorical situation, we must consider the seven variables of speaker, audience, topic, persuasion, setting, medium, and rhetorical conventions (Hart et al. 2018). This section of the chapter will do just that.

Speaker Who is “speaking” through an athletic uniform? It is certainly not an individual athlete, who may be a Spanish-speaker from the Dominican Republic wearing a uniform emblazoned with the Stars and Stripes, nor

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a heterosexual athlete donning a jersey with rainbow numbers, or even a soccer player who has no interest in video gaming but whose shirt is plastered with an “Xbox” logo such as kits of the Seattle Sounds of the MLS that have a large Xbox logo on their fronts as part of a corporate sponsorship agreement between the franchise and Microsoft. When a sporting uniform boasts camouflage, digicamo, or stars and stripes, administrators (heretofore called “the team”) in the franchise have made a decision for the uniforms to “say” something patriotic, or nationalistic.

Audience The audience has typically established a deep supportive and historic connection to its chosen team. It has devoted emotional, financial, and time resources, and it has made a commitment to the team—with the team well aware of this. The team considers all of this when framing its message on its uniforms. While MLB teams, for example, participate in the wearing of patriotic-themed Memorial Day and Fourth of July uniforms, other teams might go even further. For example, in San Diego, California—a city which is home to approximately 100,000 active duty service members, the nation’s largest concentration of military personnel—the San Diego Padres baseball team established a Military Affairs Department in 1995. These players also began to wear military-inspired camouflage jerseys on “Military Opening Day” in 2000—a first among professional sports organizations. In 2008, the San Diego Padres players began to wear the jerseys during all Sunday home games—a tradition to which it still adheres. The Padres’ move to wear the jersey in 2000 was a business decision, of course—a calculated financial decision to appeal to a large demographic of potential ticket-buyers and fans. The audience made a significant social statement by purchasing and wearing replica camo jerseys, caps, and shirts, too. It did not just support the Padres; it also supported the US military.

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Topic After 9/11, the topic changed; it became “war.” As evidenced by the revelations of the McCain-Flake report, the Department of Defense redefined how patriotism would be discussed. It would be couched in terms of war, and there was no better place to do it than in sports arenas and stadia.

Persuasive Field In the aftermath of 9/11, the US military invaded both Afghanistan and Iraq, the latter despite much international and domestic protest that continues to this day as the USA remains in states of war in both countries. Prior to the 2016 presidential election, the country had been embroiled in political divisiveness that has defined the latter part of the decade. The athletic uniform, thus, is another rhetorical message impinging upon the audience. Stanley Eitzen (2016, p. 44) has also suggested that the uniform is attempting to market positive feelings about the military to “manipulate fans by tugging at their heart strings.”

Setting Robert Brown (2004, p. 37) has written that “Sports reacts after a tragedy by first cancelling games, then restarting them to signal and return to normalcy, and then through an incorporation of military and patriotic symbols to signify national unity in a time of crisis.” As the McCain-­ Flake report revealed, the decision made by teams made the nationalistic spectacle become the new normal, instead of “returning to normalcy.” Immediately after 9/11, the helmets of NFL and college football players donned small American flags on the back. Those flags remain in place nearly two decades later, attaching both social and historical significance to the uniform.

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Media With professional and amateur sport saturating all avenues of media, teams knowingly, carefully, and creatively take advantage of all available outlets—radio, television, print, digital, and/or social—to open up and exploit rhetorical avenues. The uniform, of course, is seen. ESPN, the self-proclaimed “worldwide leader in sports,” televises college basketball games on aircraft careers, with amateur athletes donning words like “commitment,” “duty,” “honor,” “courage,” and freedom” on the nameplates of their jerseys. As an aside, those words on their own could have different meanings, but featured together—on an aircraft carrier, nonetheless—become militaristic. The NFL created the Twitter-specific hashtag “#SaluteToService” to accompany its month-long Veterans Day celebration, which also included players and coaches wearing Army green-colored caps and headsets on the sidelines for the television- and live-viewing audience to see.

Rhetorical Conventions How athletic events are covered, shot, narrated, and consumed all play a part in how the camera pans over a single-file line of athletes with their camouflage-print cap over their hearts is part of the spectacle. How the uniform is worn by athletes, how fans purchase and wear replicas, how the “sports-war metaphors” are so prevalent in radio and television broadcasts—or even in how fans speak of sport—all play critical parts in the analysis of the athletic uniform as a rhetorical device.

 hat Is the US Military Telling Women’s W Sport Audiences? There is no shortage of promotional and sponsorship opportunities in women’s sport, as evidenced by the USWNT’s promotion of LGBT Pride, which is an entire month of pink jersey-wearing in women’s college basketball to promote awareness of breast cancer, with corporations such

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as Swedish Medical, Mayo Clinic, casino resorts, and Draft Kings affixing their logos on the front of WNBA jerseys. A vast discrepancy of such opportunities between men’s and women’s sport exists, however, and “Sports associated with masculine values are considered to be key in the development of corporate strategies. …[other sports] are often dealt with in a dismissive and exclusionary manner” (Shaw and Amis 2001, p. 223). The McCain-Flake report detailed the leagues and the teams for whom the Department of Defense paid marketing and more. No women’s professional sports league or team received a dime. The report also revealed that the US military paid for certain promotional events at the University of Wisconsin, as well as Indiana and Purdue Universities, but all those events were held at football and men’s basketball games. With the findings in the report in mind, the US military seems to treat women’s sport “in a dismissive and exclusionary manner” when it comes to its own sponsorship and promotion, with complete apathy toward the recruitment and retention of female soldiers. On the one hand, this is surprising given the US military’s gendered demographics as noted previously; on the other hand, it falls in line with Shields’ (1998: 106–107) conclusion that the US “Armed forces have their roots in time-honored masculine traditions. … Taken as a whole, men of the armed forces have resisted and been hostile toward attempts at gender integration.”

 hat Are Women’s Sport Entities Telling Their W Audiences About the US Military? After an exhaustive search through the comprehensive website UniWatch.com, a website that, as described on its site, “deconstructs the finer points of sports uniforms in obsessive and excruciating detail. It’s not about fashion—it’s about documenting and maintaining the visual history of sports design,” as well as other web searches that yielded more than 300 images, this researcher found only one professional women’s sports league, the National Women’s Hockey League, that has used its uniforms to promote patriotic or nationalistic views. The Boston Pride players wore black and yellow camo uniforms with numbers of stars and

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stripes during a Military Appreciation Night of February 4, 2017. The next season, Pride players donned the same outfit on December 2, 2017. The NWHL’s Buffalo Beauts also wore team-colored camouflage on Military Appreciation Nights in each of its seasons in existence, starting in 2015 to the current day. The Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) does not include American flags on its jerseys. The nine teams of the National Women’s Soccer League, which is headquartered in Chicago but supported by the Canadian Soccer Association and US Soccer, have only corporate and team logos on their jerseys. None have worn military-­ themed uniforms for special occasions. Neither the uniforms for women’s college basketball nor any college sport in my search has been made in camouflage, or digicamo fabric, for special promotional events. Given the largely absent pro-military text, it leads one to surmise that women’s sport entities might be ambivalent about patriotic fervor, or the nationalistic messaging found in men’s sport. If, as Bryant (2018c) writes, and the McCain-Flake report posits, recruiting is the top reason the US military has courted sport entities, what is the reason sport—in this case, men’s sport—continues the relationship? Fear of being called unpatriotic, Bryant wrote that one MLB executive told him.

Conclusions The US military has spent the better part of the last 20 years becoming unmoored from the civilian population. Per capita, its numbers have sunk to historic lows. With restrictions being lifted on the roles and duties women can ascend to and complete, female members of the US population should be viewed as a potential pool from which to recruit. Consider Lisa Hinkleman’s (2018) report—a survey of more than 10,000 girls across the USA found a positive correlation between playing sports and increased confidence, body image, academic performance, and personal relationships. Yet, the approach toward women in sport as analyzed here through the rhetorical device of the athletic uniform suggests not only that the US military is apathetic toward the recruitment of sportswomen but also that it continues to privilege masculinity and men.

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While one could get into an endless chicken-egg argument, the US military’s apathy toward sportswomen and the audience of women sport is met with a reciprocal ambivalence from sportswomen and the female sport audience. That ambivalence is not necessarily a rebuffing of patriotic fervor but is, rather, a nod to the idea that time is better spent competing and enjoying sport than using it as a nationalistic spectacle.

References Bitzer, L. (1968). The rhetorical situation. Philosophy and Rhetoric, 1, 1–14. Brown, R. S. (2004). Sports and healing in America. Society, 42, 37–41. Bryant, H. (2018a). The heritage: Black athletes, a divided America, and the politics of patriotism. Boston: Beacon Press. Bryant, H. (2018b, June 13). How taking a stand for justice can threaten the careers of Black athletes. Interview on NPR Fresh Air. Bryant, H. (2018c, July 20). Veterans speak out against the militarization of sports. Interview on Only a Game. Burke, K. (1969). A rhetoric of motives. Berkeley: University of California Press. Butterworth, M. L. (2011). Saved at home: Christian branding and faith nights in the ‘Church of Baseball’. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 3(97), 309–333. Butterworth, M.  L. (2016). Everybody’s all-Americans: High school football and the U.S. military. In K. B. George, W. Davis, & D. J. Leonard (Eds.), Football, culture, and power. London: Routledge. Department of Defense. (2017). Population representation in the military services: Fiscal year 2017 summary report. Retrieved from https://www.cna.org/ pop-rep/2017/summary/summary.pdf Eitzen, D. S. (2016). Fair and foul: Beyond the myths and paradoxes of sport (6th ed.). London: Rowman & Littlefield. Hart, R. P., Daughton, S., & LaVally, R. (2018). Modern rhetorical criticism (4th ed.). New York: Routledge. Hinkleman, L. (2018). A deeper look: A girls index impact report. The Girls Index. Retrieved from http://rulingourexperiences.com/the-girls-indexreport/ Holm, J. M. (1992). Women in the military: An unfinished revolution. New York: Presidio Press. Iskra, D. M. (2010). Women in the U.S. Armed Forces: A guide to the issues. Santa Barbara: Praeger.

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McCain, J., & Flake, J. (2015). Tackling paid patriotism: A joint oversight report. Retrieved from http://www.mccain.senate.gov/public/_cache/files/ 12de6dcb-d8d8-4a58-8795-562297f948c1/tackling-paid-patriotism-oversight-report.pdf Putney, C. (2003). Muscular Christianity: Manhood and sports in Protestant America, 1880–1920. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Shaw, S., & Amis, J. (2001). Image and investment: Sponsorship and women’s sport. Journal of Sport Management, 15, 219–246. Shields, P.  N. (1998). Sex roles in the military. Faculty Publications-Political Science. Paper 14. Retrieved from http://ecommons.txstate.edu/polsfacp/14

Part III Socio-Cultural Perspectives

Chapter 5: “It’s Always Something”; The Scrutiny of Female Sportscasters’ Professional Clothing Dunja Antunovic and Kellee Clay

In April 2018, ESPN SportsCenter reporter and espnW.com columnist Sarah Spain attended a Chicago Red Stars professional women’s soccer game. The team held a “Sarah Spain Bobblehead Night” where Spain met with fans, signed autographs, and talked to young girls about her career as a sports reporter. At this event, Spain took a photo in which she is standing in a Red Stars jersey surrounded by eight girls in jerseys, which she posted on Instagram. Amid the overwhelmingly positive comments about the photo, one follower made a sexual one, posting “Your boobs” with hearts for eyes smiling emojis (Spain 2018). Such social media responses to women’s bodies are not uncommon, as women sports D. Antunovic (*) School of Kinesiology, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN, USA e-mail: [email protected] K. Clay The Charley Steiner School of Sports Communication, Bradley University, Peoria, IL, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_6

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journalists regularly receive comments that range from objectification to sexual and violent threats (DiCaro 2015). It is also clear that critiques of women’s appearance in sportscasting have little to do with their performance on the job. In this case, Spain was doing a task related to her job, but outside of her work context (e.g., not on SportsCenter)—and she was quite literally wearing a uniform. Thus, the scrutiny is not merely on women’s clothing or, so to speak, professional uniforms, but on their bodies. Such scrutiny of women sportscasters is a consequence of wider socio-­ cultural and industry-related gender norms. Chambers et al. (2006, p. 1) argued that women working in television are under constant pressure to adhere to expectations, as “Their clothes, hair and voices are scrutinized far more intensively by both management and viewers than those of male counterparts.” Research suggests that viewers are influenced by gender stereotypes and physical appearance when evaluating the credibility of female television anchors (e.g., Engstrom and Ferri 2000; Grabe and Samson 2011). These barriers are more pronounced for those working in sports, as women in sports media are vastly underrepresented (Lapchick 2018). In sportscasting, perceptions about physical appearance create an additional barrier for women to advance in the industry (Davis and Krawczyk 2010; Mudrick et  al. 2017). In sum, Fuller (2008, p.  204) noted that for women, the “chances of making it in the sportscasting field are especially difficult.” Aware of these and other gender-related problems, female sports journalists have found ways to carve out spaces to form collectives around these issues and to “talk back” to social norms. In these spaces, women can identify problematic industry dynamics, expose sexist behavior, raise awareness about the problems, and propose changes. Professional organizations, such as the Association for Women in Sports Media, hold an annual convention that features programs on the issues women face, and espnW, ESPN’s women-centered platform, holds multiple summits per year that “brings together leading voices and industry influences to create change and opportunity for women in sports” (espnW summit n.d.). These organizations are avenues where conversations about women in the industry happen.

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This chapter examines expectations placed upon women sportscasters in relation to their clothing. Engaging with the theme of this book, it addresses how women sportscasters negotiate the “uniforms” that are imposed upon them by society, fans, and bosses. Employing critical feminist discourse analysis based on a conversation between women in the sports media industry, it analyzes episode of Sarah Spain’s espnW podcast “That’s what she said,” in which Spain brings together seven women who work in television to talk about objectification, sexism, and, importantly, clothing. We consider this episode of her podcast as an entry point through which we can gain insight into the ways women negotiate sexism in the industry—in this case, specifically related to “uniforms.” We argue that women sportscasters are expected to adhere to highly complex gendered standards of clothing. The “uniform” has to be versatile, yet very particular in terms of how it constructs the body, which parts of the body it renders visible, and how it conforms to dominant ideas about race, sexual identity, and age. These standards are enforced through cultural norms and formal and informal contracts with management.

Literature Review As other chapters in this book illustrate, gender norms, social expectations, and rigid rules about uniforms have historically shaped the way women engage in a variety of sporting activities. These gendered dynamics also affect women who work in the sports media industry. Although women’s participation in sport in the United States has increased exponentially, women remain vastly underrepresented in sports media in terms of both representation and production. According to the 2018 Associated Press Sports Editors’ report, women make up only 10 percent of sports editors, 16.6 percent of columnists, and 11.5 percent of reporters. Most of them are white, and most work for ESPN (Lapchick 2018). It is also well-documented that women in the sports media industry face a range of gender-related barriers, including the perennial glass-ceiling, pressure to prove themselves, and workplace discrimination—more recently in the form of online harassment (e.g., Antunovic 2018; Everbach

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2018; Hardin and Shain 2006; Whiteside and Hardin 2013). These patterns have larger implications for women’s sports coverage and gender ideologies that permeate content. While representations of sportswomen have been studied extensively (see Bruce 2016 and numerous chapters in this collection), fewer studies have examined how women who work in sports broadcasting negotiate these gendered expectations. In fact, Harrison (2018, p. 1) has argued for the importance of “examining the constructed subjectivities of women working in sports media that not only discursively analyzes the representation of the industry’s women but also the psychological implications they must grapple with because of the industry’s (in)actions.” This chapter examines, then, how women sports broadcasters “grapple” with clothing-related issues.

Women in Broadcasting Women who work in television—both inside and outside of sport—face unique pressures due to the visual features of the medium whereby physical appearance is deemed of essence. Early studies on local television anchors found that the overemphasis on physical appearance has historically hindered women’s career development (e.g., Ferri and Keller 1986; Engstrom and Ferri 2000; Meltzer 2010). Standards about women broadcasters’ physical appearance have changed over time, but they remain a key issue. Grabe and Samson (2011, p. 472) observed a shift from the 1980s’ “managerial appearance,” which entailed “little make-up, simple jewelry, and high necklines,” to a “new trend” by which women are expected to “play up sexual attractiveness.” These trends are reflected in the content of news segments. One study (Nitz et  al. 2008, p.  13) found that the majority of news segments across U.S. television networks included predominantly female journalists with “‘high’ sex appeal” who are “physically attractive, suggestively dressed (e.g., open blouses, tight skirts), and filmed in ways that accentuated these features.” Within the U.S. media context, profit motives and the race for attracting audiences shape both content and presentation of information, resulting in the strategic employment of women’s bodies to achieve these goals (e.g., North 2009). Both organizational practices and internalized

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gender norms can shape the way women perform their gender. Further, increasingly, social media plays a role in conveying gender expectations. Broadcasters’ physical appearance is under enhanced scrutiny due to social media, but the scrutiny is much more frequent and significantly harsher for women (Duggan 2017; Finneman and Jenkins 2018). Social media criticism, which typically comes from male viewers, is directed at women’s clothing, hair length, weight, specific body parts (e.g., breasts and thighs), and at times crosses into sexual objectification and sexual harassment (Finneman and Jenkins 2018).

Attitudes Toward Women in Sports Broadcasting Studies in sports media suggest that women are not only underrepresented in sports news compared to their local news counterparts, but that they are also more likely to get hired for their physical looks as opposed to their skill (Fuller 2008; Scheffer and Schultz 2007). Conversations around Erin Andrews (who was named “The sexiest sportscaster” by Playboy in 2007 and 2009), an extensive number of web pages dedicated to “top sexiest female sportscasters,” and YouTube “thighs/legs compilation” videos illustrate how women in sports broadcasting continue to be sexualized. These problematic patterns can lead scholars to examine how audiences rate the importance of physical attractiveness and how that factor relates to sportscaster credibility. Participants in one study (Davis and Krawczyk 2010) ranked expertness and competence as the most important factors of credibility, while physical appearance and gender of the sportscaster as least important, but the relationship between credibility and physical attractiveness varied based on gender and level of attractiveness. While male sportscasters were perceived to be more credible when they were observed to be more attractive, for female sportscasters, the relationship between attractiveness and perceptions of credibility was curvilinear (ibid.). Another study (Mudrick et al. 2017) found that participants who endorsed gender-role stereotypes and sexist attitudes (e.g., the perception that women know less about sports) perceived a female sportscaster as less credible. However, gender-role stereotypes and sexist attitudes had no relationship with perceived credibility of a male

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sportscaster. In sum, the ways unconscious gender biases shape attitudes about women sportscasters are well documented. These studies offer valuable insight into psychological processing at the individual level, but they lack analysis into institutional organization practices. Studies on organizational processes in sport find that those in a position of power (including journalists and board members) often make gender-based assumptions that ultimately deny women equal opportunity. Claringbould and Knoppers (2012, p. 414) found various forms of “paradoxical practices of gender” which “influence how individuals can ignore, explain, resist or comply with practices of gender and embed them in their construction of positions, tasks, and hierarchies at the institutional level without making them a topic of discussion.” Recent conversations among women industry members about gender-related issues, including online harassment and—in the present analysis—scrutiny of women’s clothing and physical appearance, are examples of disruption whereby women make organizational gender hierarchies visible and challenge cultural norms. As such, theoretical insights on organizational behavior and contracts with management can provide insight into these dynamics.

Formal and Informal Contracts One way to understand expectations regarding female broadcasters’ “uniform” is to examine the most common agreement that is entered in by an employee and their employer: a formal written contractual work agreement. These formal contracts depict and foreshadow the promises and obligations that are to be performed in particular actions in the future (Macneil 1978). Formal contracts have the ability to be as complex or as simple as one makes them. The more complex a formal contract, the more clarity each party entering the contract will have on their respective roles. Along with high clarification, the cost of potential breach in formal contacts is increased (Macneil 1978). Granting the high cost of breaching a formal contract does not always mean loss of monetary value, but depending on the party, it could mean job, character, reputation, and/or money. A central part of formal contacts is the liberty for either party to

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enter, negotiate, and/or commit to the contract at hand. In order for the contract to be contractible, both parties have to willfully commit to the agreements on the written contract (Rousseau 1995). As we discuss later, standards about clothing and physical appearance often appear in women’s contracts with employers. While formal contracts are an important dimension of the employee’s relationship to their employer, employment relationship does not stop with the formal (written) contract but extends to what scholars call the psychological contract (Robinson et al. 1994). The psychological contract shares some similar traits of the formal contract; however, psychological contracts are an individual belief regarding the terms and conditions of the formal contract that reinforces the belief of a reciprocal exchange agreement between the person and the other party (ibid.). Although the employer and employee might believe they accepted the same conditions, they might not share a common understanding or interpretation of the contract (ibid.) For example, scholars found when studying graduate management alumni, while graduates were getting recruited out of school, their belief or physiological contract that they signed with their recruiter for the jobs they were being recruited for were violated by their employer after two years of employment (Robinson et  al. 1994). This means that the belief in the system and/or environment in which the graduates thought they were getting recruited for was completely in breach of the psychological contract that was signed by the recruiter. These frameworks help understand how women negotiate clothing-­ related industry standards with their employers.

Methodology This study critically analyzes the way women negotiate, interpret, and respond to meanings about “uniforms” in their professional lives as sports journalists and broadcasters. The methodological approach is consistent with many others in this book as it applies critical feminist discourse analysis to text—more specifically to the text of a podcast episode. We recognize that choice of methodology has limitations; in fact, scholars who examine gender-related issues in the sports media industry typically

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conduct focus groups or one-on-one interviews (Antunovic 2017 Everbach 2018; Hardin and Shain 2006; Harrison 2018). That form of data gathering allows researchers to ask complex questions, probe participants further in their storytelling, and gain in-depth understanding of women’s experiences. Often, these methods also grant participants anonymity, allowing them to speak more freely about the issues they encounter. Certainly, analyzing a podcast episode lacks these features; however, we settled on the podcast because we were particularly interested in the dynamics around clothing-related conversations that are public. Invoking strategies of feminist consciousness-raising, the women in the sports media industry might use new media platforms to come together collectively and disrupt masculinist cultures. An episode titled “Eyes Up Here” of Sarah Spain’s “That’s What She Said” podcast featured six other women in the industry: Molly Qerim, Kavitha Davidson, Rebecca Haarlow, Kate Fagan, Jemele Hill, and Mina Kimes, many of whom then worked for ESPN. These women have also been panelists at espnW Summits, have spoken at a variety of sport-­ related conferences, and have given lectures at universities. The guests on the podcast could, thus, be considered “high profile” sports journalists in the United States. The host, Sarah Spain, asked a series of questions on the objectification of female sportscasters, including how they dress for the job, how they decide what to wear, how they deal with objectifying comments, how social media comments affect their real-life relationships, and finally, what they would tell men to stop gender-related problems in the industry. In an episode that lasted around 1 hour and 10 minutes, responses to these many diverse questions provided much detail and specific examples, resulting in rich data. We (the authors) independently analyzed the text of the podcast, identified emerging themes, and then met to compare notes. The dominant themes consistent with the findings in research on women in sports journalism, and specifically broadcasting, included sexualization of women’s bodies (Chambers et  al. 2006), gender expectations of femininity (Finneman and Jenkins 2018), and social media harassment (Antunovic 2018; Everbach 2018). We analyzed the issues

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brought up by the journalists in relation to how they reflect cultural norms, psychological contracts, and formal and informal contracts with management.

Analysis Cultural Norms In the first few minutes of her podcast, Sarah Spain introduced the issue of sexualizing women sportscasters’ bodies by stating: “At any moment in my life, whether I choose to be a sexual being, I might be looked at that way.” She further stated that the sexualization of women in sports media is a frequently discussed topic among women in the industry, but one they rarely share with bosses or fans. This introduction immediately points to the gendered dynamics of the industry whereby the dominant norms (i.e., scrutiny of women’s bodies) are simultaneously visible and silenced. Spain also established early on in the episode that this was not a sports media-specific problem, but that, for women to be accepted in sports media, cultural norms need to change. She began the episode with a specific example from her personal experience to illustrate the rampant sexualization of women working in the sports media industry, an experience to which other women related to later in the podcast. Sexual objectification of women begins early. Elle Duncan shared that she had a breast reduction when she was a teenager, at the time thinking that “If I take away these big boobs then at the very least the focus is off of my body.” Yet, she said the problem did not go away: “If you have smaller boobs then you get objectified for that. It’s always something.” Spain, likewise, felt her body was under surveillance starting during her teenage years and emphasized that sexualization is about “power urges” and “desires for control.” She concluded the episode with a discussion about how to “address [the problem] on a larger level,” as she pointed listeners to an article titled on the Women’s Media Center’s webpage on the hypersexualization of female news broadcasters. The author connected the issue to Naomi Wolf ’s 2002 book The Beauty Myth and argued that “The beauty

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double standard evident in the realm of broadcast journalism serves as a case study of a broader, implicit message evident in our society that women’s success is dependent on the intersection of sexuality and self-esteem that we call ‘beauty’” (B 2016). Thus, these conversations help unpack the way socio-cultural norms reinforce gendered power relations and inequalities. The responses to Spain’s opening question of “How do you decide what to wear?” elicited responses that illustrate the prevalence of cultural and industry norms. Several women stated that they wanted to “look professional.” Rebecca Haarlow and Kate Fagan, who are both in their late 30s, noted that professionalism used to mean business-style, specifically “old-school Tahari suits,” but now the standards are different. Sarah Spain and Kavitha Davidson commented that women have be attentive to “how much cleavage you are showing,” while Molly Qerim mentioned that she did not want to wear “anything that’s distracting.” However, the women also said that no amount of effort will prevent people from criticizing their clothing. Davidson affirmed this point by stating that, “It doesn’t actually matter” what she wears because “someone is always going to be commenting.” The women all gave extensive examples of times when they wore clothing they considered professional, yet received criticism. The women also agreed that men are held to a different standard of professionalism. Fagan stated that there is a “More narrow lane men have to walk in when they think about what to wear.” Spain illustrated this point by mentioning the case when Australian anchor Karl Stefanovic wore the same suit for one year and received no criticism. He did so to show support to a female co-anchor (and other women in the industry), who routinely face harsh criticism for what they wear. Spain mentioned that she had in the past received criticism for wearing what appeared to be the same white top twice in a week—even though one was, in fact, a dress and the other outfit was a white top. These juxtapositions illustrate the gendered double standards in the industry. There is ample evidence that women are held to different professional standards than men. Women said they had to shift their mindset in order to pay attention to what they wear. Many are former athletes, used to wearing athletic clothing. Some consider themselves primarily writers, so

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appearing on television adds a new set of dimensions to their preparation. They reported that the way they used to dress was “not suitable for television” and that they had to be “much more aware” and “pay attention” to the way they dress. Overall, the women collectively expressed that they are so aware of the potential criticism that they feel more overburdened by the task of picking out clothes for television than preparing the content for their appearance.

Audience Responses to Women Sportscasters Women’s decision-making process about clothing is shaped not only by cultural norms but also by interactions with social media users. Sarah Spain has spoken extensively about the issue over the last few years. In 2016, she and sports radio anchor Julie DiCaro participated in a video titled #MoreThanMean that raised awareness about online harassment directed at women in sports media, and she has since appeared on numerous panels to talk about these issues. Spain is known for responding to social media comments in a snarky tone. She shared her experiences and asked the other women how they responded to fans who criticized and sexualized them by commenting on their nails, boots, mouth, hair, top, and bodies. Sexual and objectifying social media comments made the women wonder, as Kavitha Davidson reported: “If they are actually listening to what I’m saying.” Kate Fagan also stated that she felt that “appearance [is] more amplified than the actual work that I’m doing.” Mina Kimes admitted, “I cried myself to sleep over comments that were being made.” Several women stated that the situation gets better when they gain positive reputations in the industry. Several women said that these comments affected them to the point that they no longer wear some of those items, while others said that the comments undermined them professionally. Several examples illustrate the connection between cultural norms, professional standards, and internalized psychological processes. Kate Fagan, who is openly gay, talked about the gendered comments she receives. She noted in the podcast, “there is this cliche in the gay world, in the lesbian world, that you always know who is gay, who is lesbian

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based on their footwear. I never wanted to live up to that stereotype.” She said she used to wear shoes with a small heel to “feminize” herself, but now she wears tennis shoes. Because of these stereotypes, Fagan said that “It’s always a gendered comment about my haircut that affects me,” because these comments are “about things that historically have made me feel insecure.” She also said that it makes her question (for a split second that does not last very long) that “maybe I would get a step higher if I were embodying what an average sports fan wants.” Another prominent example was the treatment of Elle Duncan when she interviewed comedian Kevin Hart on SportsCenter. Duncan said that she ordered a dress that she only tried on while standing right before the show, but the interview occurred in low chairs in which her dress revealed more of her thighs than she would have liked. She was both criticized for wearing inappropriate clothing and sexualized. One user created a video titled “There’s a God Somewhere: Elle Duncan Thigh EXPLOSION!,” which has over 1.8 million views and is the first video to appear in a YouTube search for Duncan. Duncan expressed that she was “so incredibly embarrassed” and that, even though she is proud of the interview, she will never show the video to anyone. She said that she has been paying attention to what she wears ever since then. However, she was under criticism again on Twitter when, during her pregnancy, she once wore comfortable, baggy pants (instead of a dress) to be more at ease. Social media users accused Duncan of not caring and not trying hard enough. Gendered comments, sexual objectification, and leg compilation videos (which also exist for other women broadcasters) affect women’s psychological state, create negative stereotypes about women in the industry, and can undermine their professional credentials. The proliferation of problematic audience comments raises important questions about the role of social media in decision-making. For instance, do sports media organizations have formalized guidelines on how broadcasters should deal with and treat online comments? Do these social media reactions shape/inform formal and informal contracts to which broadcasters adhere to in the workplace? If so, with whom, and what are the parameters? Is there a shared understanding of these formal and informal contracts among the women and management? We do not suggest

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that there should be formalized guidelines but wonder to what extent these expectations might be communicated within organizations.

Formal and Informal Contracts with Management Although much of the “Eyes up here” episode focused on interactions with social media users, the female sportscasters also spoke about how gender expectations related to clothing and physical appearance appeared in both formal and psychological contracts. Rebecca Haarlow said that bosses have told her at previous jobs “what to wear” and “what [her] weight should be.” She also implied that youth and a particular version of femininity is expected from women when she said, “I’ve been put through the Barbie carwash before” and that a boss once told her that “I need my pretty girls to look pretty.” At one network, she was also bizarrely told that her “eyelash was out of place.” Weight also came up in Mina Kimes’ experiences. She told how, due to health issues, she had to take a medication that resulted in an increase of her weight. Her colleagues told her that her boss considered this a problem. Kimes, who is Asian-American, reported receiving racialized comments. At one network, the management told her that she was “too ethnic” and that she could “only work in the urban space.” While many of these interactions occurred informally in person, some expectations were outlined in the women’s contracts. Duncan said that she had to sign a contract that basically said, “Any major changes with your hair we can talk to you about and that we have say over what you wear.” Duncan said she “unwittingly signed the contract,” and it came up as an issue. Other women said that these parameters never appeared in their formal contracts, but suggested the ways in which expectations about clothing might fall under psychological contracts. Jemele Hill noted that, “If I ever have a conversation with somebody about that, it might be the last day I work there.” Sarah Spain likewise said that these expectations did not appear in a formalized way but that she was very aware of them, adding: “I am certain that I have not gotten jobs that I would have been great at because of the way I look.” She was also aware about implications of age, that women have a “ticking clock” in their broadcasting career. Once

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again, this was identified an issue that men do not face, as evident by age of numerous SportsCenter anchors. Even if not all women in the episode experienced formalized ways in which management controlled their clothing, bodies, and physical appearance, it is important to recognize that this issue is pervasive in the broadcasting industry and might manifest in the form of a psychological contract. In fact, at the end of the episode, Spain references an article in The Boston Globe—Beth Teitell’s “For at least a decade, women broadcasters have been pushed to look sexier on-air” (2017)—that unpacked the elaborate ways in which management at television stations imposed requirements for women, telling them to wear more provocative and revealing clothes. These examples illustrate the ways in which gender norms become enacted through formal and psychological contracts.

Discussion The question of “sportscaster uniforms” is one with broad cultural significance. In the current media environment, even sports writers are expected to maintain a public persona through social media and are encouraged to appear on television. Thus, the issue of uniforms does not only pertain to women who are anchors on broadcast networks or hosts of sports-related programs, but to virtually any woman who wishes to enter into the sports media industry. Our analysis of the Spain podcast and other contemporary conversations reveals that women who work in various areas of sports journalism are still expected to fulfill very rigid and particular expectations regarding gender that intersect with race, sexuality, age, and a rarely discussed factor: disability. The expectations are enacted through construction of the “uniform,” which requires that women seamlessly transition from gender performances that have been normalized and accepted when they were athletes into a “professional” space where sportswomen’s “uniforms”—so thoroughly explored throughout this book—are no longer accepted. Cultural norms, audience interactions, as well as formal and psychological contracts create problematic gender dynamics which weigh heavily on the women in the industry and make them question whether they belong.

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These findings prompt us to think about strategies for change. Scholarship on women broadcasters often focuses not only on disrupting gender norms but also on strategies as to how to treat physical attractiveness. For example, Scheffer and Schultz (2007) found that older male news directors believed there was a lack of qualified candidates, so they suggested that women needed to “work at overcoming stereotypes” by “increasing their overall sports knowledge” (ibid., p.  94). In another study on sports broadcasters, Davis and Krawczyk (2010, p. 17) found that women’s physical attractiveness is correlated with credibility but only to a certain point, as “audiences may be less receptive to very attracted females” (emphasis original), and suggested that “aspiring sportcasters should take [attractiveness] into consideration when entering the field.” It is unclear to us how exactly women should “take into consideration” their own levels of physical attractiveness, but the authors ultimately suggest that “networks should consider placing less emphasis on female candidate’s appearance when hiring than they have in the past” (ibid., p. 18). Managerial decisions based on physical attractiveness do not resolve gender-related barriers for women and might not lead to professional development (Grabe and Samson 2011). Further, considering the number of women who are graduating with sports communication/sports journalism degrees (see Hardin 2013) and the number of women who are already working in the industry, knowledge is hardly a problem. Rather, the problem rests in the ways in which social expectations about women’s role in sport are rearticulated by management to cater to imagined/real audience expectations. We would caution scholars, practitioners, and educators who are preparing their students for sports communication career against perpetuating these gendered norms. As our analysis reveals, educators and practitioners would be advised to consider how organizational practices, and, specifically, how clothing-­ related expectations in formal and psychological contracts affect women’s status in the industry. This is particularly important considering women’s underrepresentation. When women discuss physical appearance, online harassment, pregnancy, or race- and sexuality-related issues with their (male) bosses and fans, they disrupt their association with the masculine norms and risk further marginalization. Considering the virtual absence of organizational communication/culture scholarship in sport media

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studies, scholars could significantly expand the scope of the field by asking the following question: what strategies do women use to build successful careers and how do women use their cultural capital to their advantage? (Lucht and Batschelet 2018) What communication strategies do women employ to create change in organizational culture? Or even better, instead of asking women to adjust to these dynamics, sport media organizations could implement ethical standards, formalized guidelines, and organizational communication practices that are attentive to these gender dynamics. For instance, what are the underlying gender norms at women-led sport media platforms such as espnW? Future studies on organizational communication, organizational behavior, and managerial psychology could help find answers to these questions.

Conclusions Scrutiny of women sportscasters’ “uniforms” is pertinent problem that can create a difficult work environment and might prompt women to leave the industry or discourage them from entering (Everbach 2018; Harrison 2018). As we wrote this chapter we felt compelled to embrace Markula’s (2005) approach in which she encouraged feminist sports studies scholars to reflect on their personal experiences and consider these a “meaningful source for knowing about sport” (Markula 2005, p. 2). We recognized many of the issues brought up on the podcast and, in our conversations, reflected on the ways in which socio-cultural and organizational expectations about gender and clothing have filtered into various stages of our own sport-related careers as athletes, media practitioners, and academics. Thus, we are not only motivated to understand the dynamics around women sportscasters clothing in order to contribute to the vibrant body of work on gender, sport, and media, but we are also deeply invested in disrupting these problematic expectations in order to make the sports media industry and sports media education a more inclusive space for women. We believe that this can be done if and when sport (media) organizations recognize the informal gendered contracts and implement organizational policies that work to minimize gender inequalities.

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References Antunovic, D. (2017). “Caught up in the times”: Women remember their careers in sports newsrooms, 1975–1990. Media Report to Women, 45(1), 12–19. Antunovic, D. (2018). “We wouldn’t say it to their faces”: Online harassment, women sports journalists, and feminism. Feminist Media Studies, 19(3), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.1080/14680777.2018.1446454. Bruce, T. (2016). New rules for new times: Sportswomen and media representation in the Third Wave. Sex Roles, 74, 361–376. Chambers, D., Steiner, L., & Fleming, C. (2006). Women and journalism. New York: Routledge. Claire, B. (2016, January 17). The hypersexualization of female news broadcasters proves sexism is alive and well. Women’s Media Center. Retrieved from http://www.womensmediacenter.com/fbomb/how-the-hypersexualizationof-female-news-broadcasters-proves-sexism-is-alive-and-well Claringbould, I., & Knoppers, A. (2012). Paradoxical practices of gender in sport-related organizations. Journal of Sport Management, 26, 404–416. Davis, D.  C., & Krawczyk, J. (2010). Female sportscaster credibility: Has appearance taken precedence (?). Journal of Sports Media, 5(2), 1–34. DiCaro, J. (2015, September 27). Threats. Vitriol. Hate. Ugly truth about women in sports and social media. Sports Illustrated: The Cauldron. Retrieved from https://www.si.com/cauldron/2015/09/27/twitter-threats-vile-remarkswomen-sports-journalists Duggan, M. (2017, July 14). Men, women experience and view online harassment differently. Pew Research Center. Retrieved from http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/07/14/men-women-experience-and-viewonline-harassment-differently/ Engstrom, E., & Ferri, A. J. (2000). Looking through a gendered lens: Local U.S. television news anchors’ perceived career barriers. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 44(4), 614–634. espnW Summit. (n.d.). Retrieved from https://espnwsummit.com/ Everbach, T. (2018). “I realized it was about them…not me”: Women sports journalists and harassment. In J. R. Vickery & T. Everbach (Eds.), Mediating sisogyny: Gender, technology, and harassment (pp.  131–150). Palgrave Macmillan. Ferri, A. K., & Keller, J. E. (1986). Perceived career barriers for female television news anchors. Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly, 63(3), 463–467.

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Finneman, T., & Jenkins, J. (2018). Sexism on the set: Gendered expectations of TV broadcasts in a social media world. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 62(3), 479–494. Fuller, L. K. (2008). Sportscasters/sportscasting: Principles and practices. New York: Routledge. Grabe, E. M., & Samson, L. (2011). Sexual cues emanating from the anchorette chair: Implications for perceived professionalism, fitness for beat, and memory for news. Communication Research, 38(4), 471–496. Hardin, M. (2013). Want changes in content? Change the decision makers. Communication & Sport, 1(3), 241–245. Hardin, M., & Shain, S. (2006). “Feeling much smaller than you know you are”: The fragmented professional identity of female sports journalists. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 23(4), 322–338. https://doi. org/10.1080/07393180600933147. Harrison, G. (2018). “You have to have thick skin”: Embracing the affective turn as an approach to investigating the treatment of women working in sports media. Feminist Media Studies, 18(5), 1–4. Lapchick, R. (2018). The 2018 Associated Press Sports Editors racial and gender report card. Rhw Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport. Lucht, T., & Batschelet, K. (2018). “That was what I had to use”: Social and cultural capital in the careers of women broadcasters. Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly. [Online] Macneil, I. R. (1978). Contracts: Adjustment of long-term economic relations under classical, neoclassical, and relational contract law. Northwestern University Law Review, 72, 854–902. Markula, P. (2005). Introduction. In P.  Markula (Ed.), Feminist sport studies: Sharing experiences of joy and pain (pp.  1–24). Albany: State University of New York. Meltzer, K. (2010). TV news anchors and journalistic tradition: How journalists adapt to technology. New York: Peter Lang. Mudrick, M., Laura, B., & Lin, C. A. (2017). Pervasively offside: An examination of sexism, stereytpes, and sportscaster credibility. Communication & Sport, 5(6), 669–688. Nitz, M., Reichert, T., Aune, A. S., & Velde, A. V. (2008). All the news that’s fit to see? The sexualization of television news journalists as a promotional strategy. Journal of Promotion Management, 13(1–2), 13–33. North, L. (2009). The gendered newsroom: How journalists experience the changing world of media. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press.

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Chapter 6: Jumping Through Hoops; A Post-structural Gendered Critique of Magazine Covers Depicting Female Athletes Kate Harman

What’s in a Uniform? Much like how the uniforms of a women’s basketball team, the apparel sold to female fans, or the discrepancy between how Olympians are dressed convey very specific messages regarding gender to various audiences, so, too, do the ways in which women are dressed—or not dressed— on the cover of prominent sports’ magazines. These messages produce and are reproduced by social constructions of gender, which create how society views femininity. These perceptions result in traditional views about femininity and therefore female athletes (Griffin 2006; Wood 2005). However, scholars have noted that sport is simultaneously a sphere in which femininity can be challenged, as female athletes can be strong, physical, competitive women who go against normative ideas regarding

K. Harman (*) Department of Communication Studies, Rowan University, Glassboro, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_7

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gender (Cahn and O’Reilly 2007; Kane et al. 2013; Kane 1995; Kane and Greendorfer 1994; Messner 2007). This essay provides a post-­ structural critique of how gender operates in sport, examining specifically how society creates what femininity means, as it applies to the representation of female athletes on the cover of magazines. Within these confines, the bodies of female athletes are feminized, sexualized, and domesticized, characteristics that contradict the strength and power displayed in their athletic abilities. Domesticized here is being used identically to the way one understands the term domestic, in that it relates to the home or family. Through this prism, the physical bodies of athletes are viewed as an extension of the uniform, where decisions made about what they are or are not wearing can be designated by leagues, corporations, organizations, or through individual agency. In this sense, everything an athlete puts on his or her body becomes a uniform, so the athlete can never be detached from the uniform. Five specific magazine covers from two of the most popular sporting magazines in the United States—featuring images of Kerri Walsh Jennings, Britney Griner, the Creighton basketball team, Serena Williams, and Chloe Kim—are analyzed, all of which feature different women posed in ways that adhere to one or more of those characteristics. Through the framework of Bartky’s (1990) critique of Foucault, this chapter argues that female athletes’ bodies are docile and participate in the disciplinary practice of sport, while femininity as an institution and heterosexuality as an organization perpetuate hegemonic ideas of women and how they relate to women as athletes and cover models. Foucault (1979, p. 138) describes a docile body as “one that may be subjected, used, transformed, and improved” where “this docile body can only be achieved through strict regimen of disciplinary acts.” In her critique, Bartky contends that the disciplinary practices that regulate the body are experienced differently by women, specifically through three categories: dieting, bodily comportment, and the body as an ornament. A female athlete’s body therefore is twice regulated, once by sport where the goal is a docile body that performs and also by femininity where adhering to gender roles is viewed as an achievement. Therefore, a female athlete can never appease both disciplines simultaneously, as they contradict one other and have different goals.

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These three assertions—dieting, bodily comportment, and the body as an ornament—are rendered through covers highlighting Kerri Walsh Jennings, Britney Griner, Creighton basketball, Serena Williams, and Chloe Kim, which all illustrate how women are expected to conform to normative standards of beauty in order to appeal to men, as well as heteronormativity. In its own way, each cover represents the sexualization, feminization, and domesticization of the female body, while also confirming Bartky’s claims.

Methodology In particular, five covers that feature athletes from four different sports spanning six years demonstrate these ideas: the July 22, 2013 issue of ESPN: The Magazine with four-time Olympic beach volleyball player Kerri Walsh Jennings, the June 10, 2013 issue of ESPN: The Magazine featuring Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) star Britney Griner, the March 17, 2014 issue of Sports Illustrated focusing on Creighton basketball, the December 12, 2015 issue of Sports Illustrated naming Serena Williams its Sportsperson of the Year, and the February 19, 2018 issue of Sports Illustrated highlighting Chloe Kim, as seen later. These five images were examined through Bartky’s (1990, p.  405) work, where she states that, “Women, like men, are subject to many of the same disciplinary practices Foucault describes. But he is blind to those disciplines that produce a modality of embodiment that is peculiarly feminine.” By probing these issues through this lens, Bartky’s contributions prove to be significant, particularly for feminist, gender, and sexuality scholars. This chapter, then, considers magazine covers as they relate to Bartky’s discussion of body discipline—such as sport as a disciplinary practice, the institution of femininity, heterosexuality as organization—and builds upon that research by arguing the women are simultaneously feminized, sexualized, and domesticized. Through content analysis of the online archives of the magazines’ websites, these covers were picked because of their relevance, as well as contemporary nature. It is important to note that not all images of current female athletes on the cover of Sports Illustrated or ESPN: The Magazine

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encountered were used for analysis, nor were the images from Sports Illustrated’s annual swimsuit issue. Further, women from several sports were selected to illustrate how gender is portrayed similarly within athletics, as well as how femininity functions comparably, no matter the sport the women participate in. The analysis showed that between January 2013 and May 2018, a total of 115 total issues of ESPN: The Magazine were published with 28 women—not exclusively athletes—appearing on the cover. Of those, 15 were featured as a part of the annual Body Issue, and only five women appeared by themselves on the cover. This includes Maya Moore, who was a part of a special fold out cover commemorating 20 years of the WNBA, and two solely emphasizing Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) fighter Ronda Rousey. Other women featured include comedian Leslie Jones, musicians Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj, as well as an unidentified Oakland Raiders fan. From January 2013 to April 2018, Sports Illustrated distributed a total of 233 issues that included 36 women on the cover. Nine of those 36 appeared in the background of images as fans, while two more were cheerleaders, and only eight women were shown by themselves—two of whom, Serena Williams and Mikaela Shiffrin, graced the cover twice. In the entirety of 2013, the only cover featuring women was a March 25 issue including fans of the Indiana men’s college basketball team, while the only woman depicted on a cover in 2017 was an issue celebrating the best male and female high school athletes of the year. The representation during the years 2015 and 2016 is a noticeable exception due to the 2015 Women’s World Cup and the London Summer Olympics, as more female athletes than usual were accessible to readers on the cover. During that time, there were two separate occasions where images of the United States Women’s National Soccer Team were displayed, with one photograph including four different players. Another special issue had 23 distinct covers for fans to choose from, as each of the individual players on the roster received their own cover, as did the head coach, while another centered on seven prominent members of the squad. This characterization is important because it means that although 36 women technically were featured during the 2013–2018 time frame, seven appeared together instead of on separate issues, while three of those seven appeared twice.

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This demonstrates that the 36 number—roughly 24 percent of issues—is misleading. Similarly, Katie Ledecky and Simone Biles were on two different covers during the 2016 calendar year, but were never presented individually. This demonstrates that while women were included in 15.5 percent of Sports Illustrated covers from 2013 to 2018, the number is inflated. This also goes for ESPN: the Magazine as four of the women included were not athletes themselves or directly involved in the sports industry. These numbers are consistent with previous research done from Lumpkin (2007), Frisby (2017), as well as Salwen and Wood (1994), which analyzed decades’ worth of Sports Illustrated covers. It also supports my own work that found of the 319 different covers that ESPN: The Magazine printed from 2000 to 2010, only 43 of the cover models were women, while 93 females appeared in 717 Sports Illustrated covers from 2000 to 2010.

Sports Magazines and Gender Roles Traditional gender roles are ubiquitous in contemporary media images, including those of female athletes, as evidenced by the surplus of magazine covers featuring female athletes performing actions outside of the athletic realm (Christ and Johnson 1988; Cooky 2006; Duncan and Messner 1998; Hastings 2007; Lumpkin 2007; Maloney 2007). Basketball players seen holding their pregnant bellies, bathing suit clad ice skaters jumping into pools, and casually clothed tennis players playing with their pets are just a few examples of how women have been depicted on the cover of Sports Illustrated and ESPN The Magazine, two of the most read and popular sports publications in print. Duncan (1990) refers to this phenomenon as the trivialization and marginalization of women in order to adhere to “cosmetic perfection.” These representations demonstrate that women are depicted in unequal and subordinate ways, as these negative portrayals perpetuate a cycle of oppression, where a female athlete “lives her body as seen by another, by an anonymous patriarchal Other” (Bartky 1990, p. 411). This is evident in how the women are posed and dressed on magazine covers, where their

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demeanor and clothing reinforce patriarchal oppressions. In this setting, the women do not seem threatening, strong, or physical, and thus athletics loses its status not as a domain where femininity is contested, but rather as one where normative gender roles apply.

Sport as a Disciplinary Practice In Bartky’s critique of Foucault, she examines how disciplinary practices regulate the body and are experienced differently when the body performs gestures or appearances that are undeniably feminine. As such, sport is a type of physical performance, and the world of athletics is a disciplinary practice that functions analogously to Foucault’s description of how the army, schools, hospitals, and prisons produce “docile bodies” (ibid., p.  404). An athlete’s docile body, then, must operate as others wish, performing in a controlled way for another’s approval. In this setting, an athlete should perform at its highest level—a win, a championship, a medal—as the result of its controlled labor while also maintaining status as a physically perfect specimen monitoring its gestures and movements. Essentially, female athletes must perform and operate like their male counterparts, but their experience differs because their bodies are constrained by the tension between the institution of femininity and the institution of sport. In examining the role media plays in enabling, as well as rejecting, stereotypical images of women in sports, Kane and Greendorfer (1994, p. 28) claim: Although the presence of women athletes in the media appears to represent fundamental social change—that sportswomen have gained widespread social acceptance—in reality, these ‘feminized’ images represent a modernized attempt to reinforce traditional stereotypical images of femininity and female sexuality.

This unnecessary focus on the sexualization and femininity of female athletes can have a negative effect on women’s athletics, the female athletes themselves, the spectators who watch them play, and the young girls

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who yearn to be like them. Over the course of decades, some of the most prominent female athletes have been graceful figure skaters like Michelle Kwan, Tara Lipinksi, and Dorothy Hamill, as well as petite gymnasts like Gabby Douglas, Kerri Strugg, and Nadia Comaneci. Certainly, they are impressive athletes, but they also partake in sports where the emphasis is on “femininity and sexuality, not athleticism” (Creedon 1994, p. 29), a common theme that produces reinforced gender stereotypes, limits how athleticism can be demonstrated, as well as restricts how physical activity is interpreted (Daddario 1992; Davis 2010; Solomon 2000).

Institution of Femininity Within the institution of femininity, there are other institutions such as dieting, bodily comportment, and the body as an ornament (Bartky 1990). Imposing these institutions on women helps define how society constructs femininity or what it means to be considered female. Dieting to become thinner reinforces that women need to be tiny, while specific exercises for women emphasize that firming one’s body is more important than attaining a muscular physique. Female athletes challenge this norm, because their bodies require more muscle mass to succeed in their sports and need to digest more food for energy during workouts or competitions. Bodily comportment, gestures, and movements differ for female athletes as well, for their bodies have been trained to move in ways that help them in their craft. Their bodies also move differently because of the way their bodies are built and maintained, as one’s body type and size determine movement. Additionally, during athletic events, athletes usually do not adhere to ideal standards of beauty or femininity. While playing or practicing, they often have their hair up, with no to little makeup on, and are wearing a uniform or clothing designed to sweat and workout in. There is little “ornamentation” or “spectacle” in this, coupled with the fact that these women are not dressed in this specific style to impress or give men enjoyment (ibid., p. 411).

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Heterosexuality as Organization Similarly present within athletics is the institution of heterosexuality, where sports have often been deemed inappropriate for women due to the stereotypical stigmas of female sexuality and athletics (Cahn and O’Reilly 2007; Cahn 1998; Cooky 2006; Davis 2010; Fink 2012; Griffin 2007; Hall 1996; Lenskyi 1986). The idea that the majority of female athletes are homosexual is still prevalent in our culture today, as is the notion that it would be inherently a bad thing. Cahn and O’Reilly (2007, p. 215) assert: Initially, a belief that sport unleashed physical passion and erotic feelings made some observers fear that female athleticism was sexually dangerous and would initiate a downward slide toward loose morals and loss of libidinal control in heterosexual relations. The perceived masculine nature of sports would, in this view, translate into a more masculine female eroticism—more aggressive, passionate, and imbued with a desire for dominance.

Similar to the means in which she views femininity and the body, Bartky (1990, p. 41) asserts heterosexuality as a major way of organizing, claiming, “In the regime of institutionalized heterosexuality, woman must make herself ‘object and prey’ for the man.” In doing so, she explains that the method in which women take care of their appearance and dress is for a man’s gaze and criticism. Thus, a female athlete who wears athletic clothing and little makeup would not be considered as an object or prey for men but instead could be seen as resisting institutionalized heterosexuality. Bartky further argues that women are instructed to look fragile and weak because it renders them incapable of defending themselves from men, making it easier for men to abuse and overpower women. Female athletes combat this notion, as they have muscular and toned physiques, increasing the chance of fighting back against violence and diminishing the possibility of being overpowered. In addition to men preferring feeble women in order to demonstrate physical dominance, Bartky contends that culture views “massiveness, power, or abundance in a woman’s body” with “distaste” (p. 406). These women’s fragile and weak

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bodies are built this way in order for them to become companions of men, just “as the army aims to turn its raw recruits into soldiers” (p. 413). Because female athletes—especially those who participate in more “masculine” sports—do not adhere to traditional gender norms, they are seen as a threat to men (Bruce 2013; Cahn and O’Reilly 2007; Duncan and Messner 1998; Kane et al. 2013) and as an attack on heterosexuality (Cahn 1998; Cooky et al. 2010; Davis 2010; Duncan 1990; Hall 1996; Lenskyj 1986). Therefore, men are more likely to accept and watch sports where women are more feminine and consequentially more likely to be interested in men sexually. Conversely, to combat the threat of assumed homosexuality, female athletes are consistently depicted in the media in a familial setting. A notable example of this is the WNBA’s marketing campaign and advertising strategy, which for decades centered around accentuating the heterosexuality and femininity of the players in the league even though the fan base was predominantly members of the LGBTQ+ community (Cooky et al. 2010).

Magazine Representation of Female Athletes It is inarguable that magazine covers impact the greater popular culture landscape whether in sports, music, politics, or film. In fact, Christ and Johnson (1985) maintain that it is the most prominent feature of any magazine. If magazine covers have this substantial power, then the most influential in the sports world are Sports Illustrated, whose first issue was published in 1954, and ESPN: The Magazine, established in 1998. MacCambridge (2018) chronicled the history of Sports illustrated, as well as changes at the storied publication, stating that the magazine’s circulation has fallen from 3.2 million in 2008 to 2.75 million. But, the company has stopped selling print-only subscriptions and instead offers bundles with digital content. According to the Meredith Corporation, which owns Sports Illustrated, the magazine “engages more than 33 million digital users across multiple platforms,” with 207 million monthly page views. Further, in ESPN’s Year in Review for 2017, the company stated that, between print and digital platforms, every issue of ESPN the Magazine is

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read by 100 million people. According to the report, the magazine “easily outpaced every other magazine brand (sports or other),” with the “magazine’s print reach of 18.5 million,” up by 12% from two years ago. The outlet also received a National Magazine Award for General Excellence in the news, sports, and entertainment category, its third win in 19 years, while AdWeek named the publication the hottest sports or automotive magazine (Front Row Staff 2017).

Feminized, Sexualized, and Domesticized Though the dearth of female athletes featured on the cover of prominent sports magazines is disheartening, what is more significant is that the women are posed in a way that does not threaten the male-dominant ideology of sports culture. This juxtaposition makes sense, as Gilenstam et al. (2008, p. 236) claim, “Sports in general are considered to be the bearer of the male norm; traditionally considered ‘male sports’ are prioritized before ‘female sports,’ male athletes are prioritized before female athletes and men’s sports performance is considered better then women’s.” The five covers feature well-respected female athletes that in their jobs are seen as strong and powerful. When gracing the cover of ESPN: The Magazine and Sports Illustrated however, the women are reduced to the three categories from which Bartky (1990, p. 406) claims women’s bodies are disciplined, “those that aim to produce a body of a certain size and general configuration; those that bring forth from this body a specific repertoire of gestures, postures, and movements; and those that are directed toward the display of this body as an ornamented surface.” In the photos, the athletes are not flaunting their muscular features, thus sticking to Bartky’s claim of producing certain body types or size, while they are also staged in traditionally feminine poses or gestures. Each cover examined embodies at least one aspect of the relentless feminization, sexualization, and domesticization of female athletes within society, as all of the women in the photographs are depicted in normative ways, reminding readers that they follow the heterosexual and feminine standard. Important standards to be met for any woman but especially female athletes, as Mean and Kassing (2008, p. 127) argue that regardless

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of the strides women have made since Title IX’s inception, “Sport remains a powerful gender demarcator, reproducing traditional hegemonic forms that render the relationship between sport, the body, gender, and sexuality especially ideologically challenging.” In the oldest of the photographs examined—and one of the covers featured for the annual Body Issue—Walsh Jennings is shown pregnant, holding her pronounced belly with one hand and covering her right breast with the other. Her pregnancy reassures readers that she is heterosexual, revoking the idea that she is a threat to men while also placing her within a domestic context. In this regard, Walsh Jennings is not sexualized in a vixen-like way; rather, her heterosexuality, and thus heteronormative lifestyle, is validated. Concurrently, this lifestyle is validated by the prominent placement of her wedding ring. By having Walsh Jennings pose with her left hand on her breast, you can see the jewelry on her ring finger, again, ensuring heterosexuality and the safety of men. While it is true, of course, that she could be a member of the LGBTQ+ community (she is not) and that the ring could have been given to her by a woman (it was not), the majority of readers/viewers would not immediately come to this conclusion just by glancing at the photo. Further, as a White woman, Walsh Jennings’ pregnancy is not considered threatening, nor is her nude body considered menacing, given the photo an impression of domesticity and femininity. Lastly, nowhere on the cover does it state what sport the athlete plays (beach volleyball) nor does it indicate how successful she has been in the sport (three Olympic gold medals at the time of the issue’s publication). Likewise, the fact that Brittney Griner is a widely successful professional basketball player is not mentioned on her cover deemed “the Taboo issue.” Rather, she is wearing a tight black tank top with a snake wrapped around her body, as the subhead reads, “Snake-charming, gender-­ bending, out-standing Brittney Griner.” In the photo, Griner looks like many masculine male athletes would, as the picture does seem to echo how men are often presented, especially in magazine focusing on athletes. This fact is unique, as positioning Griner similar to a men’s basketball player, or another male athlete who displays traditionally masculine traits is quite revolutionary. While it seems as though this cover is an anomaly by positively representing a female athlete that is “gender-bending,” the

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entire premise of the issue being one of “taboo” negates that idea. In society, taboo is thought of as a negative concept, something that no one should strive for. And while the word does seem to be crossed out on the cover, it is almost highlighted instead, drawing the attention of the reader by putting a reddish mark throughout it. Saying that Griner is “taboo” because of her “gender-bending” plays into Bartky’s discussions of the institutions of femininity and heterosexuality. Further, the idea of Griner being “taboo” is further complicated by her existence as a Black lesbian who plays a traditionally masculine sport. While her demeanor in the photograph could be seen as fighting the controlling images that face Black female athletes (Cooky et al. 2010, p. 143), the language accompanying the article subverts that. Further, the “taboo” issue had an additional cover, the other featuring Mike Tyson, which only promotes the marginalization of Griner. Two dance team members that could easily be confused as cheerleaders are the ultimate ornamentation in a 2014 Sports Illustrated issue underscoring Creighton college basketball. The cover is a recreation of a 1977 photograph of Larry Bird, who played for Indiana State, meaning the women are playing a role and participating in a spectacle. Thus, the image and characters they are playing as reproduced aren’t even their own. In the more recent version, Doug McDermott is flanked by two members of the Creighton dance team, who both have one finger over their mouths— an intrinsically sexualized gesture. The women also have their legs pressed together, supporting Bartky’s argument that women are programmed to sit with their legs crossed, “to guard the genital area” (p. 412). As their image is located in the middle of the page, while McDermott’s head is up toward the name of the magazine, the eye is drawn to the women before it can even consider what the story will be about. Further, the pairing of the women with McDermott could make the reader wonder if either are dating him (or another player on the team), assigning them to a domestic role because they posed in a photo with him. In Serena Williams’ “Sportsperson of the Year” cover photo, a tennis racket or ball is nowhere to be found, neither is a court or clothing that would be worn on it. This is not necessarily unique for an athlete who has been given the title, as previous covers featuring LeBron James, JJ Watt and Jose Altuve, and Michael Phelps have all had the winners in

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plain—often dress—clothes. But the majority of the winners featured have been depicted in their uniform or something that overtly indicated the sport they played and the team they played for. What is distinctive, however, is the recognition of Williams. Given out since 1954, the Sportsperson of the Year award—originally titled just Sportsman of the Year—has only had a woman—or women— earn the honor during nine of those years. In five of those instances, a woman was named Sportswoman of the Year and a man was named Sportsman of the Year, with both athletes—or, in one case, coaches— gracing the cover together. In 1999, the United States Women’s Soccer Team won the title, as the team was featured wearing their uniforms, and in 1987, a group of athletes, including two women, were honored for their work off the field. Therefore, in over 60 years of the honor being bestowed on a member or members of the athletic community, Williams is only the third woman—and only woman of color—to be named the sole Sportsperson of the Year, making her receipt of the award wildly significant. The infrequency in which women solely grace the cover of Sports Illustrated—specifically women of color—makes the image of Williams noteworthy from a rhetorical, as well as a cultural, perspective. As the only female sitting down, Williams does not adhere to Bartky’s theory on bodily comportment by having her legs “pressed together” (p. 407), but the other women, although not sitting, still conform to this idea, as none of them have a loose body position. Williams is seated on what looks like a throne—which could be a nod to her status as one of the all-time great American athletes. She is dressed in a black, lacy, long-sleeved leotard, and matching high heels, with both legs exposed and oiled up. Her positioning on the throne, as well as the look on her face, is highly sexualized, almost enticing the viewer—who is assumed to be all male. While powerful, the imagery is contradictory, as it positions Williams as commanding but also as the jezebel, the historical ramifications of which encourage the reader to commodify Williams’ black body. Another female athlete of color, Chloe Kim, is smiling on a 2018 cover with the gold medal she won at the Winter Olympics and her dog, whom she is hugging. While it states that Kim is a snowboarder in a caption, “the youngest female snowboard medalist in Olympic history,” it is not

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obvious from the image. While it may be clear that she partakes in a winter sport because of her clothing—a knit hat and parka—there is no athletic equipment featured with her. The placement of her dog situates Kim in a domestic setting, domesticizing her as a loving pet owner rather than celebrating her athleticism or athletic achievements. Kim can be understood in this image, then, as a caretaker, a role usually designated for women in a familial setting. One could even posit that this caretaking role is a try-out for her hypothetical future role as a caretaker to her husband and children. Kerri Walsh Jennings, Brittney Griner, Creighton dance team, Serena Williams, and Chloe Kim are all positioned with their hands and arms closer to their bodies or sides, just like women are more likely to do (Bartky 1990, p.  407). This demonstrates how women are “far more restricted than men in their manner of movement and in their spatiality” (ibid., p. 407). Women also tend to smile more often as to be perceived as “nice” girls, according to Bartky (ibid., p.  408). Only four of the women, Walsh Jennings, the Creighton dancers, and Kim, are smiling— or semi-smiling—in their photos, while Williams is posed in a sexual and inviting way. Moreover, Bartky describes the perfect female body as one with good skin, hairless besides the hair on her head, devoid of age and wear, and with various applications of makeup—a description that applies to all five covers examined.

Conclusions Unequivocally, all of the women are wearing makeup (as are the men featured in the magazines), have their hair done, and are wearing clothes they would not wear if they were working out or competing. Further, no facial lines or unwanted hair can be seen, and signs of aging, scars, or other indicators of living are absent in the photos. While these magazines have professional stylists and makeup artists to dress the athletes, the effect of the cosmetics used is still the same as if the women were applying the techniques themselves. The clothing, makeup, and demeanor of the women portray how the institution of femininity works to constrain and create what femininity means in society. This is especially true when

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Bartky explains that not adhering to these ideas of femininity makes others more likely to chastise or question the woman with an alternative lifestyle. The three ways in which female’s bodies are disciplined exhibit one major goal—to have their body viewed by another and then live the way the other views their body (Bartky 1990, p. 411). This “patriarchal Other” functions as a powerful way to control women, their looks, and their behaviors. By judging women on their appearance and setting norms for how women should look, men and the “patriarchal Other” continue to oppress and enable inequality between the sexes. Bartky claims that this system does this to transform women into “docile and compliant companions of men” (p. 413). While not all of the female athletes may be available as companions to men, their appearance on the covers makes it seem as if they are, consequently fulfilling the fantasy. Therefore, the same female athletes that challenge femininity by competing in traditionally masculine fields become compliant in a system that makes women subordinate to men. Aspiring to appear as traditionally feminine is not innately a bad desire, nor is wanting to be viewed in a sexual or domestic manner. In fact, when a woman makes the choice to be photographed in that style or to be depicted in a feminine way in the confines of a magazine, she should be allowed to do so, as it demonstrates agency over her own image and bodily autonomy. The questions here are just how much agency are these women afforded in making these choices and how much are the decisions fueled by profits and that assumption of what sells. However, female athletes and women in the sports world are rarely displayed on the cover of prominent magazines, particularly publications that focus on sport. Therefore, when they are included, the way in which they are presented to the public is critical to examine. If women are only depicted in ways that emphasize their femininity, sexuality, and domesticity, what message is being sent to society and how does that impact other females navigating their own decisions?

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MacCambridge, M. (2018).Who can explain the athletic heart? The past and perilous future of Sports Illustrated. The Ringer. Retrieved from https://www.theringer. com/2018/4/11/17220176/sports-illustrated-future-meredith-sale-history Maloney, T. (2007). A new image exposed. In J. O’Reilly & S. K. Cahn (Eds.), Women and sports in the United States (pp. 260–262). Boston: Northeastern University Press. Mean, L., & Kassing, J. (2008). I would just like to be known as an athlete: Managing hegemony, femininity, and heterosexuality in female sport. Western Journal of Communication, 72(2), 107–125. Messner, M. A. (2007). Out of play: Critical essays on gender and sport. Albany: SUNY Press. Salwen, M.  B., & Wood, N. (1994). Depictions of female athletes on Sports Illustrated Covers, 1957–1989. Journal of Sport Behavior, 17(2), 98–118. Solomon, A. (2000). Our bodies, ourselves. The Village Voice, 45(16), 60–68. Sports Illustrated. Meredith Corporation. Retrieved from http://www.meredith. com/brand/sportsillustrated Walsh Jennings, K. (2013). Wood, J. (2005). Feminist standpoint theory and muted group theory: Commonalities and divergences. Women and Language, 28(2), 61–64.

Chapter 7: Exploring Plus-Size Exercise Apparel as a Social Justice Issue; Understanding How All Pants ARE NOT Created Equal Caitlyn Hauff and Christy Greenleaf

Introduction Societal pressures encourage and praise an ideal female body that embodies the feminine physique of thinness, toned muscles, a tiny waist, and little to no body fat (Harper and Tiggemann 2008; Tiggemann and Slater 2013). Those who do not fit this mold might be ridiculed, belittled, and discriminated against because of their body weight and size. Bias towards individuals whose bodies deviate from societal ideals, and the discrimination it leads to it, is not new in our society and is, in fact, a cultural

C. Hauff (*) Department of Health, Kinesiology, and Sport, University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL, USA e-mail: [email protected] C. Greenleaf Department of Kinesiology, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Milwaukee, WI, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_8

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tradition that has spanned over decades (Brownell et al. 2005). Typically, when we think of bias and discrimination, we zero in on race, gender, and ethnicity, as well as the social action our society has taken to work toward the elimination of these biases (Brownell et al. 2005). Yet, weight bias and discrimination is often not seen as a real threat in our society and is something that many individuals engage in consciously and subconsciously every day. In fact, Puhl and Brownell (2001) argue that weight bias is one of the last acceptable forms of discrimination in our society, revealing itself in doctor’s offices, on airplanes, and even at the gym. So what exactly is weight bias and what does it have to do with social justice and exercise apparel?

Weight Bias Weight bias refers to the negative attitudes, assumptions, and beliefs one has regarding a person’s body weight (Puhl and Wharton 2007). Weight bias can occur in a variety of forms (i.e., derogatory commentary, physical aggression, social rejection) and is commonly exhibited through unfair treatment and discrimination toward someone whose body does not conform to socially accepted standards of size and shape (i.e., who appear to be fat) (Puhl and Wharton 2007). Typically, when a woman has a larger body shape and size, she is referred to as being plus-size. The term is often used synonymously when talking about apparel. In fact, the dictionary defines plus-size as, “a clothing size designed for people who are above the average size (Collins Dictionary 2018).” Specifically, plus-size refers to anyone wearing a size U.S. 14 or larger (Christel and Dunn 2016). Plus-­ size is much more than a term for clothing though—it has become a movement. With the growing rates of overweight and obesity in the United States, more women now than ever fall into this plus-size category, and as a group of people, they find themselves stigmatized and shamed for their larger body size. As the body acceptance movement continues to thrive, many plus-size women have stepped forward to question the use of the term, suggesting alternatives such as “curvy” or asking that we drop the term “plus” altogether. Nikki Gloudeman, an editorial director for

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Ravishly.com, stated, “Forget the label altogether and stop trying to call women anything other than what they are: human beings inhabiting the body they’ve been given (Parks 2015).” Typically, plus-size comes with a negative connotation—that they are inferior to, or less than, their average-­ sized counterparts. Because of their inability to meet socially desirable (i.e., socially constructed) standards for beauty, they deserve to receive differential treatment to accommodate their different body size. This segregation of sizes creates quite a divide, and plus-size women find themselves constantly fighting against preconceived notions about their size and shape and defending their right to be treated the same as their “straight-­ sized” counterpart. This battle has escalated the weight bias discourse in our culture and continues to foster anti-fat attitudes and rhetoric. Previous research suggests that individuals from medical students to obesity specialists to health professionals implicitly and explicitly hold anti-fat attitudes, oftentimes creating preconceived notions that individuals of larger body size are lazy, bad, lacking in self-control and willpower, responsible for their weight, stupid, and worthless (Phelan et al. 2014; Puhl and Heuer 2009; Puhl and Wharton 2007; Puhl et  al. 2009; Schwartz et al. 2003). These negative beliefs have become pervasive in Western societies, leading those who are overweight and obese to internalize connotations and further avoid situations where they might be exposed to discriminatory treatment (Flint and Reale 2018; Hunger et al. 2015; Lewis et al. 2011). One such area that is particularly salient for this type of bias is the exercise and fitness domain. Researchers have suggested that the fitness industry serves as a primer for weight bias, as bodies are on display for the consumption and judgment by others (Brownell et al. 2005; Flint and Reale 2018; Puhl and Wharton 2007).

Plus-Size Exercise Apparel and Social Justice One significant, yet understudied, area of how the fitness industry contributes to weight bias is exercise apparel. Contrary to popular belief, individuals of all shapes, sizes, and weights exercise. That being said, exercise apparel is not equally accessible for people with larger bodies. Exercise apparel typically comes in two sizes: straight and plus-size. In the United

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States, straight-sized clothing (for fully developed women) are sizes classified as 00–12 and plus-size clothing is considered anything over a size 14 (Christel and Dunn 2016). While this distinction seems simple enough, the reality is that for a plus-size buyer, the experience of choosing, purchasing, and wearing plus-size clothing is frustrating, annoying, and unfair. Plus-size apparel can be ill-fitting, comes in a limited variety (in terms of styles and colors), and, many times, can only be purchased online (Christel et al. 2016; Greenleaf et al. in progress; Romeo and Lee 2014). The bias the fashion industry holds toward plus-size individuals should not only be considered a discriminatory act, but needs to be viewed as a social justice issue. At its core, social justice refers to an absence of systematic disparities (Lee and Cubbin 2009), an equal distribution of benefits and burdens throughout society (Miller 1976), and an equal opportunity to gain goods and resources (Reisch 2002). In a fair and just society, Lee and Cubbin (2009) suggest that opportunities to pursue health and be healthy should be a right for all, not a privilege for those with social and economic advantage. When we examine exercise apparel through the lens of social justice, what we find is that there is a large discrepancy between what is available to individuals of “average” sizes versus those that are plus-size. Furthermore, the treatment of individuals who wear plus-size within the fashion and fitness industries is unbalanced and unfair. Our beliefs about weight, and the negative assumptions we make about people with larger bodies, have created a social disadvantage for those who purchase plus-size clothing, and this disadvantage is clear upon deeper examination into plus-size fitness apparel. Due to the glaring social injustices faced by women of larger body shapes and sizes in the exercise realm, it is imperative that we explore where these injustices take place and how we can work to create a more size-inclusive environment for all shapes and sizes. Thus, this chapter will explore plus-size exercise apparel as a social justice issue, delving into the “fat-tax” on apparel, frustrations experienced during shopping experiences, suggestions for apparel manufacturers and retailers, and recommendations for how individuals can advocate for size inclusiveness in exercise settings and the exercise apparel industry.

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The “Fat Tax” Clothing manufacturers have come under fire as of late for imposing what is known as a “fat tax” on plus-size clothing. The rationale for a “fat tax” stems from the logic that because more fabric is needed to make plus-size apparel, customers should expect to pay more money. Consequently, what this means is that women who are larger sizes are expected to pay more money for the exact same styles of clothing as their “normal” size counterparts. While more fabric might indeed cost the manufacturer more money, this is an act of discrimination, as it targets women of a particular body shape and size. In this sense, up-charging is not about pricing but about fat-shaming women who are of larger bodies sizes. The New York Times (Yeginsu 2018) recently wrote an article detailing how customers shopping at a store in the United Kingdom noticed that clothing larger than a size 16 (which is equivalent to a size 12  in the United States) cost 15% more. For many plus-size customers, this pricing differential is anything but fair, particularly because very rarely do manufacturers charge more money for maternity clothes or apparel that falls into the “tall” category (both of which arguably require more fabric). In the United States, the popular brick-and-mortar store Old Navy also received criticism for its refusal to change the pricing of its plus-size clothing, even though the store was obviously charging more money for women’s plus-size apparel than men’s. To put this in perspective, Business Insider UK (Peterson 2014) reported that regardless of size, men’s slim-fit jeans all cost $25.00. For women though, a size 6 pair of jeans costs $27.00, while a size 26 pair of jeans costs $40.00. While Old Navy argued that the price differential is due to how the product is made, it is a clear indication that one group of women are being singled out, and this singling out is due to one factor: size. If paying more money for plus-size apparel was not enough, Greenleaf et al. (in progress) found that when shopping for exercise apparel, women who are plus-size tend to shop more online because plus-size apparel is not always carried in physical stores. Shopping for plus-size apparel online gave the buyer more variety and availability in styles, colors, and

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sizing—all things that are typically very limited for women of larger body sizes. It seems that plus-size women are limited in where and how they shop for desired exercise apparel, and these limitations influence women to feel powerless when it comes to their buying experience and choices in how they express themselves (Christel et al. 2016). Additionally, because many women of larger body sizes are forced to shop online to access availability and more extensive options for exercise apparel, they also face the annoyance of having to pay for shipping of these products and returns when the items they purchase do not fit (Greenleaf et al. in progress). Not only do plus-size women feel as though they are unworthy of shopping at a physical store, but they also experience the “fat tax” in another form, as they are forced to pay another additional expense to receive the same product that a an “average” size person could purchase by walking into a store and taking it home that day. Previous researchers (Bishop et al. 2018; Franz 2017; Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015) have also noted the inconsistency of sizing for plus-size apparel. Why might this be an issue? When plus-size women are forced to buy clothing online, they are also forced into a guessing game of whether or not the measurement chart online is accurate. The United States does not currently have any regulations in place to insure accurate and consistent labeling of sizes across brands, and because of this, sizes often do not reflect actual body measurements, nor are they reliable across sellers (Keiser and Garner 2008; Park et al. 2009; Romeo and Lee 2014). Taking that into consideration, when women have no choice but to purchase plus-size apparel online (because they physical store does not carry their size), they must use their best judgment when selecting sizes, which can result in the need to either order multiple sizes to see which fits best or order only one size and risk that size not fitting. The problem that often occurs with this guesswork is that not only does the purchaser have to pay for shipping, but for many stores, returning items must happen online also. Unfortunately for the purchaser, returning items online is not always free. When we consider the purchasing of plus-size exercise apparel as a social justice issue, this experience comes to mind. Women of larger bodies tend to experience a greater burden when shopping for apparel because of the “fat taxes” they must endure. Lack of availability in store,

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inconsistency in sizing, and having to pay for shipping and returns create an inequitable balance between women with larger bodies and those that are considered to have an “average” body size. This is particularly interesting as the average size of an American woman is a size 14 (Christel and O’Donnell 2016), which is considered plus-size. Explicitly or implicitly, our society continues to shame women of larger body sizes, and shopping for exercise apparel (or any apparel for that matter) is not exempt to this behavior. The “fat tax” sends a not so subtle message to women who purchase and wear plus-size clothing. By requiring women of larger body sizes to spend more money on apparel because of the “excess fabric,” manufacturers are also sending a message of weight loss, specifically suggesting that if a woman loses weight and is able to fit into straight size clothing she has earned the right to pay a “normal” price. This sends a very discriminatory and harsh message to those in the plus-size community and can easily cause someone to feel isolated, embarrassed, and low in confidence. The “fat tax” is a strong example of how plus-size exercise apparel has become a social justice issue. Women who are plus-size do not have the opportunity to access, pay for, and receive the same goods and quality of goods as their “standard size” counterparts. This community of women shares a disproportionate amount of the burden, as their bodies are being faulted for their inability to have access to appropriate and comfortable exercise attire. Therefore, it is not shocking that they feel frustrated, angry, and powerless. While evidence of this treatment has been supported and discussed in the popular press and academic research, the fashion industry has made very few strides in being more inclusive toward women of larger sizes. The marketplace remains inconsistent in pricing, availability, and sizing, and plus-size women continue to voice grievances about their shopping experiences (both in-store and online).

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 xperiences Shopping for Plus-Size E Exercise Apparel Women with larger bodies have voiced frustration with shopping for everyday clothing (e.g., Bickle et al. 2015; Money, 2017; Otieno et al. 2005) and exercise apparel (e.g., Christel et al. 2016). Perceived lack of availability, limited variety, poor fashion/quality/fit, and high cost may underlie dissatisfaction with shopping for plus-size apparel. The pervasive nature of weight stigma, widespread culture of healthism (i.e., striving to achieve personal well-being), and dominant belief that weight is simply the result of individual behavior make the exercise apparel marketplace a particularly difficult environment to navigate (e.g., Flint and Reale 2018). To date, women’s experiences related to exercise apparel have not been extensively examined or reported in empirical studies; thus, preliminary work by Greenleaf and colleagues serves to supplement the existing literature. Certainly there is a need to more closely examine plus-size exercise apparel as an issue of social justice. As Bishop et al. (2018) point out, “unequal access to clothes that fit appears to have implications for social inequality” (p. 185). Greenleaf and colleagues have conducted several preliminary studies exploring the plus-size exercise apparel (defined as US size 14 and larger) marketplace and perceptions and experiences of physically active women who shop for and wear US size 14 and larger. In the first study, availability, cost, and variety of plus-size exercise apparel were compared to straight size apparel in several online retail sites (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). This study served as the basis for a two-part project that examined the perceptions and experiences of women along with a more detailed reexamination of the online marketplace for plus-size exercise apparel (Greenleaf et al. in progress). Results from these studies are integrated in to the review and analysis of the types of experiences women have shopping for plus-size exercise apparel and serve to provide depth and insight into those experiences to supplement the limited existing literature base. Women report being particularly unhappy with size availability, cost, and sizing accuracy of exercise apparel and that these perceptions aligned with the reality of the market (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). These

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perceptions align with reality, as online retailers provide fewer items available, fewer color options, and higher cost for plus-size, compared to straight size activewear. The perceptions and realities of shopping for and wearing plus-size exercise apparel may constrain the extent to which women are able to exercise agency in their shopping and physical activity behaviors. Christel et  al. (2016) found that physically active women resorted to buying and wearing men’s activewear because of a lack of plus-­ size women’s exercise apparel. Feeling constrained by limited choice seems to be a common theme among women. In response to open-ended questions, women in Greenleaf et al.’s 2015 studies commented, “I always find lots of small and medium but not many large or extra-large because they’re sold out or never had them to begin with,” and it is “very frustrating and embarrassing to go to outdoorsy stores and find absolutely nothing in my size.” Moreover, women shared feelings of self-consciousness, as illustrated by the comment, “I sometimes feel like people will think I don’t belong in that sort of clothing because of my size.” These types of constrained feelings align with what Piran (2017) calls mental and physical corseting. The term “corseting” captures the essence of the women’s experiences when their agency in purchasing and physical behaviors is constricted by economic and social environments. Some women report that their physical activity was negatively impacted, in terms of both participation and enjoyment, by plus-size exercise apparel. For instance, one woman in Greenleaf et al.’s 2015 project responded to a question regarding how exercise apparel impacts her experiences of being active, “If my clothing is fitting too tight in the sleeves… I will dwell on that the whole workout and be distracted,” and another woman wrote, “Difficulty finding proper clothing is demotivating.” In a study exploring plus-size swimwear, women similarly indicated the annoyance and distraction of ill-fitting swimsuits that have to be constantly adjusted (Christel and O’Donnell 2016). Furthermore, Reddy-­ Best and Harmon (2015) found that, among children with larger bodies, athletic clothing was viewed as problematic and contributing to body concerns, as well as motivation to stop participation. Given the positive psychosocial and physical health benefits of physical activity, it is problematic that women with larger bodies have experiences shopping for and wearing exercise apparel that negatively affect their motivation,

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enjoyment, and engagement in activity. The negative psychosocial and behavioral influences of the exercise apparel market certainly contribute to social injustice. The lack of plus-size exercise apparel in brick-and-mortar stores further highlights the endorsement of weight bias and seems to indicate that stores do not want their brand(s) associated with fat shoppers. In fact, some retailers (e.g., Lululemon) are blatantly sizeist and build their brand on restricted sizing (Bhasin 2013; Moore 2013). Sizeist branding and retail practices within the exercise apparel industry are quite problematic and reinforce socially biased beliefs. Certain brands believe that their profitability will be hurt if people with larger bodies wear their apparel, as though larger bodies somehow bring shame and embarrassment to those brands. Further, the notion that people with larger bodies are inactive is certainly strengthened by such sizeist retail actions. These practices seem somewhat akin to the strategies some brands take in paying (or offering to pay) certain celebrities not to wear their apparel (e.g., Bloom 2016). For example, Abercrombie & Fitch reportedly offered to pay a cast member of Jersey Shore not to wear their clothes as there was concern that the reality star would lower the status and value of their brand (Carter 2011). Further, in the selling of plus-size exercise apparel, brick-­ and-­mortar stores commonly segregate plus-size apparel into a separate section of the store (Bishop et al. 2018), sending the message that those shopping for such apparel should spend their money but not be seen shopping. These efforts provide concrete examples of social injustice and discrimination that need to be addressed. In a socially just world, people of all shapes and sizes would have fair access to apparel. Unfortunately, brick-­ and-­mortar store employees may hold negative attitudes toward shoppers with larger bodies (e.g., Christel 2014; King et al. 2006) which can contribute to unfriendly shopping environments. From a social justice perspective, everyone should have the right to good-quality, well-fitting, and fairly priced clothing in which to be physically active. Further, women with larger bodies have the right to be treated with respect and kindness within the shopping environment. The narrow focus of the exercise apparel market seems to reinforce general societal weight bias and

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diminishes the extent to which women with larger bodies have autonomy in the shopping and physical activity domains. Because of limited availability in brick-and-mortar stores in the United States, some women feel forced to shop online, which presents a number of challenges. First, many retailers require customers to pay for shipping and handling on returns; thus, some women feel they have to pay just to try on apparel. In responding to questions about what women want retailers to know about women who shop for plus-size apparel, one woman wrote, “I need to try stuff on… which means I need better return and exchange policies,” and another indicated, “It’s unfair to make us pay just to try things on” (Greenleaf et al. in progress). Thus, the costs associated with shopping for plus-size exercise apparel often go beyond the actual expense of the item. Clearly, retailers are counting on shoppers returning items and women shopping for plus-size apparel are a group likely to need to return items. Sizing variations are a major reason for returns. As part of Greenleaf et al.’s in progress project, sizing charts for five online retailers were studied. Examination revealed that as apparel sizes increased, the variation in measurement also increases. For example, for bust measurements, there was a 2.5 inch range in bust measurements for a medium activewear shirt and a 7.5 inch range for a 2X shirt. Thus, for women shopping for larger sizes, there is a much larger range in actual apparel measurements. Several women in the project commented on sizing issues when shopping online, writing, “Accurate sizing … in larger sizes is important,” and “My biggest issue with online is ensuring that the sizing is true.” Sizing variations and problems with apparel fit are common across the size spectrum; however, women with larger bodies face much greater variation and uncertainty in sizing (Alexander et al. 2012). The arbitrary and biased nature of sizing can create negative psychosocial experiences for women (Bishop et al., 2018). An additional challenge for women shopping for plus-size exercise apparel online is that they need to rely on images of clothing modeled on bodies that often do not appear to be wearing plus-sized clothing. Comparing images of models wearing plus-size apparel to the silhouettes of the figure rating scale (FRS; Stunkard et al. 1983), researchers Greenleaf and Kauffung (2015) found that models shown wearing short sleeve

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T-shirts in plus-sizes were often considered on the thinner end of the spectrum. Women commented on this as a challenge. One woman indicated, “Clothes fit differently when scaled up to plus-size so it’s hard to look at a normal model to determine if it’ll look good on me,” and another responded that “extremely small-bodied models with no fat rolls do not represent my body well and make it hard for me to visualize myself in [the] clothing.” A more socially just approach would be to represent a realistic variety of body shapes and sizes to more fairly represent and reflect consumers of plus-size exercise apparel. The practices within the exercise apparel industry reflect weight bias and reinforce the societal assumption that only thin bodies are active bodies (Christel and O’Donnell 2016). Additionally, women in Greenleaf and colleagues’ 2015 project voiced a great deal of frustration with this assumption. For example, women wrote, “Fat people like to move,” “Fat people exercise too,” and “Some fat girls run.” One wrote a power statement commenting on the fact that she exercises for enjoyment and fitness, not weight loss: I will probably be this size for the rest of my life, and all plus-size clothes— including exercise clothes—aren’t just some temporary bullshit crap I put on while I diet my way down to a “normal” size and prettier clothes. I AM FAT. … I don’t consider my fat a temporary disease or condition. THIS IS ME, and I AM OKAY.

In combination, the lack of plus-size exercise apparel, segregation of plus-­ size apparel in stores, sizing variations, inaccurate portrayal of apparel on models, costs of returning items, and assumption of desired weight loss contribute to social and economic injustice for larger women.

Suggestions for Manufacturers and Retailers There are a number of ways in which exercise apparel designers, manufacturers, and retailers can create more socially just marketplaces for women with larger bodies. The central goals should be centered on freedom, fairness, and respect; that is, women with larger bodies should have the

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autonomy to shop for exercise apparel without constraints and concerns related to availability, fit, cost, and so forth. One major step that retailers can make is integrating straight and plus-size apparel, both in brick-and-­ mortar stores and in online retail environments. For example, one woman suggested to researchers, “Don’t segregate us! … don’t make us go to the “Plus” section” and another suggested that “It isn’t necessary to have a whole separate section for plus-sizes-mix them with regular clothing” (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). This is not an unreasonable idea, and, in fact, it can be done. As an example, the large U.S. retailer Meijer, in 2017, implemented this strategy by locating clothing in sizes small to 3X on the same rack (Meijer Announces Integration of Plus-Size Apparel in Women’s Department). Other retailers should follow Meijer’s lead and create shopping environments that support equity and dignity for shoppers of all shapes and sizes. Beyond physically locating straight and plus-sizes in the same space, Meijer also implemented uniform pricing. Fair and equitable pricing is a second suggestion for retailers and designers. Greenleaf and colleagues documented women stating, “Just give us a good range of quality gear at reasonable prices. It’s not rocket science,” and “Charge the same price for plus-size clothing as for smaller sizes. You don’t charge more for an XL than you do for an XS, so a 3X shouldn’t have to pay a “fat tax” either!” (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015)). There has been some social pushback against retailers charging more for larger sizes (e.g., Yeginsu 2018), yet there has been little systemic change. The typical rationalization is that larger size clothes require more fabric and complex design; however, as pointed out by one participant, within the straight size range (XS–XL), prices are the same, thus calling into question the basis of the rationalization. Designers and retailers should implement fair pricing in order to create a more socially just economic market for plus-size exercise apparel. Women with larger bodies, like women with smaller bodies, want quality clothing that is both functional and fashionable. Women have made comments, such as “it’s shameful that it’s assumed that only thin people who wear below a size 12/14 can have access to comfortable and fashionable exercise clothing,” “I just want quality, good-looking clothes. Not a … tent. Clothes that stretch, bend, move, and look good. Just in bigger sizes!” and “Design larger exercise clothing keeping in mind the

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physical needs of the larger bodied person, while remembering that he/ she is just as interested in finding something cute and fashionable, as straight sized folks” (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). Women interviewed by Christel and O’Donnell (2016) expressed a dissatisfaction with plus-­ size swimwear, which echoes the desire for functional and fashionable exercise apparel voiced by women in the project conducted by Greenleaf et al. (in progress). Further, several women noted that there is a market for plus-size exercise apparel and commented, “We have $$$$ and deserve good quality stylish clothing,” and “We have money to spend! We want quality clothes” (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). In a socially just market, women of all shapes and sizes would have equitable access to apparel that is fairly priced, good quality, fashionable, and functional. Additionally, women want to see “real” plus-size models wearing “real” plus-size clothing. For example, women in a qualitative study wrote that they wished online retailers would “Use actual plus-size models” and “actually show the clothing on real plus-size models” (Greenleaf and Kauffung 2015). Viewing plus-size models may have psychosocial benefits. Clayton et al. (2017), for example, found higher levels of body satisfaction and lower levels of social comparison when women viewed plus-size, as compared to thin and average size, models. Thus, showing larger body shapes and sizes might not only create a more socially just shopping environment in which women have the right to see a diversity of body shapes, it might also contribute to psychological health. Some companies are taking steps toward a more socially just marketplace for plus-size exercise apparel. In 2017, Nike began a line of plus-size apparel, and Target recently launched an activewear brand, JoyLab, that includes sizes XS–4X, with apparel prices $50 or less (Nittle 2018). In their website, Target also takes the step of reporting the size the model is wearing and the model’s height for some of the apparel. Even with such recent examples, there is a long way to go in moving the plus-size exercise apparel marketplace to a point where women with larger bodies are able to find good quality, fashionable attire at reasonable prices.

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 ecommendations for Size Inclusiveness R in the Exercise Industry Although the obesity epidemic our society faces is multifaceted and complex, we are aware that one potential contributor to the growing disease rate is lack of exercise. While many consider exercise as a choice a person actively makes, we must also consider the tenet that some people may avoid exercise not because they are lacking the willpower to do so but because the fitness industry has become somewhat exclusive and elitist when it comes to welcoming individuals of differing shapes and sizes into an exercise environment. This is particularly salient for people who are overweight or obese. The presence of weight bias and discrimination is not absent from the fitness realm, as anti-fat bias has been exhibited across exercise and fitness professionals (Brownell et al. 2005; Chambliss et al. 2004; Fontana et al. 2017; Puhl and Wharton 2007; Robertson and Vohora 2008). Oftentimes, this discrimination comes in the form of negatively stereotyping clients with larger bodies as lazy, non-compliant, unattractive, and, quite erroneously, unhealthy (Brownell et  al. 2005; Chambliss et  al. 2004; Puhl and Wharton 2007). Many in the fitness industry reject the notion that an individual can be “fit and fat,” and consequently, this ideology is heavily reflected in the treatment toward individuals of larger sizes in an exercise setting (Brownell et al. 2005). So what can fitness professionals do to create a more size-inclusive space and avoid making judgments about a person’s character and health status based solely on their size? Awareness is key to decreasing weight bias in an exercise environment. Researchers (Brownell et  al. 2005; Chambliss et  al. 2004) suggest that creating and delivering more professional development opportunities for fitness and health employees could change the cultural stigma surrounding weight. Specifically, educational training should consist of educating professionals on the appropriate language to use toward someone with overweight or obesity, increasing empathy and sensitivity, and providing professionals with the knowledge of how to create exercise programs for individuals with larger body sizes. For example, Puhl et al. (2011) found that participants prefer to use the terms “unhealthy weight” and “weight”

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when talking about excess body weight as opposed to the words “fat,” “obese,” and “extremely obese,” which were noted as stigmatizing and unmotivating. Health professionals might benefit from asking patients and clients if they are comfortable talking about their weight and size and what terminology they would prefer to use (Puhl and Wharton 2007). Offensive and stigmatizing language and lack of empathy can lead to avoidance of beneficial health-related behaviors, so it is important to be educated on how to work with those of larger body sizes. Another aspect of professional develop includes asking fitness and exercise professionals to examine their own implicit and explicit biases (Brownell et al. 2005; Puhl and Wharton 2007). Consider the television show, The Biggest Loser, which was broadcasted in the United States from 2004 to 2016. The purpose of the show is to put adults who are typically morbidly obese through a rigorous exercise training program as a means to lose weight. Each week, the contestant that loses the least amount of body fat percentage is sent home. It is truly survival of the fittest, as the contestants that continue to lose weight and improve their body size remain in the running for a substantial monetary prize. What we have learned from this show though is that the initial assumption about a fat person is that they are lazy and they have never set foot in a gym before (Greenleaf et al. in press). Within the first few weeks of starting the show, the contestants are often blamed for their weight, ridiculed for being out of shape, and shown in unflattering ways that exacerbate their lack of physical fitness (i.e., falling off treadmills and puking). If trainers approach clients in this manner, it is likely that they are going to be less willing to challenge their clients and more likely to assume that a client is not following the program (Brownell et al. 2005; Chambliss et al. 2004; Puhl et al. 2009). It is important for fitness professionals to understand that everyone is capable of exercise, regardless of size, and while clients with overweight or obesity might face more challenges than a person whose body conforms to societal standards, they should receive fair and equal treatment on the gym floor. In light of exercise apparel, all contestants on The Biggest Loser also must be weighed in wearing minimal clothing: men wearing shorts with no shirt and women having to wear spandex shorts and a sports bra. This can be a very uncomfortable scenario for anyone, regardless of shape, but

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the show producers seem to use this minimal apparel as a means to demonstrate a dramatic transformation throughout the season. It is also quite interesting to note how the exercise apparel changes from the start of the season to the end. In the beginning, when contestants are at their heaviest weights, they are in baggy shorts and T-shirts when exercising. It is not until the end of the season, when the contestants have lost weight, that their exercise apparel becomes more form-fitting and revealing. Additionally, contestants who made it until the end of the show received a hair and clothing makeover. For the female contestants, their smaller pant and dress size was noted by the makeover stylist, and there is a strong association made between fitting into a smaller size and being happier with oneself. When we consider health professionals like personal trainers, it is not uncommon for their motivational slogans to be “shredding for the wedding,” “working for that beach body,” or “time to get ready for bikini season.” It is important to note the way we talk about bodies and apparel, as health professionals sometimes draw implications that we have to be a certain size to wear (or look good in) a wedding dress or bikini, or even have the right to exercise in tighter fitting exercise apparel. The subtle clothing changes that occur as the contestants’ bodies transform on The Biggest Loser are just one example of how weight bias may trickle into the exercise apparel atmosphere. Another measure that can be taken in order to enhance size inclusiveness is the promotion of plus-size athletes and exercisers. All too often when we pick up a magazine or scroll through social media feeds, we see the athletes or exercisers that are “ripped,” meaning they have perfectly toned bodies that exude the epitome of physical fitness. The athletes and models that typically appear in exercise or sport advertisements tend to wear physique revealing clothing (sometimes even barely-there swimsuits) that draws attention to their thin and toned frames. Focus, therefore, is shifted from a woman’s skill and ability to her appearance. Many of the messages we see in magazines and on social media also allude to the notion that we should focus on weight loss, achieving a “thigh gap” and trying to get 6-pack abs. This ideal woman society has created is quite unattainable for many, and quickly discourages body confidence and the desire to exercise for health and functionality. That being said, why not acknowledge and celebrate the idea that women come in all shapes and

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sizes? Why not express that all women can be exercisers, regardless of one’s shape and size? Plus-size fitness advocates like Ragen Chastain (Dances with Fat), Jessamyn Stanley (Yoga for All Bodies), and Taryn Brumfitt (Embrace) are all women who might not exhibit the “thin-ideal” but are positive and encouraging role models for the fitness industry. Ragen Chastain, for example, is a certified fitness instructor and marathoner, demonstrating the notion that being larger does not mean you cannot be an exerciser or teach others how to exercise. Jessamyn Stanley is not only an advocate for plus-size women, but also for women of color. She does not fit the typical mold of a “yogi,” but has gained fame as a body-positive yoga instructor who focuses on body functionality over appearance. She encourages women of all sizes and abilities to use yoga as a means to strengthen their bodies, disproving the norm that only thin, fit, and flexible women can do yoga. Taryn Brumfitt has received international notoriety for her book, and subsequent movie, Embrace, which details her journey from hating her body to loving it. Her bottom line encourages us to embrace the bodies we have and not let our body fears stop us from putting on a bikini and competing in a bodybuilding show (a true story from her book). These women, and women like them, take the focus off of the appearance of their bodies and focus on the functionality and ability of their bodies. Many plus-size fitness advocates don their exercise apparel proudly, flaunting their confidence, attitude, and capabilities. You can find Jessamyn Stanley, for example, wearing physique revealing apparel and traditional yoga garb all over her social media accounts. This strongly demonstrates that bodies of all size are capable of exercise, and the apparel choices that individuals make can function more than just to highlight the shape and appearance of our bodies. It is important that women support other women, regardless of size. Social media is a convenient and useful platform to use to build positive, supportive communities where women can celebrate successes and be assured that exercisers are not only women who run marathons and compete in the CrossFit games, but everyday women who might not be toned and “ripped.” It is important to send and encourage a message of positivity and an understanding that health can happen at every size and being healthy looks different from person to person.

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In consideration of the purpose of this chapter, it is also vital to recognize that our fitness apparel industry can and should strive to make changes to help women of all shapes and sizes feel comfortable while exercising. Exercise apparel for plus-size women has grown into a social justice issue in which one group of women has been singled out and treated differently because of their size. Plus-size women should not carry the burden of their size and feel affected by their size under any circumstance, but this is particularly so when it comes to limiting their ability to exercise freely because they cannot find appropriate attire to wear. Women in general already feel self-conscious when exercising, and this feeling can be exacerbated for plus-size women not only in the gym but in the circumstances leading up to going to the gym when they are shopping for apparel to wear. Our society must elicit some social action to change the cultural tone surrounding weight bias in the fitness industry. It is no longer acceptable for society to tax those that are fat because their bodies do not fit into a socially constructed box that defines the ideal body. Our biases need to be explored and eradicated, and we must forcefully and fiercely strive toward equality for individuals of all shapes and sizes.

References Alexander, M., Pisut, G.  R., & Andrada Ivanescu, A. (2012). Investigating women’s plus-size body measurements and hip shape variation based on SizeUSA data. International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education, 5(1), 3–12. Bhasin, K. (2013). Shunning plus-size shoppers is key to Lululemon’s strategy, insiders say. The Huffington Post. Bickle, M. C., Annette Burnsed, K., & Edwards, K. L. (2015). Are US plus-size women satisfied with retail clothing store environments? Journal of Consumer Satisfaction, Dissatisfaction & Complaining Behavior, 28, 45–60. Bishop, K., Gruys, K., & Evans, M. (2018). Sized out: Women, clothing size, and inequality. Gender & Society, 32(2), 180–203. Bloom, R. (2016). Stars who designers won’t dress. People.com. Brownell, K. D., Puhl, R. M., Schwartz, M. B., & Rudd, L. (2005). Weight bias. New York: The Guilford Press.

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Carter, K. (2011). Fashion statement celebrity brand mismatches. The Guardian (UK). Chambliss, H., Finley, C. E., & Blair, S. N. (2004). Attitudes toward obese individuals among exercise science students. Medicine and Science in Sports and Exercise, 36(3), 468–474. Christel, D. A. (2014). It’s your fault you’re fat: Judgements of responsibility and social conduct in the fashion industry. Clothing Cultures, 1(3), 303–320. Christel, D.  A., & Dunn, S.  C. (2016). Average American women’s clothing size: Comparing National Health and Nutritional Examination Surveys (1988–2010) to ASTM International Misses & Women’s Plus Size clothing. International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education, 10, 1–8. Christel, D. A., & O’Donnell, N. H. (2016). Assessment of women’s plus-size swimwear for industry applications. Fashion Practice, 8(2), 257–278. Christel, D. A., O’Donnell, N. H., & Bradley, L. A. (2016). Coping by crossdressing: An exploration of exercise clothing for obese heterosexual women. Fashion and Textiles, 3(1), 11. Clayton, R. B., Ridgway, J. L., & Hendrickse, J. (2017). Is plus-size equal? The positive impact of average and plus-sized media fashion models on women’s cognitive resource allocation, social comparisons, and body satisfaction. Communication Monographs, 84(3), 406–422. Collins Dictionary. (2018). Defining plus-size. Flint, S. W., & Reale, S. (2018). Weight stigma in frequent exercisers: Overt, demeaning and condescending. Journal of Health Psychology, 23(5), 710–719. Fontana, F., Furtado, O., Jr., Mazzardo, O., Jr., Deockki Hong, D., & Wagner de Campos, W. (2017). Anti-fat bias by professors teaching physical education majors. European Physical Education Review, 23(1), 127–138. Franz, W.-J. I. (2017). Economics of vanity sizing. Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization, 134, 336–355. Greenleaf, C., Hauff, C., & Klos, L. (in progress). “Fat people exercise too!”: Exploring the marketplace and women’s perceptions of plus-size exercise apparel. Greenleaf, C., & Kauffung, A. (2015). Exploratory online market analysis of plus-size and regular-size exercise clothing. Research Quarterly for Exercise and Science, 86(Supplement 2), A96. Paper presented at the American Alliance for Health, Physical Education, Recreation and Dance convention, Seattle, WA. Greenleaf, C., Klos, L., Hauff, C., Hennum, A., Pozoloinski, B., & Serafin, G. (in press). ‘Unless you puke, faint, or die, keep going!’ Exploring weight

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Parks, C. (2015, March 25). #Droptheplus and 7 other opinions on the term “plus-size.” The Huffington Post. Peterson, H. (2014). Old Navy says it’s controversial plus-size pricing won’t change. Business Insider UK. Phelan, S., Dovidio, J. F., Puhl, R. M., Burgess, D. J., Nelson, D. B., Yeazel, M. W., Hardeman, R., Perry, S., & Ryn, M. (2014). Implicit and explicit weight bias in a national sample of 4,732 medical students: The medical student CHANGES study. Obesity Research, 22(4), 1201–1208. Piran, N. (2017). Journeys of embodiment at the intersection of body and culture: The developmental theory of embodiment. Academic Press. Puhl, R., & Brownell, K. D. (2001). Bias, discrimination, and obesity. Obesity Research, 9(7), 88–805. Puhl, R., & Heuer, C. A. (2009). The stigma of obesity: A review and update. Obesity, 17, 941–964. Puhl, R., Peterson, J. L., & Luedicke, J. (2011). Parental perceptions of weight terminology that providers use with youth. Pediatrics, 128(4), 786–793. Puhl, R., & Wharton, C. M. (2007). Weight bias: A primer for the fitness industry. ACSM’s Health and Fitness Journal, 11(3), 7–11. Puhl, R., Wharton, C. M., & Heuer, C. A. (2009). Weight bias among dietetics students: Implications for treatment practices. Journal of the American Dietetic Association, 109(3), 438–444. Reddy-Best, K. L., & Harmon, J. (2015). Overweight boy’s and girl’s experiences with and perception of athletic clothing and its relationship to physical activity participation. Fashion and Textiles, 2(1), 23. Reisch, M. (2002). Defining social justice in a socially unjust world. Families in Society, 83(4), 343–354. Robertson, N., & Vohora, R. (2008). Fitness vs. fatness: Implicit bias towards besity among fitness professionals and regular exercisers. Psychology of Sport and Exercise, 9(4), 547–557. Romeo, L. D., & Lee, Y. (2014). Exploring apparel purchase issues with plus-­ size female teens. Journal of Fashion Marketing and Management, 19(2), 120–135. Schwartz, M., Chambliss, H. O., Brownell, K. D., Blair, S. N., & Billington, C. (2003). Weight bias among health professionals specializing in obesity. Obesity Research, 11(9), 1033–1039. Stunkard, A. J., Sorensen, T., & Schulsinger, F. (1983). Use of the Danish adoption register for the study of obesity and thinness. Genetics of Neurological and Psychiatric Disorders, 60, 115–120.

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Chapter 8: In Flo Jo Fashion; The Cultural Appropriation of Sportswomen’s Apparel Leelanee K. Malin

Her name was Florence Griffith Joyner, but they affectionately called her Flo Jo. She was fast, had fortitude, and was fashion-forward, yet with her untimely death, her style, grace, and recognition as a trendsetter to the image and sportswear of female athletes were buried with her. In the discussion of appearances and the sportswoman, it is important to note that there has been a constant struggle with the idea of self-objectification, femininity, and the perception and coverage of women’s athletic abilities (Pasricha et  al. 2018). Parallel discussions take place: that of culture appropriation, the concept of Black girl magic, and the role of women in sports and entertainment. However, there is limited discourse about the intersection of these discussions. More specifically, the discussion about the role of cultural appropriation of Black female athletes in the context of sport and its profound impact on the sport and fashion industries is

L. K. Malin (*) Cathy Hughes School of Communication, Howard University, Washington, DC, USA © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_9

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nonexistent. This essay will discuss how the apparel of sportswomen and its media coverage and consumer interest have spurred the birth of the ever-popular athleisure wear while inadvertently contributing to the cultural appropriation of one of the greatest athletes: Flo Jo. Florence “Flo Jo” Griffith Joyner, a record-holding Olympic all-star known for fashion, fortitude, and being one of the fastest women in the world, caused a media frenzy during her Olympic debut as early as 1984 Los Angeles. Her mere aesthetic presence, including competition apparel, began to overshadow her athletic ability with her record-breaking speed and agility, taking a backseat to the media coverage of her hair, nails, and track uniform (Pieper 2015). With much ado about her four-inch colorful fingernails and handmade, fashion-forward track suits, Flo Jo should be credited with the popular culture shift in female athletic wear that has now been coined as “athleisure apparel.” Fashion trends that include hairstyles, clothing, and nail art that were once categorized as “ghetto” and called “flamboyant” are now coined high-end fashion statements and have become billion-dollar industry businesses. According to a 2013 article in The Atlantic (Wiebe), the activewear market grew 7 percent between 2013 and 2014, while the general apparel market only increased by 1 percent; it cites Lululemon, an athletic apparel company, as one of the trendsetting companies that deserve a “chunk of the credit for the recent activewear explosion.” This infatuation with wearing yoga pants, track suits, and sports bras as day-to-day wear has spurred top apparel brands to create athleisure lines such as Gap Inc.’s Athleta and actress Kate Hudson’s Fabletics. However, fun facts such as Flo Jo starting her own fashion line, mimicking her own track uniform styles, and being commissioned to design the National Basketball Association’s (NBA) Indiana Pacers uniform are not generally part of the larger discussion and media coverage of fashionable sport performance wear or the building of business empires. Flo Jo’s fashionable athletic style and business acumen made way for other African American athletes, such as tennis champion Serena Williams and Olympic gymnast medalist Gabby Douglas, to try their hand at fashion lines that include both performance and athleisure wear. However, female athlete, not of color, such as tennis star Maria Sharapova and track star Maggie Vessey are credited and actually acknowledged in the media

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for being successful sportswomen and entrepreneurs (Stopyra 2018). This essay discusses how such aforementioned coverage, as well as lack of coverage of the Black sportswoman’s contribution to this fashion trend, continues to perpetuate racial and gender stereotypes while simultaneously magnifying the imbalance of credit given to female contributions as a whole to the growth of the sport and fashion industry.

 he Fastest, Most Fashionable Woman T in the World Garnering the title of the “fastest woman of all time” by setting the Olympic world record at 1988 Seoul for both the 100-meter and 200-­ meter races, Flo Jo participated in fabulous style. Adorned in ensembles featuring colorful nails and track suits—whether with six-and-a-half-inch fuchsia nails, a purple one-legger with a blue bikini bottom and lightning bolt applique, or a white fishnet two-legger and one-inch bright orange nails with stripes, Flo Jo captured the hearts, thoughts, and commentary of fans, sport commentators, and competitors alike. This would set the stage for her to becoming both the fastest and most fashionable athlete in history. As a result, she became a popular figure in the international track and field sport for her record-setting performances and fashionable personal style. Born and raised in California, Flo Jo attended California State University/Northridge (CSUN) and the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), where she participated in track and field and ultimately qualified for the 1980 Olympics, though she did not compete in the games (Schwartz 2003). She made her Olympic debut at 1984 Los Angeles, winning a silver medal and then going on to set a new world record when she returned to the 1988 US Olympic trials, then winning three gold medals at 1988 Seoul. Following the Olympics, Flo Jo retired, if remaining a pop culture icon through endorsement deals, acting, and fashion designing. Sadly, in 1998, at the age of 38, Flo Jo died in her sleep as a result of an epileptic seizure, yet her trendsetting style would live on, changing the perception of the female athlete and sportswoman apparel (Pieper 2015).

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 eath of a Legacy and Birth D of a Billion-Dollar Industry Flo Jo’s “flashy” and “flamboyant” performance wear has reemerged lately in the form of what is known as athleisurewear. Many of the fashion trends that originated in the late 1980s and early 1990s have returned to the fashion forefront through product placement on television and in film, as well as promotions through social media. Whether it is the return of corn row hairstyles, nail art, and/or door knocker earrings, the urban culture is on prime display. Along with this reemergence of fashion comes the socially controversial conversation of who should actually be credited for creating the trend. In popular culture, often concepts and products that are flashy and flamboyant are coined as “ghetto”—that is, “Until they are not, until they are fashion,” according to Adaya P(owell), former National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) Division I women’s basketball player. Powell (2018), an African American varsity letter athlete, has had firsthand experience expressing her fashion sense and being met with criticism, then seeing her look copied. This happens when societal groups categorized as a “high cultural class” begin wearing or promoting a product as their own, though the concept and creation of the product stemmed from cultural experiences from other cultural groups. This behavior is referred to as “cultural appropriation.” Cultural appropriation is a term used to describe the takeover of creative or artistic work, themes, or practices by one cultural group from another. It is generally used to describe Western appropriations of non-­ Western, more plainly non-White, forms, usually resulting in the exploitation and dominance of the minority cultural group. The term emerged during the last two decades of the twentieth century on the academic landscape as part of the postcolonial critique of Western expansionism. Significant discussion of the concept of cultural colonialism was bought to the forefront by Kenneth Coutts-Smith’s “Some General Observations on the Concept of Cultural Colonialism” (1976), where the focus was on “class appropriation,” such that the dominant class defines what is deemed high culture (Drabble 2007). The root of the problem had been identified earlier in the century, during the Harlem Renaissance, by Black

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American writers concerned with the caricature creation of the African American voice and folk traditions as a result of the success of minstrel shows such as J.C. Harris’s Brer Rabbit stories and vaudeville shows. In the twenty-first century, the term and concept of cultural appropriation would take on a defining role in the popular culture. At the turn of the century, social capital became a determinant of power, and it continues to be a critical factor in distinguishing imitation of culture from exploitative cultural appropriation. While borrowing is a part of the human experience, evident in the engagement and consumption of language, religion, food, fashion, and other cultural elements, accusations of cultural appropriation raise discussion about the nature of culture. Writers, artists, economist, and creatives alike see borrowing from other cultures as inevitable and overall positive. Avins and Quartz (2018) write that “Self-appointed guardians of culture have proclaimed that white girls shouldn’t wear cornrows” and that the outrage and oversensitivity of stars such as Miley Cyrus twerking and Selena Gomez wearing a bindi are alarming because “Getting dressed [at her house] is a daily act of cultural appropriation in which she is not the least bit sorry about it.” While it might be ridiculous to attempt to regulate fashion sense and peoples’ admiration—particularly based on their race and cultural identity—the problem does not lie in the thought that one person or one culture has ownership of “big, gold door knocker” earrings but rather in the connotation that when these earrings were made popular by rap group sensation Salt-N-Pepa in 1996, they were categorized as “ghetto” but by 2000, when they reemerged on the fashion scene, Black label designers, models, and cultural influencers began wearing them with pride, praising and coining them as high fashion. More specifically, they did not pay homage to the original trendsetters. The same has been seen in the emerging trend of athleisure. Flo Jo’s one-legger, her bright colors, and her patterned track performance suits were regularly commented on during her participation in the Olympic Games, sometimes garnering more commentary than the athletic accolades she had earned. This new sense of style and pride in athletic performance while being fashionable was one that was met with both criticism and acclaim. Almost like déjà vu, it would not be until after her death that we would see a resurgence of fashion-forward athletic apparel through the birth of athleisure.

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Athleisure: Birth or Rebirth? Fitness apparel company Lululemon has been given credit for the recent activewear explosion. The explosion of yoga pants has led the activewear market to see steady growth exceeding 7 percent annually, juxtaposed to the general apparel market only growing 1 percent (Wiebe 2013). The Vanity Fair (VF) corporation, the apparel company that owns Wrangler and Lee jeans, has moved to separate its publicly traded businesses in order to focus on its faster growing activewear clothing lines, which include The North Face and Vans. A part of the acquisitions has been to sell off Vanity Fair Intimates, denim brands Seven for All Mankind and Nautica because, according to VF, denim is “out” and consumer preference is for activewear. The denim division’s sales have fallen, while consumer preference for activewear has increased in recent years (de la Merced 2018). According to a global market review of athleisurewear, this fashion trend is not a fad but rather a change in consumer’s wearing habits—similar to blue denim jeans, the longest running trend in apparel (Newberry and Liu 2018). So what is athleisure, actually? Think leggings, body suits, jogging pants, yoga pants, crop tops, hoodies, and more. Quickly becoming a staple of street fashion in the early 2000s, athleisurewear has become a woman’s fashion basic (Grey 2017). According to Harsh Agarwal, Vice President of Product Development for Riot, a retail venture of Suditi Industries Ltd, “Athleisure is the act of adding function to fashion by enhancing garment functionality” (cited in Kazi 2015). Athleisure has morphed the traditional spandex, leggings, and sweatpants into sophisticated looks while using fabrics including jersey, cotton, lace, netting, and spandex with a tailored spin and offering consumers a comfortable and flexible yet stylish option for performance fitness wear and everyday street wear—much like Flo Jo did when she made her debut in the Olympic trials. Flo Jo’s track suits started out as what appeared to be traditional jogging and performance suits until she unzipped or unbuttoned parts of it, allowing it to morph into a performance track suit, tailor-made to her body, offering for a peek-a-boo fashion appeal with precision-made

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cutouts made from spandex with netting and applique—all while showing off her athletic physique. It was at that moment that the public would begin to see a transformation of the idea of what sportswomen apparel could look like. Whether it was through offering more feminine cuts of sportswoman uniforms to having embellishments such as rhinestones, glitter, and lace, the transformation of track and gymnast uniforms, along with the concept of athletic dominance and beauty, became mutually inclusive. This functionality led brands in the performance wear industry to see interest in the styles that athletes were wearing to, from, and during competition. In an effort to engage consumers and to elevate product offerings for women in sport, brands began to reflect the same styles on the shelves for consumers that athletes were wearing in practice and competition. This is something to be celebrated, but the problem lies in who is being celebrated. The industry coined Chip Wilson’s sports-apparel vision, Lululemon, as the leader of the athleisure class. Wilson and wife Shannon, along with a designer they hired, became billionaires by creating athletic apparel as a result of the decline of jeans and rise of spandex. Shannon Wilson is quoted as saying: “It’s funny. I walk down the street, and I see women in their tights and their running shoes and a jacket, and I think. We started that!” (cited in Widdicombe 2017). Brands such as Nike, Tory Burch, Fabletics among many others have followed suit, creating similar products and crediting Lululemon for the concept and creation of fashionable athletic apparel for women. Meanwhile, Flo Jo’s influence is completely left out of mainstream conversation. While Lululemon and others deserve credit for the coining of the term athleisure, it is important that acknowledgement of all the innovators of the concept be included in the conversation in order to not be perpetrators of cultural appropriation. It is not the immolation or reproduction of the style but rather the fact that the originator—in this case Flo Jo—is not acknowledged and ultimately erased from the credits. Moreover, when economic gains are a result of said appropriation, this is the pop cultural equivalent of attacking an artist’s industry and preverbal street credibility.

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 ace, Gender, and Class: Attack R on the Sportswoman During the 2018 United States Tennis Open, sports apparel of female athletes took center court when French player Alize Cornet received a penalty for temporarily removing her shirt on the court during the extreme New York summer heat and subsequently flashing her sports bra. Her male counterparts were allowed to be bare chested during breaks to cool off in the same conditions, demonstrating the gendered double standard that exists in terms of sports apparel. During this year’s French Open, Serena Williams wore a custom-made Black catsuit, which resulted in the tournament officials’ banning it for the future because it “Didn’t respect the game and the place” (cited in Macur 2018). This is not the first time Serena Williams had been criticized for her apparel. She is consistently critiqued about her hair, her body type, and her clothing, while her sporting counterparts, male or female, are not subjected to the same scrutiny. The response to Serena was significantly different in 2002, when she initially wore a catsuit; then she was not praised as an example of femininity but rather was demeaned and body-shamed, her outfit being described as clinging, risqué, and leaving little to the imagination (Schultz 2005). This demonstrates the double standard that exists in the critique of sportswoman apparel based on race. The Washington Post fashion critic Robin Givhan (2002) went as far as to call the catsuit trashy and described Serena as “a working girl of a different sort.” These are examples of how the acknowledgement of a trendsetter versus calling out culturally appropriated looks and stereotyping in the realm of sportswoman apparel is based on the intersection of race, gender, and class. Serena was verbally attacked not because she wore a catsuit but rather because her body did not meet an acceptable standard of femininity. Further, the concept of using subjectively harsh language to demean women after culturally appropriating fashion apparel is another way of stereotyping and attacking sportswomen. Tennis counterpart Anna Kournikova has said, “I hate my muscles, I’m not Venus Williams. I’m not Serena Williams. I’m feminine. I don’t want to look like they do. I’m

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not masculine like they are” (cited in Nittle 2018); comments like this further the practice of attacking Black sportswomen, immolating their fashion and hairstyles. The same syndrome can be seen in gymnastics. During 2012 London, Gabby Douglas was shamed for her “nappy” hair rather than being praised for becoming the first Black American woman to win gymnastics’ most prestigious title: the Olympic individual all-around champion. At a mere 16 years old, this young sportswoman learned how race, gender, and class can impact sportswomen. Originally described as a “bundle of flash and grace in a metallic leotard” (Abad-Santos 2016), Douglas’s hair became the subject of ridicule for not being straight enough, and she was also critiqued for not appearing “happy enough” when rooting for her teammates. She was later told that she was not a good American for not placing her hand over her heart during the national anthem during 2016 Rio. While her metallic leotard, light as a feather moves, and floor choreography bought her acclaim as America’s gymnastic sweetheart, it did not take long for them to be negated, erasing her bright smile and contributions to the sport. Replacing compliments came personal attacks on her legacy, giving way for other gymnasts to emerge with the same fashion and athletic panache. Gabby’s experiences are like many other sportswomen, especially those of color, who fit the pattern of stereotypical and undervalued treatment of Black female athletes (Abad-Santos 2016). Much like Serena Williams and Gabby Douglas, Flo Jo was scrutinized for her fashion sense and long finger nails and was even accused of taking performance enhancements, all while her contributions to the culture and the sport were being robbed. More specifically, following 1988 Seoul, her earning potential was estimated to exceed $1 million a year from endorsements and speaking engagements. Her record-setting performances in the Olympics, coupled with advertisers’ enthusiasm about her image, made Flo Jo attractive for corporate representation. Evangeline M. Hayes, director of talent at J. Walther Thompson, said: “She’s great looking, wears colorful costumes and is a personality,” noting that her flamboyant one-legged running suits and her long fingernails contributed to an image of originality and freshness. Daisy Sinclair, Vice President and Head of Casting at the Ogilvy Group, referred to Flo Jo as “A character of sorts” (cited in Wallace 2018).

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Flo Jo’s athletic ability, originality, and fresh perspective were deduced to “costumes” of a “character” in the late 1980s, where advertisers quickly turned out products to capitalize on her sudden popularity at a time where other Olympic athletes did not see the same financial results (ibid.). While she was able to see financial gains from her own trendsetting style, corporate advertisers led the race in not only commodifying her image but also in deducing her credibility as a true fashion icon who could be credited for contributing to what would be one of the most competitive products in the apparel industry by categorizing her clothing and presence as a costumed character. What was cast as “flamboyant” and a “costume” then has now been coined athleisure, recorded as a fashion trend that has changed the trajectory of the apparel market. These serve as continued examples of how cultural appropriation serves as another method to marginalize the sportswoman, particularly those of color. It was flamboyant, until it was not, until it is fashion.

Reclaiming the Race While Lululemon has been credited with the beginning of the athleisure trend some 15 years ago, Flo Jo changed the trajectory of the fashion industry at the Olympic starting blocks in the 1980s. She set the tone of what true athletic performance and sportswoman apparel could and should look like for fans, consumers, and corporate brands. While there has been an attempt, unintended or not, to erase portions of her legacy from the athleisure and sportswoman apparel discussion, it is time to reclaim that race. We are at the beginning of the stretch in seeing Flo Jo’s comeback by her legacy being acknowledged. During the 1990 to 1997 professional basketball season, the Indiana Pacers wore uniquely designed uniforms conceptualized and designed by her, affectionately recalled as the Flo-Jo jersey. The uniforms were reintroduced for the 2015 Hardwood Classic Night in April during the 2014–2015 season (Montieth 2017). Leading the charge in ensuring that her legacy and contributions to the sporting world and fashion industry are kept alive, her only daughter, Mary Joyner, has been a singer and America’s Got Talent contestant. Mary participated

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in the event, opening the Pacer’s 2015 Hardwood Classic game with the singing of the national anthem. Paying homage to her mother, calling her multitalented, she stated: “For me to be singing the national anthem at a Pacers game while the team wears those uniforms, it’s such an honor … It’s great because her work lives on” (cited in Hotchkiss 2015). Meanwhile, the Los Angeles community has done its part to keep her legacy alive: 102nd Street elementary was renamed Florence Griffith Joyner Elementary in January of 2000. The school serves as a living monument to Joyner, who attended the school as a child. Sandra Wheeler, a local teacher since 1963, said of the name change: “They say you are what you are named, and now it’s named after someone the students can be proud of and inspired by.” Before her death, Flo Jo was often speaking to students at local schools and promoting literacy. Many students at the school knew her and supported the name change, referring to Flo Jo as “A nice and intelligent person that was like a sister to them” (Briggs 2000). The school naming ceremony was filled with tributes, student songs, and speeches with approximately 1000 people participating in the remembrance celebration. This may be seen as a small victory after a slow start, but Flo Jo’s tenacity and fortitude remind us that she was always swift and steady. The biggest nod to reclaiming the race and ensuring that her legacy is honored comes from popular culture icon Beyoncé, who, for Halloween 2018, dressed as Flo Jo—paying homage to her in an Instagram (Ramaswamy 2018) post to over 120 million followers. In a reply post on November 1, 2018, Flo Jo’s daughter Mary thanked Beyoncé for her tribute, writing: “Thank you for giving my mom the recognition, paying the homage and keeping my mother’s Memory Alive.” This led to a resurgence of interest in the Flo Jo legacy. Barbie-like dolls produced in the 1990s are reappearing for sale on Amazon and eBay, while sites such as Pinterest feature posts where people are rallying to bring Flo Jo’s fashionable track suits back into the mainstream. But the general public and small support group of fans are not the only ones taking notice: sportswomen and pop cultural icons alike are following in Flo Jo’s footsteps. Serena Williams debuted her own line of performance designs with Nike during the 50th US Open tournament in addition to her existing line Supreme, which includes athleisure apparel

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featured on the Home Shopping Network (Bobila 2018). Beyoncé’s IVY PARK features athleisure apparel that is sold in Nordstrom. The next generation of sportswomen serve as reminders of the impact of Flo Jo’s legacy in sport. Collegiate track all-star Sha’Carri Richardson, a freshman at Louisiana State University (LSU), set the collegiate world record in the 100-meter dash at the 2019 NCAA track and field championship on June 8, 2019. Richardson has been compared to Flo Jo for her speed and criticized for her ever-changing hairstyles, decorative acrylic nails, and overall fashion sense. Often paying homage to Flo Jo on social media, Richardson posted photos of Flo Jo on June 11, 2019, with the statement: “Y’all love talking about my hair & my nails like the greatest woman to ever enter the game didn’t run in style”. The next day, Richardson announced via Instagram that she would go pro. With a Nike endorsement in hand, sportswomen like Richardson have taken the baton and will finish Flo Jo’s race. With the recent support and acknowledgement of Flo Jo’s track fashion, there is no doubt that the legacy of Florence “Flo Jo” Griffith Joyner is on the right track to breaking the record of cultural appropriation of the sportswoman.

References Abad-Santos, A. (2016, August 15). Gabby Douglas’s Olympics experience fits the pattern of how we treat Black female athletes. Vox.com. Retrieved from https://www.vox.com/2016/8/15/12476322/gabby-douglas-rioolympics-racism Avins, J., & Quartz. (2018, July 15). The dos and don’ts of cultural appropriation. The Atlantic. Bobila, M. (2018, August 13). Virgil Abloh designs Nike ‘Queen Collection’ for Serena Williams. Fashionista.com. Retrieved from https://fashionista. com/2018/08/nike-virgil-abloh-serena-williams-queen-collection Briggs, J.  E. (2000, January 15). School renamed for late track star Griffith Joyner. Los Angeles Times. De La Merced, M. J. (2018, August 13). VF Corporation plans to spin out its denim brands. The New York Times.

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Drabble, M. (2007). Cultural appropriation. In M.  Drabble, J.  Stringer, & D. Hahn (Eds.), The concise Oxford companion to English literature. Oxford University Press. Givhan, R. (2002, August 30). A tight squeeze at the U.S.  Open. The Washington Post. Grey, E. P. (2017, May 5). Style meets comfort in athleisure wear. Pressreader.com. Hotchkiss, W. (2015, March 29). National anthem has special meaning to Mary Joyner, Flo-Jo’s daughter. NBA.com. Retrieved from https://www.nba.com/ pacers/news/national-anthem-has-special-meaning-mary-joyner-flojos-daughter Kazi, Z. S. (2015, August 13). Sports: Fashionably sporty welcoming athleisure. Business of Fashion. LSU’s Richardson breaks collegiate 100m record—ESPN Video. (2019, June 8). Retrieved July 4, 2019, from https://www.espn.com/video/clip/_/ id/26930672 Macur, J. (2018, September 10). Serena Williams spotlights tennis inequities, but in the best way? The New York Times. Mary Joyner on Instagram. (2018, November 1). Retrieved November 15, 2018, from https://www.instagram.com/p/BppK9PMHee5/ Montieth, M. (2017, January 18). The story behind the Flo-Jo’s. Retrieved November 24, 2018, from https://www.nba.com/pacers/news/ story-behind-flo-jos Newberry, M., & Liu, C. (2018, January 10). Global 2017 Market review of athleisurewear: A fad or here to stay? Research and markets. Businesswire.com. Nittle, N. (2018, August 28). The Serena Williams catsuit ban shows that tennis can’t get past its elitist roots. Vox.com. Pasricha, A., Sessma, A., Jr., & Sweeney, N. (2018). Self-objectification among women athletes and athletic apparel selection. Current Trends in Fashion Technology & Textile Engineering, 3(1), 11–18. https://doi.org/10.19080/ ctftte.2018.03.555603. Pieper, L. (2015, April 20). Star-spangled fingernails: Florence Griffith-Joyner and the mediation of black femininity. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from https://ussporthistory.com/2015/04/20/star-spangled-fingernails-florencegriffith-joyner-and-the-mediation-of-black-femininity/ Powell interview on fashion and female athletes [Personal interview]. (2018, June 8). Ramaswamy, C. (2018, August 27). What the ban on Serena Williams’ catsuit says about the sexualising of black women’s bodies. The Guardian.

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Schultz, J. (2005). Reading the catsuit: Serena Williams and the production of blackness at the 2002 U.S.  Open. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 29(3), 338–357. Schwartz, K. (2003, November 19). FloJo sets 100 record at 1988 Olympic Trials. Retrieved July 4, 2019, from http://www.espn.com/classic/s/add_ griffith_joyner_florence.html Sha’Carri Richardson on Instagram. (2019, June 11). Retrieved July 4, 2019 from https://www.instagram.com/p/BykvLUUnWA6/?utm_source=ig_embed Sha’Carri Richardson on Instagram. (2019, June 12). Retrieved July 4, 2019, from https://www.instagram.com/p/Byn-Gf5HaS0/ Stopyra, D. (2018, April 25). Professional athletes who design their own clothes. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from https://www.bustle.com/ articles/62164-when-sport-and-fashion-collide-9-female-professional-athletes-who-design-their-own-clothes Wallace, A. C. (2018, September 03). Flo Jo one of few Seoul stars to cash in. The Chicago Tribune. Widdicombe, L. (2017, June 19). The athleisure class. The New Yorker. Wiebe, J. (2013, June 11). Psychology of Lululemon: How fashion affects fitness. The Atlantic.

Chapter 9: Buying What’s for Sale?: Running, Flirting, and Fashion at the Skirt Chaser 5k Race Series Claire M. Williams

Ready, Set, Go On a training run in December 2003, elite level triathlete Nicole DeBoom caught her reflection in a store window and thought, “I feel like a boy; I look like a boy; I want to feel more feminine” (cited in Active Cities 2006). Searching for a fitness wear alternative, DeBoom decided to start SkirtSports sportswear, “mirroring her ideal that women should never have to sacrifice femininity for performance in their workout clothes” (Riedner 2009). Varying in color, length, style, and “what’s underneath” (e.g., spankies, shorties, capris), SkirtSports’ signature item is a skirt made for running. In addition to SkirtSports, specialty sportswear companies such as Runningskirts.com and lifestyle companies such as Lululemon

C. M. Williams (*) Department of Kinesiology, Saint Mary’s College of California, Moraga, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_10

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manufacture their own variety of running skirts. Additionally, Runner’s World (Gorin 2005; Shea 2011; O’Sullivan 2017), The New York Times (Lee 2006), and Shape (Borsari 2018) have featured fitness skirts in their pages documenting their popularity, and Outside magazine chose SkirtSports’ Gym Girl Ultra as the top women’s specific running bottom for their coveted summer 2010 buyer’s guide (Donovan 2010). From 2007 to 2014, one of SkirtSports’ marketing strategies was to promote its products through a series of innovative and fun road races, namely, the Skirt Chaser event series, which DeBoom (2009a) asserts she created with three ideas in mind: running, flirting, and fashion. While Skirt Chaser events were clearly an innovative brand extension, they were problematic in their reinforcement of cultural norms with regard to male athletic superiority, heteronormativity, and appeal to postfeminist sensibilities. Furthermore, although Skirt Chaser participants literally bought into much of these cultural norms through their race entry fees, they simultaneously negotiated these messages in ways that made sense to their own social worlds. In October 2007, SkirtSports organized the first such event: a Convert to Skirt 5k in Boulder, Colorado (Ritter 2007). This women’s-only event was part of a larger marketing effort to persuade women to discard their shorts in favor of running skirts. Although it was largely successful, SkirtSports renamed and reconfigured the race to include men because, as DeBoom (2009a) explained, “Women-only events, which are very fun [are also] a little bit boring.” Subsequent promotional activities—namely, the Skirt Chaser 5k race series, were geared toward both men and women. After an initial Skirt Chaser event in Austin, Texas, that November, it launched a full Skirt Chaser race series in multiple cities across the US. They continued to feature the uniquely configured 5k road race and expanded to include postrace mixed-gender social activities. The race itself featured women wearing SkirtSports running skirts first in a “Catch Me” wave, followed three minutes later by men in a “Skirt Chaser” wave, and the first person to cross the finish line, male or female, was declared the winner. Women seeking to be “caught” during the race for the purpose of seeking a heterosexual date donned a Skirt Chaser sticker—the silhouette of a woman with a running skirt and shoes with laces, shoulder-­ length hair, hip popped out to the side, hands on her head, and a low

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profile bust (in a previous version of the sticker, the figure’s skirt was shorter, she wore high heels, her hair was shorter, and her bust was larger). After the race, celebratory events included a block party, awards presentation, fashion show, live music, and dating games. While SkirtSports had its own business-related goals, such as building brand equity, increasing customer loyalty, enhancing emotional attachment, and, in the end, generating revenue through increased sales (Apostolopoulou 2002), success was dependent upon the experiences of each participant. For example, reviews of the race held in a suburb of Chicago in 2009 ranged from enthusiasm to enjoying the premise but not its execution, to this sentiment: “Let’s face it, it’s an over-priced marketing event with a fun run tossed in. Ladies … Do not waste your money on their overpriced, poorly constructed, cheap shiny fabric skirts.” Thus, Skirt Chaser organizers had control over the organization, implementation, and marketing of their event, but they had less control over how participants defined its success and actually experienced, perceived, or interpreted them (Mullin et al. 2014). In order to analyze the nuanced understandings and manifestations of gender and sexuality throughout this project, this researcher used multisited ethnography as “giving voice to the differential perspectives of women as they negotiate this cultural landscape forms the basis of the contributions that the more qualitative approach of anthropological inquiry brings to the study of women in sport” (Bolin and Granskog 2003, p.  250). Furthermore, a feminist, reflexive ethnography allows individuals to define their own gender identity and experience while at the same time providing the ethnographer the space to put these experiences in conversation with the sociohistorical and cultural context of women’s participation in sport. Specifically, this researcher analyzed how Skirt Chaser events sold running, flirting, and fashion to participants and to what degree participants bought into each or, rather, how participants (re)interpreted the messages conveyed at Skirt Chaser events. Central to this research was the question of how and to what degree gender and sexuality were manifested and perpetuated through the race series. The analysis, then, sits at the nexus between sports as business, the revenue-­ related goals of SkirtSports, and sports as culture, or the sociocultural (re) interpretations of these goals.

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Methodology Multisited ethnography allowed this researcher to follow “chains, paths, threads, conjunctions, or juxtapositions of locations” (Marcus 1995, p. 105) in order to define the field of inquiry and to “chase skirts” where and when necessary in order to answer questions as they arose in the field. In 2009, this included attendance at three of the six Skirt Chaser events: Bloomingdale, Illinois, a Chicago suburb (June), Savannah, Georgia (October), and San Francisco, California (November). At each event, this researcher was a race volunteer (e.g., prerace packet pickup, postrace cleanup), interviewed race participants, recorded race events (e.g., fashion show), and conducted observations throughout. In Savannah, participation also included racing, in a skirt, and almost placing. Research included semi-structured interviews and more informal conversations with key SkirtSports employees (e.g., DeBoom and the Marking Manager) at the Skirt Chaser events and in follow-up phone calls, as well as with employees of Red Rock, the company that produced the events. Other cites central to this research included electronically based questionnaires completed by members of the Skirt Entourage (SkirtSports’ fan group), the SkirtSports and Skirt Chaser websites, the Facebook company pages for each, and, finally, a media and discourse analysis of SkirtSports’ and Skirt Chaser’s marketing materials as well as web-based race reviews. Also, John Amis (2005, p. 104) informs this analysis: “The social world cannot be taken as a literal world but should instead be viewed as one that is individually constructed and interpreted … we make sense of the world around us based on our individual values and experiences, and thus we all interpret events in our lives, even shared events, differently.”

 unning: Fun, Innovative, and “Skirts R Start First” First and foremost, Skirt Chaser events were advertised as fun and innovative fitness events, with DeBoom (2009a) asserting: “Without fun in our fitness we are much less likely to do it.” Road races, especially at the

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5k distance, are ubiquitous and usually only vary by the charity they benefit. In an effort at product differentiation, various races have become infamous for their creative themes, such as the Flying Pig marathon weekend, which has created a unique brand for itself through creative use of Cincinnati’s historical connection to swine (Olberding and Jisha 2005). In reconfiguring the event from its women-only Convert to Skirt origins, DeBoom modeled the new event after the Life Time Fitness Triathlon, which pit women against men in a “Battle of the Sexes” format and granted a sizable monetary reward to the winner. Participants seemed to agree that Skirt Chaser events were fun and innovative. One participant exclaimed in an online review of the race: “I think it’s a very innovative race and I think it’s very playful and competitive. It pokes fun at 1950s traditions of men and women. I love it!” Another runner wrote in his review of the 2009 Chicago race that “The Skirt Chaser is a great race and lots of fun. You can run in a standard 5K road race anywhere, anytime, but you can only ‘chase’ the ‘skirts’ in the Skirt Chaser.” A number of participants chose to participate because they were new exercisers and/or road racers, and the theme helped create a nonintimidating and comfortable environment for beginners. Recognizing its friendliness to women and first timers, Self (MacMillan 2013) listed Skirt Chaser events among the top in the country in this category. For others, however, the theme had little to do with their involvement in the event; rather, it was simply the next road race in the area. Still others were motivated to participate because of the charity it benefited—in this instance Marklund, which provides services for children with developmental disabilities. Overall, though, Skirt Chaser events accomplished the goal of creating a fun and innovative fitness event for its participants and, to their credit, created an environment in which many individuals felt comfortable trying out their newly developed athleticism. The central premise of the three-minute head start given to women and the encouragement given to men to catch them was clearly unique (Gill 2007). DeBoom (2009a) explained to race participants in Savannah that it was an empowering experience because women do not otherwise start first or lead in road races. While physiological differences between men and women support this assertion (Lamb 1978), Symons and

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Hemphill (2006, p. 10) suggest a more complete explanation: “Modern sport was developed and institutionalized to promote manly aggression, heroism and military readiness.” Stereotypically male sports such as football, baseball, and ice hockey become avenues through which men can assert and reinforce their masculinity (Messner 2002). By playing sports that emphasize the masculine-affiliated characteristics of strength, power, and speed, men’s athletic superiority has become normalized. Because sport for men has been a primary location through which to reinforce heterosexuality and hegemonic masculinity, sport for women has been marginalized, or completely disallowed, as female athletes challenge this core social purpose. For example, at the turn of the twentieth century, medical discourse provided justification for limiting women’s participation in sports and physical activity (Vertinsky 1989). As women eventually overcame this barrier, female athletes exhibiting power, strength, and speed through athletic competition were labeled as “mannish lesbians” (Griffin 1998, p.  34) in order to dissuade participation. Media discourse has also played a role in perpetuating societal discomfort and disapproval of female athletes, including such recurring themes as underrepresentation, trivialization of accomplishments, objectification (often emphasizing sex appeal), homophobia, women’s sport participation as tragic, and women athletes as unnatural (Birrell and Theberge 1994; Duncan and Hasbrook 1988). Furthermore, men’s sports and male athletes are considered the standard bearers of athletic accomplishment, reflected when the qualifier “women” is added before such events as the World Cup; men’s events need no such adjective as each event is assumed to be male unless otherwise stated. In effect, this combination of factors, including Skirt Chaser races, naturalizes male athletic superiority and reinforces female athletic inferiority. Instead, alternative ways to account for athletic aptitude include divisions based on age, height, weight, past performance, or altitude (Chase 2008; McDowell 2010). Such divisions attempt to make road races more inclusive of varying body types, without relying solely on the social construction of sex or gender. Furthermore, these “categories are usually defended on the grounds that closer competition amongst relatively evenly matched individuals or teams (the ‘level’ playing field) will be more challenging and fair, will produce better performances and

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satisfaction, and validate ‘personal bests’ and winning” (Symons and Hemphill 2006, pp. 109–110). Similarly, Clark-Flory (2008) suggested that Skirt Chaser races were entirely too routine; instead, a queer reading of “edgy” and “innovative” would “be putting men in skirts and having women chase after them.” Lisa Baumert, winner of the Chicago race in 2009, took advantage of the presumed male athletic superiority inherent to Skirt Chaser races. Although she had no interest in the premise of the race (she sported a singlet and spandex shorts), she was interested in the $500 awarded to its winner. In a 2009 interview, she told me that, based on average 5k racing times for women and men, she knew that a three-minute head start worked in her favor. DeBoom, too, calculated average 5k finishing times for women and men before selecting the lead time, admitting that three minutes favors women, which she prefers. Here, then, Baumert used the fallacy of male athletic superiority to her advantage, circumventing the premise of the race in the process, while DeBoom’s choice of three minutes exaggerates the difference in athletic aptitude between women and men. This overemphasis not only normalizes male athletic superiority but also is tantamount to “affirmative action” for women participants, which at least a couple of male participants shared with me that they thought unfair. In addition to presumed male athletic superiority, Skirt Chaser events conjured violent images of men chasing women. For example, a SkirtSports-originated electronic mailing list message promoting an upcoming event included the following: “Combining fitness and entertainment all-in-one, come experience this unique event that is redefining Tough Love” (Grossi 2009a). The blogger for Draft Magazine’s Beer Runner series (Cigelske 2009) wrote: “This Saturday you can officially chase skirts, watch an ‘all the way down to the skivvies’ show and drink beer. Sound like your typical weekend? Well, this time you can actually get rewarded for it, instead of potentially going to jail.” Finally, in response to an online review of the 2009 San Francisco event, one participant commented, potentially sarcastically: “This is awesome to hear! I am starting a new event at the finish line next year for the top male and female finishers to mount one another and procreate.” Here, the success of the event’s fun and innovative theme is tempered by images related to

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skirt chasing, animalistic men racing after, and catching their prey: innocent skirt wearing women. Although a race sticker worn by a woman indicates she is single, Skirt Chasers remain in a position of dominance as they decide who to catch and who to pass. DeBoom shared with me that the event received criticism due to these connotations and that she subsequently toned down some advertising language to avoid phrases such as “tough love.” Nonetheless, for women and men concerned with issues related to violence against women, particularly in light of the #MeToo Movement, Skirt Chaser races were anything but fun and innovative.

Flirting: Catching a Future Spouse The second premise around which Skirt Chaser events were organized was flirting, which was incorporated into the race itself, as well as the postrace block party. Flirting, then, was both implicitly and explicitly stated as heterosexual. Because Skirt Chasers are exclusively men and Skirts are exclusively women, there was little room to misinterpret the event’s heterosexual orientation: desire and agency singularly flowed from athletically superior men to athletically inferior women who make “the world a more beautiful place” (DeBoom 2009a) by wearing skirts. In order to facilitate flirting, the event emcee in San Francisco encouraged participants to “Grab your [Skirt Chaser] stickers so everyone knows who is single and who is looking to mingle” (Salim 2009). Prior to the start of the race, though, DeBoom (2009b) gave women some advice on how to use the race as an opportunity to find a future spouse: “There is a little out and back a half mile from the finish so you should have time to check out the scenery, if you know what I mean, and decide how quickly or slowly you want to run it in … it could be your ticket to a life-long love affair!” Although DeBoom said that she would not be opposed to participants who might transgress the intended arrangement of men chasing skirted women, this was not done in any appreciable way. For instance, each race seems to have attracted at least one or two skirted men, but their skirts were worn in jest rather than protest (e.g., Barber 2009). Other examples of transgression could have featured men chasing men, women chasing women, or, as previously mentioned, women chasing (skirted) men.

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DeBoom’s willingness to entertain participants who decided to challenge her race premise, though, would likely be tested if men lined up with women ready to be chased, as this would call into question the competitive advantage she sought to lessen, as well as the traditional courting arrangement the event promoted. At the postrace block party, running quickly became secondary to the fashion show, dating games, live music, and, of course, beer and wine. Skirt Chaser participants were encouraged to redeem the two “free” beverage tickets they received as part of their race entry, and when the block party seemed to be fading prematurely at the Chicago event in 2009, employees passed out extra tickets in an effort to extend the life of the festivities. Although beer (and wine) were logical additions to a block-­ party-­style event, Skirt Chaser organizers presented alcohol as “liquid courage” (Grossi 2009b) to facilitate hetero-socialization between participants. During the dating game portion of the event, which included the newlywed game and bachelor auctions, heterosexuality was further reinforced as the participant couples and auction were exclusively male-­ female. Even in the notoriously liberal city of San Francisco, the dating service sponsor of the bachelor auction solely matched women with men. The question, then, is how much and in what ways did event participants subscribe to the premise that Skirt Chaser races were a place for flirting and for meeting a future, heterosexual spouse? Participants offered varying reasons for attending events, some in line with the event premise, but the vast majority most did not. As previously noted, winner Lisa Baumert was solely interested in the cash prize, other participants simply because it was the next road race in their area or was hospitable to beginners. Furthermore, a group of three women at the Chicago event explained to me that they participated because they were fans of SkirtSports products, not because they were interested in finding a date or future spouse. Although marketing materials clearly targeted singles, events attracted a significant number of heterosexual couples who were targeted as well, if to a lesser degree, as participant couples seemingly have already been “caught” and thus have no real investment in the dating premise other than to have fun. A noteworthy example of resistance to the Skirt Chaser premise, including the flirting component, occurred at the 2009 San Francisco event: in order to fulfill their philanthropic mission, as well as to more

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easily secure various event-related permits, Skirt Chaser organizers attempted to partner with local charities in each event city. This presented a challenge because, after a successful partnership in Savannah, Georgia, SkirtSports contacted Girls on the Run of San Francisco (whose organization focuses on improving the overall well-being of girls), hoping for a similarly beneficial partnership. Yet they turned them down, citing concern that alcohol and skirt chasing were incongruent messages with their organization. Two other women-affiliated charities also turned down their request, so SkirtSports then contacted Chances for Children-­ Arizona, a Tempe-based charity with whom they had previously worked, and proposed a partnership, and they agreed. From a business perspective, participation motivation mattered little so long as entry fees were paid, although rejection from potential charity partners and alienation of potential participants should have posed significant concerns. One such business-related concern is that alienation diminishes the size and scope of SkirtSports’ potential market. From a sociocultural perspective, widespread disregard of the hetero-flirting theme suggests participant ambivalence rather than an active resistance to it. Thus, while some participants may not attend the race to flirt or find a spouse, their presence and paid entry fees implicitly suggested that they supported its heteronormative premise. In so doing, gay and lesbian participants, or potential participants, are ignored and erased from the sporting landscape, further perpetuating the heteronormative status quo. Also, exclusion of queer participants promotes a segregated sporting landscape: One for same-sex and another for opposite-sex participants. While gay and/or lesbian sports leagues exist in many major cities, and the Gay Games are held quadrennially, a separatist model of sport, including Skirt Chaser races, problematically promotes segregated sporting spaces and, in turn, perpetuate inequality and presumed inferiority.

Fashion: Skirt Revolution The third premise around which Skirt Chaser events were organized was fashion—namely, the running skirts themselves, and the women who wore them. As the self-proclaimed inventor of running skirts, SkirtSports

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created its own product category within the sportswear industry (Active Cities 2006). In so doing, their goal had been, and continues to be, to convert women from plain, old, and unfashionable shorts to “fun, casual, sexy, comfortable,” and fashionable skirts (DeBoom 2009b). Accordingly, as a brand extension, Skirt Chaser events were ultimately designed to facilitate this conversion process in two ways: first, with event registration, women received an exclusive race series running skirt, and second, a postrace fashion show featured a variety of SkirtSports apparel. DeBoom’s appeal to women who want to “push the limit with fashionable performance wear” (SkirtSports 2010, p. 2) went beyond the sportswear itself; rather, her “Skirt Revolution” (Griffiths 2007) was also an “attitude and emotional trend” (cited in Shea 2008, p.  74) in which women disregard their shorts in favor of SkirtSports brand skirts, embody its branded image, and “make the world a more beautiful place.” One strategy DeBoom employed to start this revolution was the Skirt Entourage, a group of approximately 15 women who voluntarily supported SkirtSports in various capacities, including helping with Skirt Chaser events. The Skirt Entourage was a brand community, which Muniz and O’Guinn (2001, p.  412) describe as a “specialized, non-­ geographically bound community, based on a structured set of social relationships among admirers of a brand.” Additionally, “Brand communities are participants in the brand’s larger social construction and play a vital role in the brand’s ultimate legacy” (ibid.). In essence, the Entourage was a group of super fans who were enamored with the company and acted as grassroots marketers because of the community and sense of belonging it provided. In exchange for discounted clothing, not cash, Entourage members were expected to promote the brand when asked about it and complete assignments, such as working at race expo booths or Skirt Chaser events as needed. In the words of one Entourage member, their responsibility was to “race in Skirt, talk about Skirt, and get other women involved with Skirt.” This attitude and emotional trend, signified through the “Skirt Symbol,” suggested “fun in fitness, power through self-­ confidence, or even emotional connections with other Skirt Sistas” (Griffiths 2007). While SkirtSports directly benefited from the Entourage’s dedication to the brand and its image, participation in the group was a two-way

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relationship for many of its members. For example, in addition to getting “great product,” as one participant phrased it, one of the primary benefits was a connection to a network of women who loved endurance sports. An Entourage member from New Mexico explained: “I benefit a lot from the forum with the other women. We share what’s going on in our daily lives [and] our race[s] … It’s nice to have a group of women that listen, care, and cheer me on. I love my husband, but women are much better about supporting each other’s emotional needs.” Similarly, another Entourage member from Nevada wrote, “I feel that being part of the Entourage allows me to meet incredible woman [sic], across the country and challenge their feelings about traditional ideologies when it comes to our bodies and ‘displaying them.’” Devasagayman and Buff (2008) describe brand communities as including three components, all of which were built into an Entourage member’s experience and were engineered to promote consumption of its products: spatial (i.e., participation in geographically bound events such as Skirt Chaser races), temporal (i.e., participation through an electronic mailing list), and exchange (i.e., visiting a local retail store to purchase SkirtSports products). Although the SkirtSports-Skirt Entourage relationship was seemingly mutually beneficial, the group was premised on postfeminism, which encourages empowerment through consumption and “spaces that work to homogenize, generate conformity, and mark Others, while discourage questioning” (Cole and Hribar 1995, p. 356). It is this lack of questioning that is particularly problematic. Similar to other Entourage members, a participant from New Mexico explained that she loved the connection with other women and that “she [Nicole DeBoom] recognizes our need to feel good about ourselves and her products go a long way toward boosting our self-esteem.” Here, self-esteem was premised on the ability to purchase a fashionable running skirt rather than on the intrinsic satisfaction of exercise and physical activity. A member from Minnesota explained that she wore a skirt because no one needed to see her “cottage cheese” in spandex. Rather than questioning the priorities and expectations of a society that encourages women to cover up their athletic, if imperfect, bodies, she instead spoke with her dollars by purchasing a fitness skirt or participating in a Skirt Chaser event. Thus, by capitalizing on consumers’ material desires for its brand (Muniz and O’Guinn 2001)

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at a minimal cost, SkirtSports was able to increase its sales. For their part, Entourage members connected to a community that premised on the company’s message that exercise and the athletic body were inherently unfeminine and in need of a fashionable and feminine way to rectify this situation, without questioning the larger societal implications of this assertion. Skirt Chaser events featured a postrace fashion show highlighting various SkirtSports products in an effort to increase interest in and exposure to their products. In San Francisco, five female race participants, representing a variety of ages and body sizes, took the stage with the crowd’s attention and Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back blaring in the background. DeBoom narrated as each woman donned SkirtSports apparel, ranging from the Sexy Back Tank (named after the song) to the Happy Hour Skirt to the Wonder Girl Dress. In an effort to keep the crowd entertained, her narration included provocative descriptions of both the clothes and the models. She described the Wonder Girl Running Tee as follows: “This tee has a little bit of bunching up at the neck line that makes all busts look good. And Emily, you have a great bust too” (2009c). Describing the Sunless Tee, DeBoom (2009c) said, “This is my favorite rash guard style tee for swimming, biking, running, playing around, modeling in the bedroom, whatever you so desire.” Not only are her descriptions provocative, but they are also markedly heteronormative. As DeBoom (2009a) described it, the Wonder Girl Tank features a “cleavage alley” pocket to hold “[energy] gel, lip gloss, or business cards from any available men” and the Runner’s Dream has nice long sleeves because “our men appreciate our warm hands.” Nicole DeBoom’s narration of the fashion show on occasion crossed the line from fun to edgy to questionable in taste. As a woman in San Francisco modeled the Cruiser Bike Girl cycling skirt, DeBoom (2009c) reported as follows: “It has built in shorties with little grippers to keep [the shorties] in place, and what’s really cool is the chamois inside. Do you want to show us your chamois? Oh, wait a minute. I didn’t know that’s what they called it!” The fashion show advertised that it went all the way down to the “skivvies,” as it did in Savannah. One volunteer model in particular received loud cheers of approval from the crowd when she modeled the Marathon Girl Skirt by flipping it up to show the skirt’s

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spankies, or “running panties,” as DeBoom called them. She also modeled SkirtSports’ Everyday Bra while DeBoom (2009a) provided this commentary: This is for everyday women who might happen to hang out in the A/B club. But the C/D club we love you too. You can make your own decisions about this bra. Hey Lacey, how about you show us some of the art [i.e., tattoo] on your back? What do you got going on? Nice, huh? You know what they say about ladies with tattoos [i.e., lower-back tattoos are pejoratively referred to as ‘tramp stamps’]!

Fashion shows were full of energy, in line with the Skirt Chaser event, providing entertainment to at least some of its spectators and achieving its practical goal of increasing exposure to SkirtSports’ many products. DeBoom’s commentary, however, objectified the women who volunteered their services on SkirtSports’ behalf. Furthermore, while its sportswear included many practical features that active women might appreciate, such as multiple pockets and longer sleeves for warmth, she described these features in such a way that eliminated any chance that the women wearing them would be considered serious athletes or competitors. If “clothes and accessories are expressions of how we feel, how we see ourselves—and how we wish to be treated by others” (Tungate 2005, p. 2), which of the messages conveyed through the Skirt Chaser fashion show do women subscribe? Goldman (1992, p. 133) explains that postfeminist “meanings of choice and individual freedom become wed to images of sexuality in which women apparently choose to be seen as sexual objects because it suits their ‘liberated’ interests.” Here, the liberated interest is empowerment through individualized attention, allowing women to leverage their sex appeal and power to their advantage. Empowerment through consumption, however, has its limitations. Specifically, women deriving empowerment through feminine, sexy, sportswear subscribe to a heteronormative social order in which athletic women remain “lesbian boogeywomen” (Griffin 1998, p. 92) unless they sufficiently feminize their bodies, and objectification is perpetuated as women become defined solely by an article of clothing.

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A significant number of women participated in Skirt Chaser events but did not wear running skirts. For example, in San Francisco, approximately half of the women participants actually raced in a skirt, perhaps suggesting that their motivation for participating had little to do with fashion. Other participants wore their own skirts for racing, including jean skirts, Hawaiian-printed skirts, tutus, grass skirts, and plaid skirts. Still others had a favorable opinion of running skirts, including their fashion, but not the premise of the Skirt Chaser event itself and, presumably, the tone of the fashion show. From a business perspective, Apostolopoulou (2002, p. 206) suggests that “The biggest risk associated with introducing a brand extension is the potential damaging effect that the extension product may have on the perceived quality and goodwill of the organization if the extension proves unsuccessful.” The number of Skirt Chaser events held annually peaked in 2010, with one final event in 2014 and then another in 2017 (this event was organized by a different production company). Perhaps the Skirt Chaser fashion shows and events in general caused a negative brand association, harming instead of helping SkirtSports’ image. Furthermore, the skirt revolution and fashion show were particularly problematic in that they took “the women-centered discourses of empowerment and corporeal liberation pioneered by feminists [and] turn[ed] them into conveniently commodified packages of post-feminist catharsis” (LaFrance 1998, p. 118). While Skirt Chaser races successfully promoted women’s participation in physical activity, this benefit was tempered by the explicit and implicit messages of the fashion show as well as the brand community that supported it.

Conclusions In March 2015, SkirtSports announced the end of the Skirts Chaser race series through email and on their Facebook page, stating: “We’re saying goodbye to our Skirt Chaser 5k race series. It’s been an amazing 7 year run, but it’s time to move on. Let’s take a trip down Skirt Chaser memory lane. Share your Skirt Chaser pics & stories—let’s make it a love affair to remember!” Today, SkirtSports continues to produce skirts made for

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running and, starting in 2015, began organizing one annual running event per year: the Colorado 13er, which includes half marathon, 10k, and 5k distance options. Both men and women participate in the event, start the race at the same time, and receive a technical tee as part of the race entry fee as opposed to a skirt. The Colorado 13er similarly builds SkirtSports’ brand equity, expands its efforts to increase product sales, and encourages long-term patronage through relationship building. It does not, however, attempt to accomplish these goals on the trifold premises of racing, flirting, and fashion. In sum, Skirt Chaser events objectified women and promoted cultural norms that are inconsistent with the trends of the twenty-first century. And, while some participants challenged the dominant premises of the event in small ways, the overarching message of the race remained intact until its conclusion.

References Active Cities—SkirtSports. (2006, May 26). Streaming video. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6D7bFuYe89Y&feature=related Amis, J.  M. (2005). Interviewing for case study research. In D.  L. Andrews, D.  S. Mason, & M.  L. Silk (Eds.), Qualitative methods in sport studies (pp. 104–138). New York, NY: Berg. Apostolopoulou, A. (2002). Brand extensions by U.S. professional sports teams: Motivations and keys to success. Sport Marketing Quarterly, 11(4), 205–214. Barber, C. (2009, May 28). How to run in a running skirt. Serious Running. Retrieved from http://www.seriousrunning.com/blog/womens-running/ how-to-run-in-a-running-skirt/ Birrell, S., & Theberge, N. (1994). Ideological control of women in sport. In D. M. Costa & S. R. Guthrie (Eds.), Women and sport: Interdisciplinary perspectives (pp. 341–361). Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics. Bolin, A., & Granskog, J. (Eds.). (2003). Athletic intruders: Ethnographic research on women, culture, and exercise. Albany: State University of New York Press. Borsari, K. (2018). The cutest trend in workout clothes: Workout skirts. Shape. Retrieved from https://www.shape.com/fitness/clothes/cutest-trendworkout-clothes-workout-skirts Chase, L. F. (2008). Running big: Clydesdale runners and technologies of the body. Sociology of Sport Journal, 25(1), 130–147.

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Cigelske, T. (2009, June 11). Chase Skirts and drink beer this weekend. Retrieved from http://beerrunner.draftmag.com/2009/06/11/chase-skirts-and-drinkbeer-this-weekend Clark-Flory, T. (2008, May 15). Broadsheet: Skirt chasing as sport. Salon. Retrieved from https://www.salon.com/2008/05/15/skirtchaser/ Cole, C. L., & Hribar, A. (1995). Celebrity feminism: Nike Style post-Fordism, transcendence, and consumer power. Sociology of Sport Journal, 12(4), 347–369. DeBoom, N. (2009a, October 31). Savannah Skirt Chaser fashion show. Tape recording. DeBoom, N. (2009b, November 15). San Francisco Skirt Chaser start line. Tape recording. DeBoom, N. (2009c, November 15). San Francisco Skirt Chaser fashion show. Tape recording. Devasagayman, P. R., & Buff, C. L. (2008). A multidimensional conceptualization of brand community: An empirical investigation. Sport Marketing Quarterly, 17(1), 20–29. Donovan, C. (2010, June 1). Outside Magazine names SkirtSports’ gym girl ultra among ‘The Year’s Best Gear.’ Outdoor Industry Association. Retrieved from https://outdoorindustry.org/press-release/outside-magazine-namesskirt-sports-gym-girl-ultra-among-the-years-best-gear/ Duncan, M. C., & Hasbrook, C. A. (1988). Denial of power in televised women’s sports. Sociology of Sport Journal, 5(1), 1–21. Gill, M. (2007, October 4). SkirtSports announces the inaugural Austin SkirtChaser Race. SkirtSports Press Release. Goldman, R. (1992). Reading ads socially. London, UK: Routledge. Gorin, A. (2005). Tough girls wear skirts. Runner’s World, 40(8), 28. Griffin, P. (1998). Strong women, deep closets: Lesbians and homophobia in sport. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics. Griffiths, D. (2007, August 7). SkirtSports turns TRIKS…around. Colorado Runner. Retrieved from https://www.coloradorunnermag.com/2007/08/07/ skirtsports-turns-triks-around/ Grossi, S. (2009a, May 14). Re: Skirt Chaser 5k Chicagoland—Beat the price increase! Electronic mailing list message from SkirtSports. Grossi, S. (2009b, November 15). San Francisco Skirt Chaser bachelor auction. Tape recording. Lafrance, M. R. (1998). Colonizing the feminine: Nike’s interpretations of post-­ feminism and hyperconsumption. In G.  Rail (Ed.), Sport and postmodern times (pp. 117–142). Albany: State University of New York Press.

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Lamb, D. R. (1978). Physiology of exercise responses and adaptations. New York: Macmillan. Lee, Y. (2006, June 15). Running skirts blend style with speed. The New York Times, vol. 15/53611, p. G8. MacMillan, A. (2013, April 13). Best road races for beginners. Self. Retrieved from https://www.self.com/gallery/best-runs-for-beginners-slideshow Marcus, G. E. (1995). Ethnography in/of the world system: The emergence of multi-sited ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24(1), 95–117. McDowell, D. (2010). Sweat equity: How one midpacker became a frontrunner at a 5-K that levels the playing field. Runner’s World, 45(4), 98–99. Messner, M. A. (2002). Taking the field: Women, men, and sports. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Mullin, B.  J., Hardy, S., & Sutton, W.  A. (2014). Sport marketing (4th ed.). Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics. Muniz, A.  M., Jr., & O’Guinn, T.  C. (2001). Brand community. Journal of Consumer Research, 27(4), 412–432. O’Sullivan, A. (2017, July 12). 5 perfect running skirts you need right now. Runner’s World. Retrieved from https://www.runnersworld.com/news/ g20858043/5-perfect-running-skirts-you-need-right-now/ Olberding, D. J., & Jisha, J. (2005). ‘The flying pig’: Building brand equity in a major urban marathon. Sport Marketing Quarterly, 14(3), 191–196. Riedner, H. (2009, April 1). SkirtSports CEO, Nicole DeBoom, honored as 2009 Sporting Goods Business 40-under-40 award winner. SkirtSports Press Release. Ritter, K. (2007, August 26). Convert to skirt. Daily Times-Call, pp. 10–11. Salim, H. (2009). San Francisco Skirt Chaser start line. Tape recording. Shea, S. B. (2008). Speedy, sexy, cool: What to look for if you’re putting shorts behind. Runner’s World, 43(8), 74–75. Shea, S. B. (2011). Fastinista! Runner’s World, 46(8), 68–79. SkirtSports Spring 2011 Catalog. (2010, August 10). SkirtSports. Retrieved from https://issuu.com/skirtsports/docs/spring_2011_catalog Symons, C., & Hemphill, D. (2006). Transgendering sex and sport in the Gay Games. In J. Caudwell (Ed.), Sport, sexualities and queer/theory (pp. 109–128). New York: Routledge. Tungate, M. (2005). Fashion brands: Branding style from Armani to Zara. London: Kogan Page. Vertinsky, P. A. (1989). The eternally wounded woman: Women, doctors, and exercise in the late nineteenth century. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press.

Part IV Sport-Specific Perspectives

Chapter 10: Skating with Style; Rolling with Reflection and Resistance in Roller Derby Uniforms and Fashion Colleen English and Heidi Mau

Utilizing primary sources, including photographs, popular cultural artifacts, and feature stories and columns in magazines and newspapers, this chapter analyzes the evolution of women’s roller derby uniforms, particularly in relation to their femininity. In early iterations of the sport, women skaters wore similar uniforms as men, featuring long pants and long sleeves and appropriate protective gear. Where sartorial choices seemed to differ is in promotional images, where women were often pictured in ways to emphasize their appearance, beauty, and femininity, such as wearing shorts sans tights. In the 1980s and 1990s, as roller derby veered toward entertainment and away from legitimate sport, the uniforms of female skaters became more overtly sexualized. While current derby C. English (*) Kinesiology Department, Penn State Berks, Reading, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] H. Mau Communications Department, Albright College, Reading, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_11

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skaters still, at times, opt for sexualized and feminine uniforms, it is often in service of a countercultural and third-wave feminism, where women choose to counter traditionally feminine outfits with aggressive and nonfeminine attitudes, names, and style of play. However, as roller derby moves toward greater sport legitimacy and acceptance, uniforms reflect this change and begin to look more and more like typical sport outfits.

The 1930s: Transcontinental Roller Derby Roller derby originated as a sport in the vein of marathon crazes like dance marathons and walkathons. Invented in 1935 by the entrepreneur and promoter Leo Seltzer, it began when 25 pairs of skaters set off on a banked track in the Chicago Coliseum, with the goal of traversing a 3000-mile fictional route between New York and San Francisco (Martin and McKay win 1935). This new sporting entertainment featured women as coequal to their male teammates since pairs typically comprised one man and one woman. Roller derby, unlike many sports of the time, offered relatively equal opportunities for both male and female athletes. Additionally, much of the press coverage treated women with the same respect as male skaters, celebrating women’s achievements and praising their mettle in the face of injury. Women were considered the draw of the sport, and some even viewed the female skaters as rough and tough; thus, they “consequently furnish most of the entertainment” (Irwin 1937, p. 45). Few articles in the 1930s featured images of the skaters. From available images and written descriptions, both men and women wore the same uniforms: wrestler tights (padded at the hips and knees) or shorts over padded tights, helmets, silk, long-sleeved jerseys, and, for entertainment value, satin capes (these seem to be worn only for theatrical purposes and taken off for the actual skating event) (ibid.). Despite the fact that men and women wore the same uniforms, promotional and posed newspaper images objectified and sexualized female skaters. In a telephone interview with one of the authors, Leo Seltzer’s son, Jerry, who later took on a prominent role in the 1960s and 1970s derby, remembered that promoters used women skaters in “cheesecake” photographs to draw spectators

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(Seltzer 2010). These “cheesecake” images featured women posed in partial uniforms—wearing their long-sleeved jersey but sporting only leg-­ revealing shorts without padded tights (Roller Derby … Latest 1938; Roller Derby to Open 1937). Quite apparently both Leo and Jerry Seltzer, as well as other promoters, recognized the value of women skaters as athletes and for their audience appeal. The visual appeal of women skaters was not limited to promotional materials. Newspaper columnists also focused on the appearance of the women skaters. For example, in the Chicago Tribune, Edward Burns (1935, p. 17) wrote that the leader of the roller derby was “the blonde in the cerise tights, and a right pretty gal she is, too.” He never bothered to learn the name of the skater, preferring to comment on her appearance over accurately reporting the bout. Although women may have found more opportunity in roller derby than other sports of the time, they still faced objectification and sexualization.

1950s–1970s: Roller Derby Hits Its Stride After a short stint as a marathon contest featuring pairs of skaters, roller derby transformed into a sport featuring teams of five squaring off in an attempt for “jammers” to score points by lapping their opponents while “blockers” attempted to prevent other skaters from passing. This version of the sport, featuring more excitement, violence, and dramatics, limped through the 1930s and 1940s and eventually found its niche with the advent and popularity of television. Though sport columnists, like the New York Times’ Jack Gould (1949, p. X9), still thought it was “a sort of shotgun wedding of the six-day bicycle race, football, hockey, wrestling and a night club floor show,” the sport grew popular with television audiences. Women remained the main attraction. Gould, who found the sport slightly distasteful, believed that “it is the girls who save the roller derby from being a bore.” Their femininity, coupled with their “temperament and dash,” led to “hair-pulling, fist fights, gestures, and plain yells of anguish,” which made roller derby “a lot more vivid TV than wrestling” (ibid.).

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Although both women and men competed in the roller derby, stories about the sport often highlighted the female skaters. Even articles that explain the rules and basics of roller derby featured descriptions and photographs of women skaters. However, many sportswriters still viewed the women as novel, young, and attractive additions to the sporting world (Tops Among Teens 1950). Some writers, such as Lloyd Wendt (1950, p. I4), believed the women skaters are inferior athletes to the male teammates, unable to “hold their tempers” as well as men, making the women’s matchups “free-for-alls.” However, the antics of women skaters, according to Wendt, proved popular with roller derby audiences. In the early 1950s, roller derby, with stars such as Gloria Clairbaut and “Toughie” Brasuhn, reached a television saturation point and fell in popularity. Later, Leo Seltzer’s son Jerry, who “learned how to use TV for his own purposes,” led the sport to a resurgence in the 1960s (Deford 1970, p. 58). Again, women drew the focus. Skaters like Joan Weston and Ann Calvello, known for their status as hero and villain, appealed to audiences because of their skating ability, appearance, and flair for the dramatic. Sportswriter Frank Deford even dedicated stand-alone chapters in his book Five Strides on the Bank Track: The Life and Times of Roller Derby (1971) to these two skaters, the only two derbyists afforded such space. Paired as a hero and villain, Weston and Calvello stand in for some of the ideals of femininity both reinforced and challenged by roller derby. Frank Deford (1971) spends a significant portion of his chapter on Joan Weston, highlighting traditional femininity, saying that she was “the recipient of tremendous amounts of love and respect” and roller derby’s “biggest star, and the one girl that every Roller Derby female fan empathizes with” (pp. 60–61). Her appearance was also addressed, with Deford describing her as “a brave Viking queen in full battle regalia” who was “five feet nine and something like 160 pounds, big and strong, but she carries it well, and is pretty in a healthy, ruddy way” (p. 61). Her bleached blonde pigtails, “pretty smile,” and care about not having a “meat surgeon working on” her when she needed facial stitches (pp. 61, 68) indicated her adherence to typical feminine norms. His account also tells how Weston contradicted gender norms in extended discussions about her temper and fighting on the track. She described, for Deford (1971), a fight, the “only time [she] was hysterical” (p. 68). After being tripped by

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a woman from the other team, Weston became “furious” and hit Ann Calvello (who had actually stepped in to stop the fight) so hard that her pierced earring flew to the seventh row. Weston recalled that she “thought [she] had killed her” (p. 69). Deford also highlighted Weston’s anger at “being scorned as tough mannish freaks or being evaluated, as Joanie says, as ‘show girls of ill repute’” (p. 62). Attributing her temper to her Irish and German heritage, Weston got “so mad when people look down on us” (p.  63). Presented this way, Weston’s fighting on the track and righteous anger signal that even though her appearance and some parts of her demeanor remained feminine, her personality and skating conflicted with these ideals. Although Ann Calvello was a villain in the world of roller derby and was not, as Deford (1971, p. 54) said, “just another pretty face,” descriptions of her still focused on her femininity. He depicts her as “slim and attractively winsome,” “dress[ed] exceptionally well,” and younger than she looks (pp. 54–55). Throughout this profile, though, Calvello challenged gender norms. Her brash personality is clearly visible, as she jokingly threatened to sue the roller derby boss, Jerry Seltzer, for a tough schedule, disparaged the lack of young talent, and attributed her temperament to her astrological sign. Calvello’s two-toned and contrasting outfits, multicolored hair, and long earrings are a highlighted topic, as well as her romances with younger, fellow skaters. Deford described her relationship with “Bomber Great Charlie O’Connell” as “stormy” and her romance with Eddie Krebs as “erratic” (p.  55). Calvello’s style was both feminine and tough—meeting social expectations and challenging them at the same time. These stories about Weston and Calvello depict how women roller derby athletes often challenged ideals of femininity while remaining within acceptable bounds of appearance and beauty. While they wore similar uniforms to their male teammates, Weston, Calvello, and the other women skaters were discussed and pictured differently. Stories and images of women derbyists reflected the separate role of female skaters— that they were the draw to audiences, not because of superior skating ability but because of their appearances. Photographs of the 1960s–1970s era of roller derby show that men’s and women’s uniforms bore striking similarities. Both men and women

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wore padded pants underneath shorts, long sleeves, and other protective gear, such as helmets. The main difference between uniforms seems to be in the neckline. While men typically wore crewneck jerseys, women’s tops appear to have zippered or buttoned collars or square necklines. However, in both posed and action shots, women’s jerseys remain zipped and do not bare cleavage (Seltzer and Coppage 2012). Jerry Seltzer faced competition from a competing roller derby league: the Roller Games. Although they followed similar rules, Bill Griffiths and the other team owners placed more value on the entertaining aspects of the sport, unlike the Seltzers, who saw roller derby as both an entertainment spectacle and a legitimate sport. The women who participated in the Roller Games, sometimes the same ones who had skated in the roller derby, were “natural athletes” who “found themselves caught in a carnival” (Bergen 1969, p.  104). They were, according to Candice Bergen, writing for Esquire, Wonder Women, who “create the greatest audience hysteria” (p. 136). While her article did not feature any images of skaters, Bergen describes the women putting on makeup, their hair color, and their size. Roller Games also featured hero-villain stories, where the descriptions of the women fit with their dramatic roles. For example, Terri Lynch is described as having “red hair, freckles […] writes and reads poetry,” while her villain counterpart, Shirley Hardman, “looked huge, albino-fair, Super Wasp, large square hands, muscular arms” (p. 104). Roller derby’s popularity—and its sexualization of female skaters—is illustrated in a 1972 film starring Raquel Welch: Kansas City Bomber (Freedman 1972), where she stars as K.C. Starr, an aspiring actress turned roller derby star. The feature film seems directly based on Griffith’s Roller Games, right down to the design of the uniforms. The women’s uniforms in both feature long-sleeved zip-neck jerseys, shorts over leggings, and the standard protective equipment of this era. The uniforms seem to work as visual anchors, keeping the players connected to sport even as their over-­ the-­top theatrics play out the pre-scripted narratives that were part of Griffith’s presentation of roller derby to the television-viewing American public of the 1970s. Kansas City Bomber also reinforces the hero-villain dramatics of real-life roller derby contests, with K.C.’s track persona as

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“the rebellious bad girl” heightened by her tough on-track demeanor and revealing, low-zipped, cleavage-baring jersey. While some roller derby teams of the 1960s and 1970s had zip-neck jerseys for their female skaters, revealing tops were less common, at least in action shots. Some promotional images took advantage of the zippered jersey’s sexiness factor the same way Kansas City Bomber did with Welch’s character. The buttoned or zippered jersey was also functional—unzippering or unbuttoning it allowed female skaters to cool down after a bout. This is visible in news and documentary photographs depicting weary female derbyists after a bout, often sitting on a bench, unlacing their skates, jerseys unbuttoned or zipped open (when available) to cool down. The difference between these two depictions of women skaters is that the promotional image focuses on the full-frontal display of the female derbyist as she posed for the camera. Fresh and ready to play, her zipper is set dressed to be open to reveal “the heat” for the viewer. The documentary images focus on the weary athlete on a seat or bench after a bout, removing gear. The unzipped female jersey, then, becomes part of the overall narrative of a competitor postplay, cooling down and removing her battle gear. The visual focus is not on revealing the body but on the postplay exhausted body. The emphasis is on the athleticism needed for roller derby rather than the then-prescribed gender role for roller derby sports entertainment. Depictions of both real-life and fictional female roller derby skaters demonstrate that, while women and men had relatively equal opportunity on the banked track, ideas about femininity and beauty still played a role. Men’s and women’s uniforms were nearly the same, yet stories about male skaters centered on their athletic abilities, or perhaps their fighting and theatrics, while stories about women skaters highlighted their appearance, along with their role in appealing to spectators. Even though women and men had a modicum of equality, in both participation and in uniform style, attitudes about important qualities in women skaters were different than their male counterparts.

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The 1980s–1990s: RollerGames and RollerJam After years of syndicated television success, both roller derby leagues waned in popularity and fiscal stability. Neither survived past the mid-­1970s. By 1989, a version of roller derby saw a revival on television as part of what Screen International called “crash TV,” a type of game show that pitted competitors against one another in facing extreme obstacles (“‘Crash TV’ Confronts the US,” 1989). This new genre included shows like TransWorld Entertainment’s American Gladiators (1989) and Qintex Entertainment’s RollerGames (1990), a reinvention of the classic derby. RollerGames leaned into the entertainment spectacle and away from the legitimate sport. The contest, where competitors donned inline skates (as opposed to the quad skates of the past) around a figure-eight track, featured obstacles such as 14-foot-high “Wall of Death” and, in the event of a tie, an alligator pit, where skaters attempted to throw their opponent into the pit (Kogan, 1989, p. CN1). Where the original version of roller derby was a marriage between wrestling, marathon crazes, and roller skating, RollerGames was “the offspring of the shotgun marriage between MTV, roller derby and cartoons” (Kogan, 1989, p. CN1). Combining sport (by, for example, implementing Chet Forte’s direction, a former director and producer from Monday Night Football) and entertainment (by booking popular musical acts, such as the Ramones and Deborah Harry, as half-time entertainment), RollerGames sought success as a syndicated television program (Popson 1989, p. CN8; “Futuristic Fast Track” 1989, p. B7). Their success was short-lived, however, as it was cancelled after only one year on the air. Similar to the previous versions of roller derby, RollerGames featured women as a key element of the competition, with women making up half of the participants. And similar to previous versions, while on the figure-­ eight track, women’s uniforms afforded the same coverage and protection as their male teammates, featuring pads, long pants, and helmets. However, promotional images for the sport featured women in midriff-­ baring tops, brightly colored tights, and high-cut leotards, reminiscent of 1980s’ aerobics culture. Women remained, still, the objectified highlight of the sport.

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In-line skating roller derby was revitalized in 1999 with RollerJam (RIVR Media 1999), the Nashville Network’s attempt at a version of one of the decade’s “supremely marketable, lowbrow pastimes” (Broydo 1999, p. 48). Filmed on a soundstage at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida, and featuring Jerry Seltzer’s return as the commissioner, RollerJam returned the derby to the oval track, maintained mixed gender teams, and held onto the hero and villain storylines. As in the past, the female heroes and villains could be determined, in part, by their appearance. One team, the Sundogs—known as a “clean” team—were “conspicuously blond and good-looking” (Leland 1999, p.  50). Another team, the Quakes, were known as the “Bod Squad,” a “Baywatch-ready women’s lineup” captained by Stacey Blitsch, a “leggy, curvy Iowan with pearly white teeth” (Koerner 1999, p. 166). Their uniform zippers, according to the Atlanta Constitution (Koerner 1999, p. E1), “seem to get lower as the matches go on.” On the other hand, Gotham’s Enforcers, tough and villainous, were compared to “chain-smoking fat-bottomed girls who’d rather slice you with a box cutter than gab about eyeliner” (ibid.). These aggressive skaters, according to the Village Voice’s Brandan I.  Koerner (1999, p. 166), probably “didn’t get asked to the junior prom.” Unlike previous editions of roller derby, RollerJam’s uniforms were more explicitly sexual. While some photos show women and men skaters wearing similar outfits (shorts, jerseys, pads, and helmets), the women’s uniforms were meant to be a “key ratings booster” and were, according to a male skater, “real tight-fitting—you can see their boobs and all that” (Broydo 1999, p. 48). A photo alongside an article in the Village Voice shows women skaters in tight-fitting and cleavage-baring V-neck tops. The entertainment spectacles of RollerGames and RollerJam, despite offering similar opportunities for women and men, began to more overtly sexualize the female skaters. Whereas the roller derby of the 1930s–1970s evoked sexuality and femininity in promotional images more than on the track, the entertainment-oriented iterations of the sport in the 1980s and 1990s explicitly courted viewers with costume-like uniforms aimed at promoting sexy women to television audiences.

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The 2000s: The TXRD and WFTDA In the early 2000s, roller derby saw the revival of women’s banked track roller derby and, shortly thereafter, the development of flat track roller derby. In 2001, female banked track derbyists in Austin, Texas, rose from the ashes of a failed revival attempt and took matters into their own hands to develop the Texas Roller Derby (TXRD) (txrd.com 2018). Unlike previous versions of roller derby, where owners and commissioners controlled the sport, women’s roller derby of the 2000s was, and still is, run as small businesses owned by women skaters. The later development of a more affordable flat track option encouraged the development of teams across the United States. Currently, the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA) encompasses 418 full member leagues (wftda.com 2018). WFTDA’s goals include empowering women, acting as a revolutionary league, and providing opportunity for women athletes (Sailors 2013, p. 247). The TXRD eventually developed five Texas teams. They promoted themselves as “a spectacle from the start,” and their players and bouts were the main subject of the 2006 A&E television reality series Rollergirls (Go Go Luckey Productions 2006). The opening title sequence for Rollergirls featured fast-cutting scenes styled as punk collages with taunting riot grrrl vocals that contrasted images of the skaters in their “normal” day jobs with images of their tough and sexualized roller derby personas. Roller derby was not a career for these women; rather, it was a passionate commitment they made time for after-hours, done with a counterculture campy wink and grrrl-powered third-wave feminist flair. According to Sailors (2013, p. 248), the uniforms donned by skaters blend “things typically associated as feminine with things typically associated as aggressive.” They feature ripped fishnet stockings, miniskirts, and tight, cleavage-baring jerseys that display their tough derby names and act as a “literal embodiment of a statement about gender” that subverts traditional ideas about femininity (p. 248). The former WFTDA committee head commented, “Somehow with roller derby, you can be aggressive and tough and strong and powerful and yet wear fishnets and a skirt and still feel feminine … I’ve never felt as feminine as I do now, and I’m

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beating the crap out of girls on skates (Chan 2006, p. C1).” Gotham Girls derbyist Rolletta Lynn, a computer technician by day, credited roller derby in helping her become a “sexy, tough woman,” with “a closet full of miniskirts” (Nelson 2005, p. I1). Some journalists elevated voices of players claiming “an aura of empowerment and social bonding” (Miller 2007, p. 26), commenting on “physically and emotionally empowered women with a twist of lace, leather, or lingerie” (Cochran 2008). Other journalists focused on uniforms as “playful costumes” (Parks 2006), roller derby as “a kitschy combination of burlesque and blood sport” (Ranganathan 2005, p. B1), and women “wearing fishnets and beating each other” (Hendershot 2007, p.  24). Journalist Chris Garcia (2005), in a preview of the television series Rollergirls, described the women of the TXRD as having personalities that exuded “a sadistic sexuality swaddled in the theatrical attitudinizing of Courtney Love” (p. E1). By the time the feature film Whip It (2009) came around, a hazy dissolve was beginning between the playful theatrics of revival roller derby with its sexualized costuming and the desire for more validity for roller derby as a sport. Whip It was based on a young adult novel by Shauna Cross, who skated as Maggie Mayhem with the Los Angeles Derby Dolls (us.macmillan.com). In director Drew Barrymore’s hands, the story takes the theatricality and team personas from early TXRD but dialed back in a coming-of-age story for Bliss Cavendar, a teenager from small town Texas (played by Ellen Page). On a shopping trip with her mother in Austin, Bliss is in awe of three women who skate into the shop to drop off flyers. In roller derby, Bliss finds her tribe, and herself. Bliss commits herself to roller derby and makes it as a member of the Hurl Scouts, who wear a variety of Girl Scout-themed uniforms adapted for derby spectacle. Whereas some players’ uniforms replicate early renditions worn by the TXRD Holy Rollers or Rhinestone Cowgirls, Bliss’ uniform as Babe Ruthless is relatively age-appropriate, featuring a short-­ sleeved skirted Girl Scout uniform, a standard Girl Scout neckerchief, and green opaque tights under her black fishnet stockings. This coming-­ of-­age movie about a young woman finding her tribe and her “bliss” in roller derby echoed the female empowerment sentiment becoming more common in women’s roller derby commentary toward the end of the

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decade and also emphasized the growing desire of derby girls for roller derby to be considered more a sport than a sports entertainment. Roller derby evolved into “one of the few full-contact sports for women,” where “roller derby girls” were “no longer just single women in fishnets who flash their underwear at fans” (Schaefer 2007, p. G10). Players spoke of derby as a “legitimate sport” (Cochran 2008). Yet female derbyists were at times still described as “baudy and menacing bruiser babes,” and even if roller derby was a “real sport” it was one “that has not loosened its embrace of the burlesque” (Plumb 2008, p. GNW1). Women of the roller derby were “saucy athletes,” with the role of jammer compared to that of a football quarterback (Carlin 2009). And while “it’s easy to focus on the ripped fishnet stockings and hot pink wigs,” roller derby players highlight the athleticism and empowerment of roller derby (Kloer 2009, p. E1). Alongside roller derby being “an empowering sport for female athletes,” it was “also a sisterhood” (Murphy 2012, p. D2). The Blue Ridge Rollergirls of Asheville, North Carolina, offered a derby school to “encourage women to ‘be your own hero’” (Wright 2017, p. D4). Women’s roller derby claimed a “space of female empowerment and community,” even starting to work toward greater inclusivity with discussions of body positivity and gender policies (Adrangi 2012). The opening voice-over of Roller Derby Xtreme (Davies 2012), an Australian women’s banked track roller derby endeavor, featured a women’s empowerment poem that described what it felt to play roller derby that noted women’s “allegiance” to one another and to the sport: “For I belong to countless women strong. Inside a factory take a look and you might see the me that’s we, boldly bringing back roller derby.” By the time Rusty Graham published his story and photographs on the Houston Roller Derby in a 2010 issue of the Houston Chronicle, the uniforms worn by many female derbyists photographed for the article looked more like standardized sports ones. Derby girls were pictured in matching long-sleeved jerseys, light on decoration, with shorts over tights. Other teams wore simple matching T-shirts paired with tights and shorts. Fishnet stockings still made an appearance, but more as homage than declaration. Roller derby was “an athletic competition, complete with rules, divisions, and annual tournaments…” (Peterson 2012, p. D1). An

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article on the tenth-year anniversary of the Cincinnati Rollergirls noted that the team was “growing up,” leaving behind their “fishnets and tutus” in favor of “black athletic leggings and jerseys” (Steigerwald 2016, p. D5). The Gotham Girls once described each skater as “an amalgam of athlete, pinup girl, rocker and brute rolled into one badass derby girl” (Wachter 2009, p.  18), but their website (gothamgirlsrollerderby.com) now favors a focus as “New York City’s only skater-operated roller derby league for women and gender-expansive athletes … comprised of strong, diverse, and independent skaters from the world’s biggest, baddest, city.” The Gotham Girls hope to inspire young skaters, running a junior derby for “girls and young women (including cisgender, transgender, intersex and gender-expansive individuals) 6 to 17 years old.”

 omen’s Roller Derby Uniforms: Skating W Between Spectacle and Sport The TXRD and some teams still maintained a link to women’s roller derby as a sports entertainment and spectacle, some teams holding on to their counterculture roots and expressive team uniforms, yet as women’s roller derby continued to work toward acceptance as a legitimized sport, so too did their uniforms transition more toward an athletic team uniform that was less gendered and less sexualized. The counterculture tough roller derby woman replete with tattoos is still a visual symbol common with roller derby products and services, but her uniform has adapted. Roller derby uniform companies, such as Pivotstar, offer “alternative athletic apparel,” keeping the bad girl vibe with “Chica Bomb Hot Shorts” and “Mighty Mini Shorts,” but alongside these offerings are full-length leggings, athletic team tanks, and their junior collection for kids (pivotstar.com 2017). Left Turn Clothing features “breathable, stretchy and snag resistant team uniforms” as part of their “bad-ass fully-customized” uniform service (leftturnclothing.com 2018). The women’s roller derby uniform of 2018, if a team can afford it, might be a stretchy jersey top that is breathable, but hard to grab, and bottoms that might be mini, bike, capri, full length, or a combination of tights and shorts. Safety

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equipment is required. Fishnets still make an appearance but are optional. With these uniform changes and possibilities, roller derby is transforming from a campy, countercultural activity to a legitimate (albeit still outside the mainstream) sport. The elements of both spectacle and sport are evident in the uniforms worn by roller derby skaters, particularly when examining what female derbyists wore. Even in its earliest iterations, roller derby aspired to sport legitimacy. While Leo and Jerry Seltzer clearly saw the entertainment value of roller derby, both held genuine desire for it to grow into a popular, legitimate, even Olympic-level sport. They sought entertainment success, but they also hoped that the greater sporting public would see the sport as something more than theatrics. Uniforms reflect this quest for legitimacy. During times when promoters hoped for something more than dramatic flair, both men and women wore functional and safe uniforms. As the sport moved toward the television spectacle of RollerGames and RollerJam, uniforms (particularly those of the women) transformed into tight, cleavage-baring costumes meant to highlight women’s “assets” rather than their athletic appeal. A similar pattern follows in the most current version of roller derby. Although the revitalization of the sport in the early 2000s highlighted burlesque femininity with revealing tops and fishnet stockings, current roller derby uniforms invoke some players’ desire for sport legitimacy over sports entertainment. While the sport may never (and perhaps should not) shed its derby girl (or grrrl) power and countercultural toughness, as it becomes an international and legitimate sport, roller derby and its uniforms will continue to evolve.

References Adrangi, M. (2012). ‘One of the girls’: The sexual politics of roller derby. Briarpatch, 41(1), 24–26. Barrymore, D. (Director). (2009). Whip it [motion picture]. Fox Searchlight Pictures, Century City, CA. Bergen, C. (1969, May). Little women. Esquire, 71(102–104), 136–137. Broydo, L. (1999, January 1). Exposure. Spin, p. 48.

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Burns, E. (1935, December 28). Gal in cerise tights leads roller derby, it’s rumored. Chicago Tribune, p. 17. Carlin, P. A. (2009, June 21). The saucy athletes of Portland’s Rose City Rollers come to a do-or-die crossroads. The Oregonian. Retrieved from https:// i n f ow e b. n e w s b a n k . c o m / re s o u r c e s / d o c / n b / n e w s / 1 2 8 F D 6 2 9 5 6 4E9628?p=AWNB. Chan, E. (2006, April 27). Roll models. Detroit Free Press, p. C1. Cochran, E. (2008, June 22). Ladies in the streets. Houston Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.chron.com/neighborhood/article/Ladies-in-thestreets-9380297.php “Crash TV” confronts the US. (1989, April 15). Screen International, p. 18. Davies, F. (Producer). (2012). Roller Derby Xtreme [DVD]. Ferris Davies Productions, Australia. Deford, F. (1970, October 5). Don’t tell your friends who won the series. Sports Illustrated, pp. 56–58. Deford, F. (1971). Five strides on the banked track: The life and times of roller derby. Little, Brown and Company. Freedman, G. (Director). (1972). Kansas City Bomber [motion picture]. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Futuristic fast track. (1989, July 10). Chicago Tribune, p. B7. Garcia, C. (2005, January 6). Rollergirls elbow way onto A&E. Courier Journal, p. E1. Go Go Luckey Productions. (Producer). (2006). Rollergirls [television series]. A & E Television Networks. Gould, J. (1949, June 5). The roller derby. New York Times, p. X9 Graham, R. (2010, February 2). Houston Roller Derby puts women in a league of their own. Houston Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.chron.com/ neighborhood/article/Houston-Roller-Derby-puts-women-in-aleague-of-9482307.php Hendershot, S. (2007). Blood is the new pink. Crain’s Chicago Business, 30(31), 24. Irwin, V. (1937, December 3). Roller derby—It’s a cat-fight on wheels. St. Louis Post-Dispatch, p. 45. Kloer, P. (2009, February 25). Skaters benefit from positive wheeling power: Roller derby helps women have fun, find inner strength. Atlanta Journal-­ Constitution, p. E1. Koerner, B. I. (1999, January 26). This ain’t no roller disco. Village Voice, p. 166. Kogan, R. (1989, September 15). Simply, er, smashing. Chicago Tribune, p. CN1.

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Leftturnclothing.com. (2018). Retrieved from https://www.leftturnclothing.com/ Leland, J. (1999, January 18). Cruising for a bruising. Newsweek, p. 50. Martin, C., & McKay, B. win roller skate derby. (1935, September 23). Chicago Tribune, p. 21. Miller, J. N. (2007, December 11). No tame dames—New generation of women find wheel camaraderie in roller derby. Patriot Ledger, p. 26. Murphy, J. (2012, January 3). Health & wellness—what’s your workout? Getting ‘whipped into shape. Wall Street Journal [Eastern edition], p. D2. Nelson, S. (2005, May 15). Tough girls roll in the Bronx. New York Times, p. I1. Parks, L. B. (2006, May 28). The women of Roller Derby are a hit in Houston. Houston Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.chron.com/life/a8ticle/Thewomen-of-Roller-Derby-are-a-hit-in-Houston-1889442.php Peterson, D. (2012, April 15). Pain on wheels. Women’s flat-track roller derby isn’t for the out-of-shape or faint of heart. The Press Democrat, p. D1. Pivotstar.com. (2017). Retrieved from https://pivotstar.com/ Plumb, T. (2008, March 6). Squeals on wheels; Mothers, nurses, artists let loose as first roller derby team in N.H. Boston Globe, p. GNW1. Popson, T. (1989, August 4). “Rollergames” TV series rounds up pop acts for halftime. Chicago Tribune, p. CN8. Quintex Entertainment (Producer). (1990). RollerGames [television series]. LBS Communications. Ranganathan, D. (2005, May 6). Demolition. The Providence Journal, p. B1. RIVR Media (Producer). (1999). RollerJam [television series]. The Nashville Network. Roller derby Is latest thing in sports. (1938, June 13). Corsicana Daily Sun, p. 13. Roller derby to open Tuesday. (1937, September 26). Indianapolis Star, p. 11. Sailors, P.  R. (2013). Genders roles roll. Sport, Ethics and Philosophy, 7(2), 245–258. Schaefer, K. (2007, April 19). New York Times, p. G10. Seltzer, J. (2010). Telephone interview with Jerry Seltzer by Colleen English. Personal correspondence, notes in possession of author. Seltzer, J., & Coppage, K. (2012). Images of America: Bay Area Roller Derby. Arcadia Publishing. Steigerwald, S. (2016, March 11). Cincinnati Rollergirls turns 10. Cincinnati Enquirer, p. D5. Tops among teens. (1950, April 30). Chicago Tribunes, p. I16

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TransWorld Entertainment (Producer). (1989). American Gladiators [television series]. The Samuel Goldwyn Company. txrd.com. (2018). Retrieved from http://www.txrd.com/ Wachter, P. (2009, February 1). You just can’t keep the girls from jamming. New York Times Magazine, p. 18. Wendt, L. (1950, May 7). Girls a-rolling! Chicago Tribune, p. I4 wftda.com. (2018). Retrieved from https://wftda.com/ Wright, A. (2017, October 27). Derby school encourages women to ‘Be Your Own Hero’. Asheville Citizen-Times, p. D4.

Chapter 11: “We Wear So Little”; Collegiate Women Gymnasts’ Reflections on Their Uniforms Emily Fairchild and Elizabeth A. Gregg

Introduction Collegiate women gymnasts complete challenging physical feats that require a high level of self-control, strength, flexibility, and power. However, it is not only their athletic capability that is judged during competition: there is an aesthetic component to the sport that is critical to their overall performance and evaluation. Part of this includes their wearing leotards—bathing-suit-like uniforms that are tight-fitting around their torsos and high-cut on their hips, leaving their legs exposed. Gymnasts are also required to style their hair in particular ways and wear E. Fairchild (*) Director of the Gender Studies Program, New College of Florida, Sarasota, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] E. A. Gregg Department of Leadership, School Counseling, and Sport Management, University of North Florida, Jacksonville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_12

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makeup, and their accessories are mandated or restricted. In short, the sport values the display of traditional feminine characteristics in addition to physical ability. This raises particular concerns for the ways in which these women athletes might be sexualized or objectified. In the last 20 years, much media coverage of women athletes has been demeaning, often sexualizing them and/or making them the object of humor (Messner and Cooky 2010). This treatment of women’s sports indicates that they are not seen as worthy of serious attention as “real” athletics. Commentators’ descriptions of athletes do this as well: women are regularly evaluated based on their appearance (negatively if they appear masculine), whereas men are presented as more committed to athletics than women and are evaluated based on their athletic ability (Billings and Eastman 2002; Billings et al. 2002; Pirinen 1997). Beyond the implications of the messages themselves, these presentations matter for audience interpretations: when presented with sexualized media representations of women athletes, readers perceive them as not competent or talented in their sport (Harrison and Secarea 2010). While research pertaining to what this means specifically for women gymnasts is scant, there is reason to believe that sports wherein form, hair, makeup, costume, and physique contribute to the athletes’ assessment would involve heightened objectification and, potentially, negative psychological or behavioral effects as a result of striving for a competitive edge. The concerns most widely cited in this vein regard body image issues. While being an athlete generally affords some protection against body image concerns as compared with nonathletes (Hausenblas and Downs 2001), gymnastics is an exception. Meta-analyses of body image and sports studies have concluded that gymnasts do not differ from nonathletes in body image concern and have lower positive body esteem than athletes who participate in “non-appearance” sports (Varnes et al. 2013). Moreover, levels of body dissatisfaction have been found to increase during the competition season in a sample of artistic gymnasts (Neves et al. 2017). Absent from existing discussions of “appearance” sports like gymnastics are the perspectives of the women athletes themselves. We argue that these voices are critical to conversations about the potential effects of

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participation in sports with aesthetic components. More specifically regarding questions of how these women athletes think about their bodies, we believe it is important to examine their thoughts and feelings about how they are required to present themselves during competition. Therefore, this chapter examines how women gymnasts make sense of their required uniforms. We report on how satisfied the women are with their uniforms, the ways they describe them, the changes they would like to see to gymnastics uniforms, and the fact that they interpret the uniform as related to the requirements of the sport.

Methodology The analysis reported below is based on original survey data collected from Division I collegiate women athletes. The larger study from which this chapter is drawn examined self-presentation preferences during competition among 145 women involved in seven sports. Here, we narrowed our analysis to women gymnasts, a group for which questions of feminine and athletic appearance are particularly interesting, especially as they intersect with required uniforms. We ask: what do collegiate women gymnasts think of their uniforms?

Sampling and Participants Our sample included 21 gymnasts representing four major NCAA conferences. Recruitment began by identifying the most successful programs in US collegiate gymnastics. We then randomly selected athletes from the schools that participated in the most dominant conferences. These women received an emailed invitation that described the study, explained informed consent (including the fact that all responses would be anonymous), and included a link to the online survey. Each participant earned a $15.00 Amazon.com gift card as compensation. The gymnasts who responded represent all years in college and five major athletic conferences. They are mostly white (85%), and all reported themselves to be heterosexual.

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Measures and Analysis Our survey instrument included both open- and closed-ended items that spanned a range of issues related to how the women feel about their uniforms, how they want to appear while competing, and messages they receive from teammates and coaches regarding their self-presentation. We begin the findings section below by reporting on one quantitative item: “How satisfied are you with your uniform?” (response choices were as follows: very satisfied, somewhat satisfied, somewhat dissatisfied, very dissatisfied). We then focus most of our attention on the open-ended responses that allowed the women to explain their reactions to their uniforms. The item that provided much of the data for this chapter asked the women to “Please use your own words to explain how you think your uniform makes you appear.” We encouraged lengthy responses by noting that “There is space here for you to give as much detail as you’d like.” This item was followed by “If you could design your own uniform, how would it be similar to or different from what you have now?” The gymnasts also provided useful reflection on their uniforms in two other items that tapped their opinions about the appropriateness of the clothing: “Do you think your uniform presents an appearance appropriate for women athletes?” and “Do you think your uniform presents an appearance appropriate for your sport?” Participants responded “yes, no, or not sure” to these items and then explained their responses in an open text box. Finally, we asked, “Does the appearance your uniform creates fit with how you think of yourself?” Fewer participants provided an explanation for this item, but some used this space to continue their comments as related to the uniforms generally, and these responses are considered in the analysis. Once responses to these items were compiled, we examined them in several ways in order to identify salient issues and patterns. This included reading all responses to each question and reading each gymnast’s responses to the set of questions. The latter were informative as their thoughts about their required clothing frequently extended from one question to another. After several reviews, we developed a set of codes

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corresponding to the issues the women raised. These included an overall evaluation of the uniform or tone of the response (positive, negative, or neutral), descriptors for how the uniform makes them appear (e.g., attractive, exposed), whether or not the women would prefer a different uniform, specific changes they would make to the clothes (e.g., they would prefer more coverage), and concerns they have about the uniform (e.g., body image and eating disorders). Because it was a framing strategy several women used, we also recorded whether the athletes linked their comments to the nature of gymnastics as a sport. Each response was systematically coded, and we noted where codes overlapped.

Findings Responses to the closed-ended item asking about satisfaction suggest that, generally, college women gymnasts are satisfied with their uniforms. Ten of twenty-one responded that they are very satisfied, and nine more indicated that they are somewhat satisfied. Only two are somewhat dissatisfied with their uniform. While these results suggest quite positive attitudes, the qualitative analysis paints a more complex picture. Below, we review the range of evaluations the gymnasts provided, the concerns they raised, and the changes they would suggest.

Diverse Responses There were both positive and critical responses in the gymnasts’ descriptions of their uniforms. Positive examples have to do with appearing feminine and stylish and communicating that they are purposeful about how they look. For example: • “We put a lot of time, energy, money, and effort into designing them and they show how well we are prepared to look beautiful and do tremendous gymnastics on the events.”

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• “I think my uniform makes me feel like a gymnast ready to compete and show the judges what I have worked with style and femininity [sic].” These comments convey an overall affirmative assessment of the uniforms. The women connect the appearance they give and the feeling they provide with doing well in competition. Notably, the strong performances they reference are tightly linked to beauty and style. Another woman commented: “it is designed to make us look attractive and slim.” For these women, the focus on feminine appearance is a valued component of the uniform. One participant contrasted gymnasts’ concern with appearance to other sports, writing: “Well I think it makes us look feminine. We have to put on makeup and look nice, we aren’t like other sports and just throw your hair up without hairspray or anything.” A different type of response also noted being styled and feminine, but the women who wrote these comments saw problems with what they felt the appearance communicates. The following comment expresses concern that the uniform detracts from their performance: “I don’t think leotards are appropriate for women athletes. We should be judged according to our skill, but a lot of people are gymnastics fans because we flip around in hardly any clothes.” Another participant expressed a similar sentiment and added that it has a negative psychological effect on her: It makes me appear girly and pretty, but it takes away from the seriousness and the difficulty of the sport. It makes me feel as if the important part is just looking good rather than how good of a gymnast you are. … I feel as if I don’t appear as an athlete, but rather a spectacle. To be honest, leotards are demoralizing.

Likewise, one woman wrote: “[The uniform] makes me feel like a dolled­up show dog put on display with no individuality.” The difference between men’s and women’s gymnastics was also noted by one participant who was critical of the women’s uniform: “It is kind of demeaning in a way because male gymnasts wear pants and shorts while they compete devoid of sparkles and diamonds.” This person recognizes

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differences in both the cut of the clothing and the accessories that the two genders wear, finding the women’s requirements “demeaning.” These responses are powerfully critical, indicating a very different perspective than those who appreciate the feminine appearance. There is no singular evaluation of the uniform by active collegiate gymnasts.

Gymnastics Uniforms as Revealing While overall assessments varied among our participants, a focus on the uniforms as revealing was present across positive, critical, and neutral responses; this was the most common way the uniforms were described. In their words, “Leotards are revealing, skin-tight, and sometimes uncomfortable. … It makes us appear nearly naked” and “there’s no way to hide anything in a leo.” Other responses focused on the (small) size, the fact that they “expose” so much, and “you see most everything.” In short, as one gymnast stated, “We wear so little.”

Concerns About Body Image Many gymnasts linked comments about how revealing the uniforms are to concerns about body image. These comments address the women’s own experiences and women gymnasts generally, suggesting that the women are aware that body image issues are a theme in the gymnast experience. Simply stated, one gymnast said: “I think they can create a lot of self-confidence issues with girls because they are so revealing.” More specifically, another participant noted that gymnasts “feel judged on their appearance, not just their gymnastics” and that this leads women competitors to work not only on the sport but also on being “skinny and pretty.” A focus on weight can lead to unhealthy eating; one athlete in our study linked this with gymnastics uniforms, “I think leotards promote eating disorders.” It is striking that this participant made such a confident statement about a very serious health consequence. Certainly, gymnasts are aware of the dangers of body image issues.

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Several women commented on their own self-confidence and body image, noting feelings of vulnerability and negativity caused by how exposed they are: • “I tend to have a negative body image because of having so much of myself exposed to the public whenever I compete and work out.” • “Sometimes it is hard to be in a leotard and feel 100% good about yourself because so much skin is showing.” • “It is hard to get out in fronting people in a leotard as an adult woman” • “I feel very self-conscious because leotards show every flaw in your body.” These are expressions of difficult emotions caused by the way leotards reveal women’s bodies. It is not surprising, then, that there was widespread preference for uniforms that revealed less.

Suggestions for Changes to Uniforms The majority of gymnasts suggested changes they would make if they could design their uniforms. A desire for more coverage of the body was a theme in these responses: “it would be less revealing” and “it wouldn’t show so much skin.” Women commonly suggested that they could wear shorts instead of or on top of their leotards to achieve this. Shorts would be more similar to what they wear for practice, where they are completing the same moves, and would be more similar to what the men wear. Other suggested changes addressed the hair, makeup, and accessories they considered part of their uniforms. One participant preferred that the requirements be “not so showy, but more practical.” Another expressed a negative reaction to expectations about presentation aside from the leotard: “I would appreciate if our coach was less anal about having our hair and makeup perfect. It makes me stressed out sometimes.” Teams frequently have requirements about their hair and makeup that are designed for a consistent team look. Some loosening of these rules would be desirable for the following participant, who responded that with an ideal uniform, “we don’t have to do our hair a specific way, we

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can wear it however we want and it’s not nearly as formal. We don’t necessarily have to wear makeup, but we can. We can wear whatever nail polish we want and any earrings we want.”

The Nature of Gymnastics Many of our participants linked their comments about the uniforms to the unique character of gymnastics. They note that their clothes are different from other sports and explained that this is necessary. These descriptions are of two types: that small, tight clothes allow them to complete the athletic moves and that there is an aesthetic quality to the sport that requires revealing uniforms. Examples of the first category of responses include “Leotards are very tight and high cut, but that is necessary for the skills involved. It would be dangerous if they weren’t tight or if there was more material” and “It’s always been this way. Tight and little is fitting for the sport of gymnastics. It would be hard to do what we do without being in something small.” These women justify the shape and size of the uniform as necessary for safely demonstrating their skills. Relatedly, one gymnast noted that the uniforms have to be small and tight so that they can be accurately scored: “Our uniforms make it so that the judges can critique every small thing about our every movement.” Other responses that drew on the “nature of the sport” had to do with the role of aesthetics in gymnastics: • “The sport of gymnastics is about lines and having nice extension. If we wore pants, shorts, or anything baggy, it would take away from that aesthetic.” • “Gymnastics is all about appearance and I think that is shown in the leotards we have to wear.” • “Gymnastics is an aesthetic sport that people like to see beauty and grace.” • “Our sport is about aesthetics and movement of the body, so I understand why we wear barely any clothing.”

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Summary of Findings There is recognition across these responses that gymnastics uniforms are unique. In the words of one of our participants, “Gymnastics is unlike women’s sports where you can wear actual clothes” (emphasis added). Just what this means to the athletes is complex. Some appreciate the feminine appearance they produce, while others express discomfort and negative psychological experiences. It is not only those who are critical, however, that express concerns about body image as a result of the revealing nature of leotards. Some who were happy with the uniforms noted that they can be problematic. Also, across tone—those who were generally critical, positive, or neutral—the women connected their descriptions of the uniform to the nature of the sport. As a group, they explain that gymnastics requires tight, revealing, and stylish clothing. While they note the aesthetic component of the sport, they also suggest that slightly more coverage (tight shorts) would help alleviate their concerns about being exposed during competition.

Conclusions The gymnasts’ concerns expressed in this study suggest that the aesthetic aspect of gymnastics poses challenges for women participants, and they raise serious and difficult questions for the sport. If gymnasts connect revealing uniforms to questions of health and well-being, should coaches and governing bodies reconsider their requirements? Are there ways in which the sport could be altered to rely less on conventional feminine beauty? Our participants’ comments about their ability to practice in less revealing clothing are telling regarding this issue: what is it about competition that requires leotards, stylized hair, and makeup? More specifically, what it is about women’s gymnastics that requires this whereas men’s does not? Uniform changes that brought men’s and women’s required clothing in line could bring more gender equality in the sport while decreasing the sexualization and objectification of women athletes.

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References Billings, A. C., & Eastman, S. T. (2002). Selective representation of gender, ethnicity, and nationality in American television coverage of the 2000 Summer Olympics. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 37(3/4), 351–370. Billings, A. C., Halone, K. K., & Denham, B. E. (2002). Man, that was a pretty shot: An analysis of gendered broadcast commentary surrounding the 2000 men’s and women’s NCAA Final Four Basketball Championships. Mass Communication & Society, 5(3), 295–315. Harrison, L. A., & Secarea, A. M. (2010). College students’ attitudes towards the sexualization of professional women athletes. Journal of Sport Behavior, 33(4), 403–424. Hausenblas, H., & Downs, D. S. (2001). Comparison of body image between athletes and Nonathletes: A meta-analytic review. Journal of Applied Sport Psychology, 13(3), 323–339. Messner, M. A., & Cooky, C. (2010). Gender in televised sports: News and highlights shows, 1989–2009. Los Angeles: Center for Feminist Research. Retrieved from https://dornsifecms.usc.edu/assets/sites/80/docs/tvsports.pdf. Neves, C. M., Meireles, J. F. F., de Carvalho, P. H. B., & Ferreira, M. E. C. (2017). Body dissatisfaction in women’s artistic gymnastics: A longitudinal study of psychosocial indicators. Journal of Sports Sciences, 35(17), 1745–17451. Pirinen, R. (1997). Catching up with men? Finnish newspaper coverage of women’s entry into traditionally male sports. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 32, 239–249. Varnes, J. R., Stellefson, M., Janelle, C. M., Dorman, S. M., Dodd, V. J., & David Miller, M. (2013). A systematic review of studies comparing body image concerns among female college athletes and non-athletes, 1997–2012. Body Image, 10(4), 421–432.

Chapter 12: “I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt”; The LPGA Dress Code Elizabeth A. Gregg, Elizabeth A. Taylor, and Robin Hardin

Introduction The Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) is one of the oldest professional sports organizations for women globally. Established in 1943 as the Women’s Professional Golf Association (WPGA), the organization later adopted its current name in 1949. Unlike the well-funded PGA TOUR, which had staff members to handle tournament organization

E. A. Gregg (*) Department of Leadership, School Counseling, and Sport Management, University of North Florida, Jacksonville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] E. A. Taylor Department of Sport and Recreation Management, Temple University, Philadelphia, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] R. Hardin Department of Kinesiology, Recreation, and Sport Studies, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, TN, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_13

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and other management details, the women who played on the LPGA Tour in the 1940s and 1950s handled tasks such as setting up the course for competition, promoting events, and creating pairings themselves (Crosset 1995). The LPGA originally had a sports promoter named Fred Corcoran, who helped the LPGA thrive in its infancy. During the first few decades of the LPGA, women wore formal attire, which was in line with expectations for dress during the era. Women’s golf was one of the most acceptable forms of sport participation for women during the era, but attire was still closely monitored. Star players such as Babe Didrikson Zaharias and others wore long skirts during competition to conform to societal expectations. Zaharias is one athlete who transformed her image to comply with societal expectations that prescribed acceptable attire and overall appearance in society, and sport in particular. Zaharias kept her hair short and appeared masculine during most competitions during the early portion of her athletic career. As she matured, however, she accepted a prevalent medical theory, referred to as the female frailty myth. The female frailty myth was a belief system that stated women were too fragile to participate in any sort of intense physical activity. Women who engaged in intense physical activity were thought to be vulnerable to negative repercussions such as masculinity, sterility, nervous conditions, and other ramifications (Gregg and Gregg 2017). Zaharias found a husband, grew her hair long, began wearing makeup, and adopted long skirts and feminine tops. This phenomenon in which athletic women change their appearance to highlight their femininity during athletic competition is commonly referred to as the female athlete paradox. The paradox is still prevalent in women’s sport today.

The Female Athlete Paradox Girls and women who participate in sport often find themselves in a fascinating paradox: Western society emphasizes the importance of a feminine appearance and demeanor, but characteristics of successful athletes often oppose these feminine characteristics in favor of more masculine ones. This enigma tends to “define femininity in contrast to masculinity, and masculinity as the counterpart to femininity” (Wood 1997, p. 32). Femininity is therefore a socially constructed standard of appropriate

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dress, behavior, and values of women (e.g., floral patterns, skirts; timid, shy). This manner of thinking works to create a hierarchy which places masculinity, or men, above femininity, or women. Additionally, this thinking creates a dichotomy in which a person can only be in one classification or the other, suggesting women should always be feminine and men should always be masculine, so female athletes can be left straddling two cultures where sport and social ideals collide. The colliding of these two worlds can impact their body image, eating habits, and self-esteem (Krane et al. 2004; McLester et al. 2014). Some female athletes feel marginalized by nonathletic women and men and perceived themselves as different from “normal” women (Wood 1997). Recent alterations to the LPGA dress code raise many questions with regard to female athletes’ femininity, their right to choose athletic wear that enhances their athletic performance, and the notion that LPGA members are becoming too sexy.

Overview of Women’s Athletic Attire Uniform regulations differ by governing body and sports type just as the requirements naturally vary from sport to sport. US Lacrosse, for example, provides men, women, and children alike guidelines for headgear, eyewear, sticks, mouth guards, and goalkeeper equipment. Visible undergarments must be a solid color that coincides with either the uniform color or white, gray, or black, and all players on a given team must wear matching undergarments (Smith 2017). USA Volleyball oversees uniforms for indoor and beach volleyball at the amateur level. As such, beach volleyball rules stipulate that each competitor’s equipment should be comprised of either shorts or a bathing suit, and competitors are allowed to wear a tank top or jersey when tournament regulations permit. Competitors are required to wear uniforms that are consistent across the roster in official or world competitions. Both US Lacrosse and USA Volleyball allow bodysuits, leotards, and spandex shorts but are required to be consistent for the entire team (Lenberg and Laskey 2015; Pufahl 2016; USA Volleyball 2017).

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The National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), which governs collegiate women’s golf, specifies golfers wear matching uniforms during practice and competition. The NCAA requires that female golfers’ shorts have an inseam of at least four inches, which is seemingly intended to reduce the likelihood of undergarments being exposed during competition. Collegiate student athletes are prohibited from wearing clothing or accessories with logos of manufactures unless the mark is less than three inches in size (National Collegiate Athletic Association 2017). The Women’s Tennis Association (WTA) stipulates that players are required to compete and present themselves in a professional manner. Prohibited WTA attire includes jeans, sweatpants, T-shirts, and sweatshirts, and the organization addresses acceptable shoes, warm-up clothing, and visible sponsorship on player uniforms in great detail (Women’s Tennis Association 2017). The PGA TOUR, arguably the best point of comparison for the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA), does not provide or mandate specifics for clothing worn during competition; rather, its policies state that players should compete with a professional presentation in both personal grooming and attire. The PGA TOUR acknowledges that fashion and appropriate golf attire is always changing but that denim, shorts, and T-shirts are considered inappropriate for competition. The tour requires that attire worn by players adhere to current fashion trends in the golf industry (PGA TOUR 2017). The preceding examples illustrate the variations and specificity of dress codes in sport. Our focus is on the LPGA, which modified its dress code with specific requirements in July 2017. This change in policy invoked reaction(s) among the many LPGA members and drew much media attention. The dress code policy was sent to LPGA members from LPGA Player-President Vicki Goetze-Ackerman in an email and included the following items that were no longer considered allowable clothing options: • Racerback with mock or regular collars are allowed (no collar = no racerback). • Plunging necklines are NOT allowed. • Leggings, unless under a skort or shorts, are NOT allowed.

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• Length of skirt, skort, and shorts MUST be long enough to not see your bottom area (even if covered under shorts) at any time, standing or bent over. • Appropriate attire should be wok to pro-am parties. You should dress yourself to present a professional image. Unless otherwise told “no,” golf clothes are acceptable. Dressy jeans are allowed, but cutoffs or jeans with holes are NOT allowed. • Workout gear and jeans (all colors) are NOT allowed inside the ropes. • Joggers are NOT allowed (Cunningham 2017). The use of language such as plunging necklines and bottom area seemed out of place to the media and other observers of the LPGA’s decision. It also begs the question of the impetus for developing and implementing a dress policy. There does not seem to be any specific instance or series of instances that could have provoked the need for these policies. Golf attire has certainly changed and evolved through the years as joggers, collarless shirts, and athletic type shoes are acceptable clothing options for all levels of male golfers. So why the dress code policy for the LPGA Tour? Are female professional golfers being body-shamed? Is the dress code policy too restrictive? Not restrictive enough? Is there a need for the policy at all? The focus of this chapter is to examine the language surrounding workplace dress codes, the female athlete paradox, as well as reactions to the LGPA dress code policy.

Professional Dress Codes A person’s dress is thought to be an integral part of himself/herself because it has the greatest amount of direct contact with the body (Arvanitidou and Gasouka 2013). The items of clothing a person chooses to wear can shape and influence his or her appearance, allowing the individual to illustrate a unique style. Clothing is often used as an external cue of first impressions and a way an individual can project an image of self to colleagues, friends, peers, and strangers. The way in which a person dresses can signify socioeconomic status, age, cultural background, and/or social

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respectability (Arvanitidou and Gasouka 2013; Hall 2002; Holman 1981; Lorenz and Murray 2005; Lurie 1981). Clothing is typically constructed in such a way that it emphasizes masculine characteristics in men (e.g., athleticism, dark colors), whereas traditional female dress emphasizes the feminine characteristics (e.g., floral prints and bright colors, modesty, submissiveness) and has worked to limit women’s social roles both physically and symbolically. People may have the freedom to dress as they wish in many public spheres if they are unphased by the potential judgment of others, but their dress may be prescribed is in the workplace (Eicher and Evenson 2014). Organizational dress codes may be formal (i.e., detailed specifications on acceptable dress or uniforms) or informal (e.g., terms like “business professional” or “business casual”). An employee’s dress can be a symbol of status or an individual’s position within the organization. Company executives may be expected to dress in “business professional” (i.e., business suit), while the custodial staff may have required uniforms in the workplace. These dress codes allow employees, visitors, and customers to understand the hierarchy within the business (Joseph 1986; Lurie 1981). Dress codes also serve as an illustration of the organization’s values and beliefs (Schein 2010). Employees are often advised to “dress for success” or “dress for the position you wish to attain.” By instructing employees to “dress for success,” there is the implication that success is an organizational value and has a specific dress code necessary to achieve. Employees may prefer more casual dress codes in order to decrease conformity and the need for social approval, but organizations may demonstrate higher levels of control by countering employee wishes and enforcing stricter dress codes (Twenge and Campbell 2008). Managers may reason that creating specific dress codes is necessary because having well-dressed employees is thought to form better impressions with clients, customers, and colleagues (Cardon and Okoro 2009). Gender plays an important role in the formation of workplace dress codes as well. Women have been found to be more sensitive to issues of dress and value their appearance more than their male colleagues (Kanter 1977; Shim and Bickle 1994). This increased attention given to appearance may occur because dress can convey credibility, self-confidence, and

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legitimacy, which are often needed by women in the workplace, especially women working in male-dominated industries, such as sport. Dress codes may also be more elaborate for women, as compared to men (Nicolson 2015; Sheppard 1992; Wolf 1991). Women experience contradictory demands from society to be “feminine” while also feeling organizational pressure to dress “business-like” (Sheppard 1992). The contradiction generates tension between a woman’s gender roles and organizational roles (Rafaeli et  al. 1997). This complex relationship is created because women understand what type of dress is considered appropriate at their workplace but must counter that with what they feel comfortable and uncomfortable wearing. This situation is even more heightened in sports—a situation known as the female athlete paradox. Women need to be athletic and muscular to excel at their chosen sport, but they also have to maintain their femininity.

Methodology Three sources of data were utilized to gather reaction to the implementation of the LPGA dress code: news articles, LGPA member social media accounts, and interviews. News articles were identified from the LexisNexis database. The search terms LPGA and dress code were used, with bounded dates of July 1, 2017, and August 30, 2017. The search identified 35 unique articles related to the issue under study, and each article was examined by two of the authors of this chapter to ensure the content of the article did pertain to the current study. A framing analysis grounded in the work by Entman (1993) was then conducted to identify the tone and nature of each article to determine the reaction to the dress code. LPGA members and other LPGA stakeholders believed the rule was effectively “slut shaming” or “body shaming” tour players that chose to wear nontraditional golf attire, with this commentary: Teen Vogue suggests that “If the sport wants a positive image, body-shaming is not the way to get it” (Arbogast 2017, p. 2). Professional golfer Paige Spiranac (2017) spoke out openly against the dress code updates, writing: “In a world where women are continually

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and unwantedly sexualized, this new rule serves as yet another reason for women to feel ashamed of their bodies, and a reminder that to be respected, they must alter their behavior because of outside perception” (¶8). She went on to discuss how stricter dress codes will only work to dissuade young girls from participating in golf. Tour constituents thought that the rule was unnecessary, and that set the tour back in terms of public perception. British player Charley Hull told BBC that although she does not wear any of the banned items when competing, she thinks the policy updates are a “shame” (Linning 2017, ¶5). She went on to say: “Golf needs to be more original and athletic. If you look at most golfers, I don’t think they look that good. If the clothes were cool, more people would play and watch it” (Linning 2017, ¶6). Former European men’s tour player Matt Blackey also weighed in on the matter, tweeting: “I’m not sure a stricter dress code will help golf ’s appeal” (Ward 2017, ¶6). The policy created a double standard between the men’s and women’s tours, in that it targeted only certain players who chose to wear specific types of golf attire. There was also sentiment that the policy was regressive in nature. LPGA members do not have the opportunity to move the game forward in terms of athletic apparel and may be having their sponsorship opportunities limited.

LPGA Member Social Media Accounts An examination of LPGA members’ Instagram and Twitter accounts was also utilized to gain reaction. The women’s world golf rankings as of July 3, 2017, were utilized to determine the sample. Players whose primary language was English and who ranked in the top 100 in the world were used for the study, resulting in 22 tour members. All posts from July 3, 2017, to July 31, 2017, were included for analysis. There were fewer than ten responses related to the dress code, and all were sarcastic in nature and questioned the purpose of the dress code. Lexi Thompson, who was ranked No. 3  in the world at the time, had the most significant post

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about the dress code. She was pictured in a long skirt, long-sleeve jacket, and straw hat. Her post read: “Got my new #LPGA dress code compliant outfit ready to go.” Thompson included additional hashtags such as “#kidding,” “#funny,” and “#joke.” These additional hashtags may have been added to ensure those at the LPGA were not upset by the post, which was seemingly mocking the new dress code. The picture was from a photo shoot she had done for a sponsor in 2016 but was fitting for the statement she was trying to make. An understanding of player perspectives was gained through an analysis of their reactions in media outlets and via social media, but we were also interested in the LPGA’s reaction to player perspectives and reasoning behind the rule changes. Interviews were conducted with a sample of two LPGA stakeholders: a former player and a senior-ranking LPGA official. Expert or key informant interviews are valuable when there is a need to gain knowledge from a specialist or someone who has a unique insight into an issue or topic (Creswell 2013; Jones 2015). This study used techniques similar to previous qualitative research in the sports setting (see Bjorndal et  al. 2017; Leone et al. 2015; Taylor et al. 2018) as we were seeking information from people who were involved in the development and implementation of the LPGA dress code, as well as from individuals impacted by the LPGA dress code. An interview with a former member of the tour revealed the dress code was initiated by LPGA players after some concern regarding attire emerged among tour leadership. There were a few notable detractors of the rule, including tour superstars Lexi Thompson and Michelle Wie, but most tour members were not against the dress code. The former tour member said: I know a lot of us didn’t really understand why it became that should be a topic that we would change our dress code when it was not really that dramatic. It was not a thing like it came from my lawn or sponsors saying we need to dress differently.

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She added that sponsors were not deterred by the implementation of the dress code, one objective marker that could be utilized to evaluate the appropriateness of the dress code with external entities. She said, “Next year we are playing for more money than and what we have done in the past.” While the number of events remained unchanged at 34, total prize money increased from $65 million in 2017 to $68.75 million in 2018 (Mell 2017). The LPGA official interviewed was also surprised by the attention garnered by the implementation of the dress code, saying: “Recent comments in the media about a ‘new’ LPGA dress code are much ado about nothing. We simply updated our existing policy with minor clarifications, which were directed by our members for our members,” which echo the sentiments of the tour player. She added that the dress code was “Not a regression, but rather a clarification for members of the policy, with references relevant to today’s fashion styles. There was not meant to be, nor will there be, a discernible difference to what players are currently wearing out on Tour.”

Conclusion This chapter explored the reaction of LPGA stakeholders following the implementation of a dress code in 2017. Because uniform regulations vary widely by sport and context, it sought to outline societal norms for both women’s attire in general and sport-specific examples of various dress codes to help frame the analysis. Society apparently prefers women to appear feminine, yet professional, in workplace environments, but athletic competitions are not the typical workplace environment. The reaction via the media was quite different from that of the stakeholders within the LPGA, framing the implementation of the dress code as controversial and a negative addition to the tour; still, interviews saw the dress code as minor and insignificant. These findings reinforced the notion that the female athlete paradox is alive and well in women’s professional sport. Women are still held to a higher standard than their male counterparts regarding attire when participating in high-level sport—an

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ongoing issue in women’s sport. The LPGA dress code indicates the many challenges that female athletes face regarding performance, femininity, and public perception concerning their clothing choices.

References Arbogast, C. R. (2017, July 17). LPGA are ‘slut-shaming’ golfers with new dress code. Retrieved from https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/lpga-are-slutshaming-golfers-with-new-dress-code-0mw09dkgt Arvanitidou, Z., & Gasouka, M. (2013). Construction of gender through fashion and dressing. Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences, 4(11), 111–115. Bjorndal, C. T., Ronglan, L. T., & Andersen, S. S. (2017). Talent development as an ecology of games: A case study of Norwegian handball. Sport, Education and Society, 22(7), 864–877. Cardon, P. W., & Okoro, E. A. (2009). Professional characteristics communicated by formal versus casual workplace attire. Business Communication Quarterly, 72, 260–355. Creswell, J.  W. (2013). Research design in qualitative, quantitative, and mixed method approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Crosset, T. W. (1995). Outsiders in the clubhouse: The world of women’s professional golf. Suny Press. Cunningham, K. (2017, July 14). Report: LPGA sets strict dress code regulations for players. Retrieved from https://www.golf.com/tournews/2017/07/14/report-lpga-sets-strict-new-dress-code-regulations-players Eicher, J. B., & Evenson, S. L. (2014). The visible self: Global perspectives on dress, culture and society. Bloomsbury Publishing USA. Entman, R. (1993). Framing: Toward clarification of fractured paradigm. Journal of Communication, 43(4), 51–58. Gregg, E. A., & Gregg, V. H. (2017). Women in sport: Historical perspectives. Clinics in Sports Medicine, 36(4), 603–610. Hall, A. M. (2002). The girl and the game: A history of women’s sport in Canada. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press. Holman, H. (1981). Product use as communication source. In B.  Enis & K.  Roering (Eds.), Review of marketing (pp.  250–272). Chicago, IL: Marketing Association. Jones, I. (2015). Research Methods for Sport Studies (3rd ed.). London: Routledge.

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Joseph, N. (1986). Uniforms and nonuniforms: Communication through clothing. New York: Greenwood Press. Kanter, R. M. (1977). Men and women of the corporation. New York: Basic Books. Krane, V., Choi, P. Y. L., Baird, S. M., Aimar, C. M., & Kauer, K. J. (2004). Living the paradox: Female athletes negotiate femininity and muscularity. Sex Roles, 50(5/6), 315–329. Lenberg, K. S., & Laskey, R. (2015). USA Volleyball 2015–2017 beach domestic competition regulations. Retrieved from https://ncva.com/downloads/ Referee%20Rule%20Book%20-%20Outdoor.pdf Leone, M., Barnes, M., & Sharpe, E. (2015). What gets plans off the shelf?: A case study of municipal recreation plan implementation. Journal of Parks and Recreation Administration, 33(4), 51–68. Linning, S. (2017, August 3). The great golf cover up! Female players swap skimpy skirts and plunging tops for jumpers and trousers after new strict dress is enforced at the Women’s British Open. Retrieved from https://www. dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-4757206/Golfers-cover-Women-sBritish-Open.html Lorenz, S. L., & Murray, R. (2005). “Goodbye to the gangsters”: The NBA dress code, Ray Emery, and the policing of blackness in basketball and hockey. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 38(1), 23–50. Lurie, A. (1981). The language of clothes. New York: Random House. McLester, C. N., Hardin, R., & Hoppe, S. (2014). An examination of eating disorders among collegiate female student-athletes. Journal of Athletic Training, 49(3), 406–410. Mell, R. (2017, December 13). LPGA schedule features 34 events, record purse. Retrieved from https://www.golfchannel.com/article/golf-central-blog/ 2018-lpga-sked-features-34-events-record-purse/ National Collegiate Athletic Association. (2017). Participant 2016–2017 manual. Retrieved from http://www.ncaa.org/sites/default/files/2017DIWGO_ AlbuquerqueParticipantManual_20170421.pdf Nicolson, P. (2015). Gender, power and organization: A psychological perspective on life at work. London: Routledge. PGA TOUR. (2017, November). Frequently asked questions. Retrieved from https://www.pgatour.com/company/pga-tour-faqs.html Pufahl, A. (2016, June). Women’s volleyball 2016 and 2017 rules and interpretations. National Collegiate Athletic Association. Retrieved from http://www. ncaapublications.com/productdownloads/VBR17.pdf

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Rafaeli, A., Dutton, J., Harquail, C. V., & Mackie-Lewis, S. (1997). Navigating by attire: The use of dress by female administrative employees. Academy of Management Journal, 40(1), 9–45. Schein, E.  H. (2010). Organizational culture and leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Sheppard, D. (1992). Women manager’ perceptions of gender and organizational life. In A. Mills & P. Tancred (Eds.), Gendering organizational analysis (pp. 151–166). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Shim, S., & Bickle, M. C. (1994). Benefit segments of female apparel market: Psychographics, shopping orientations and demographics. Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 12(2), 1–12. Smith, S. S. (2017, December). Women’s Lacrosse 2018 and 2019 rules. National Collegiate Athletic Association. Retrieved from http://www.ncaapublications.com/productdownloads/WLC19.pdf Spiranac, P. (2017, July 20). The progression of the women’s golf is plunging further than our necklines. Retrieved from http://fortune.com/2017/07/20/ new-lpga-dress-code-paige-spiranac/ Taylor, E. A., Siegele, J. L., Smith, A. B., & Hardin, R. (2018). Applying career construction theory to female NCAA Division I Conference Commissioners. Journal of Sport Management, 32(4), 321–333. Twenge, J. M., & Campbell, S. M. (2008). Generational differences in psychological traits and their impact on the workplace. Journal of Managerial Psychology, 23(8), 682–677. USA Volleyball. (2017). 2017–2019 beach domestic competition regulations. Retrieved from https://ncva.com/downloads/Referee%20Rule%20Book% 20-%20Outdoor.pdf Ward, V. (2017, July 17). Female golfers angered by strict new dress codes banning ‘plunging necklines’ and revealing skirts. Retrieved from https://www. telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/07/17/female-golfers-warned-not-wearplunging-necklines-revealing/ Wolf, N. (1991). The beauty myth. London: Chatto & Windus. Women’s Tennis Association. (2017). 2017 WTA rule book. Retrieved from http://www.wtatennis.com/sites/default/files/rules2017.pdf Wood, J. T. (1997). Gendered lives: Communication, gender, and culture. Belmont: CA: Wadsworth Publishing Company.

Chapter 13: Badass CrossFit Women; Redefining Traditional Femininity, One Handstand Push-Up at a Time Caitlyn Hauff, Christina Gipson, Hannah Bennett, and Nancy L. Malcom

Introduction Our clothing is as literally evolved to meet our needs as the scales of a fish or the feathers of a bird. It grows on us, socially, as theirs grows on them individually. Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Prefatory note (in Hill and Deegan 2002, p. 4)

Although clothing standards are unequal for males and females, both genders wear it for protection, warmth, decoration, modesty, and symbolism. As life and activities have evolved, so too has the way people

C. Hauff (*) Department of Health, Kinesiology, and Sport, University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL, USA e-mail: [email protected] C. Gipson Department of Health Sciences and Kinesiology, Georgia Southern University, Statesboro, GA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_14

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dress, yet individuals continue to use clothing to embellish, enhance, and decorate the body (Entwistle 2000). Particularly focusing on sport and fitness, sportswomen continue to fall under the feminine expectation of dressing modestly and feminine when participating in sport, otherwise risking being labelled a tomboy or lesbian (Cahn 2003; Nelson 1994) or sexually objectified (Harrison and Secarea 2010). Women therefore have historically participated in tennis, golf, and track and field in skirts, long-­ sleeved blouses, and corsets (Schweinbenz 2000), clothing choices used to show that they were not violating traditional gender norms by emphasizing feminine characteristics, sexuality, and heterosexuality (Knight and Giuliano 2003). Such sportswomen’s clothing often restricted or got in the way of athletic movements. As women’s participation in sport and fitness evolved in the United States following the passage of Title IX and the opening of new professional sports opportunities (Lopiano 2000), so too has women’s clothing. For example, women’s basketball uniforms went from mid-calf skirts to bloomers to long shorts to shorter shorts (Grundy 1997). Yet such evolution continues to be challenged and met with disapproval, Jennifer Hargreaves’ (1994, p. 159) argument continuing that “Modern sportswear is manufactured specifically to promote a sexy image … it both reveals and conceals the body, promoting an awareness of the relationship between being dressed and undressed.” Sarah Grogan (1999) explained that when women wear clothing that is tight, they are perceived as being promiscuous. Gurung and Chrouser (2007) asserted that US society and media support a simple rule of “more skin = sexier.” Women in CrossFit have encountered similar arguments. Billing itself as “the sport of fitness,” workouts (WODs, or workouts of the day) constantly varied for functional fitness; it involves a variety of movements H. Bennett Kinesiology, Augusta University, Augusta, GA, USA e-mail: [email protected] N. L. Malcom Sociology, Georgia Southern University, Statesboro, GA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

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requiring the exerciser to jump, jerk, swing, sprint, or squat (among other things). CrossFit WOD exercise modalities focus on gaining strength, power, speed, and agility. When completing, participants work out to time, which means doing as many repetitions as possible in a certain time span while competing against oneself and others. Many of the movements completed during a CrossFit WOD involve needing to be able to freely move one’s arms and legs. For example, a CrossFitter might need to go from kettlebell swings to running a sprint to doing muscle-ups, all movements requiring the use of different body parts, and oftentimes engaging in a full-body workout. Yet, in order to complete these moves to the best of one’s ability, it is essential that the CrossFitter is able to swing, run, and pull up as quickly as possible. Therefore, the type of clothing a CrossFitter is wearing is essential to enhancing her workout experience. If someone is wearing something loose or baggy, that could potentially restrict her movement and either lead to injury or cause her to slow down movements, decreasing her repetitions. In a world as competitive as CrossFit, it is essential to use clothing as a marginal gain—something that will enhance one’s ability to gain an edge during workouts and competitions. Clothing can be restrictive in CrossFit, yet from an outsider’s perspective, it may appear that women wear clothing beyond performance expectations. For example, Washington and Economides (2016) discovered that if one were to do a traditional Google image search of the words CrossFit and women, the overwhelming results reveal that her uniform is “barely there” clothing of tight spandex athletic shorts and a sports bra. Bobbi Knapp (2015) reported that her participants felt they needed to maintain feminine social norms, while Podmore and Ogle (2018) found some participants dressed a particular way simply to attract male attention. Despite Knapp’s (2015) finding that working out in a sports bra was empowering to some participants, some scholars argue that images and attire for women who CrossFit are revealing and sexy (Washington and Economides 2016). However, Podmore and Ogle (2018) found some participants said they preferred tighter shorts and tank tops because that is more functional and even more comfortable for CrossFit workouts. The concept of functionality for CrossFit clothing is important, and deserves further investigation; thus, the purpose of this chapter is to

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understand the clothing journey of women who CrossFit, addressing apparel functionality during workouts, clothing the body as it transforms in muscle and strength, and the obstacles faced when trying to buy and wear traditional clothing.

Clothing Functionality The literature regarding CrossFit apparel and functionality is sparse. Researchers have examined the functionality of other movement-based sports, and many of the same concepts align with CrossFit. For example, when Michaelson et al. (2018) examined the functionality of climbing pants for rock climbers, they focused on aspects of fit, mobility, and comfort, all of which are elements their participants expressed as being important for their climbing experience, finding some climbers discontent with the fit of their pants when some parts (i.e., waistband, crotch, pant length) interfered with how the harness fit or hindered their ability to be flexible. In terms of mobility, participants also suggested that if pants hindered their movements and restricted them from fully engaging in the climb, they reported it problematic. Ultimately, these climbers wanted full freedom of movement, quality fabric that was breathable and functional, and styles that were the appropriate length and without impeding their ability to climb or be a safety hazard. Women in CrossFit experience similar needs as rock climbers as many of their movements require ample mobility and flexibility. If a piece of clothing restricts range of motion, it can change the entire dynamic of the movement. Clothing must be multifunctional to allow the CrossFitter to engage in functional movement. When doing a WOD, if a CrossFitter is asked to do a handstand push-up and she is wearing a loose-fitting shirt, it is possible that the shirt might fall down over her face, covering her eyes and disrupting the movement she is trying to perform. Throughout 2017, the authors of this chapter (Hauff et al. in press) completed focus group interviews with CrossFit women in the southeast region of the United States as part of a study on body image perspectives. Nine focus groups were completed, garnering responses from 47 women

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from a variety of ages (18–54 years of age) and skill levels (self-reported recreational, semi-competitive, competitive, or high-level competitive). While talking about their transformative experiences with CrossFit and how body image plays a role in that experience, some participants addressed feelings about wearing certain types of apparel during a WOD. More often than not, they voiced a desire to wear clothing that was tight-fitting and, by association, physique-revealing. Christina (a pseudonym), a high-level competitive CrossFitter in the age group 25–34, stated: Like since I think whenever I first started CrossFit I was wearing like gym shorts, not the long ones, but just like regular gym shorts and t-shirts. But now it’s just tank tops or sports bras or booty shorts [barely covering the buttocks] and honestly it’s mainly because booty shorts are so comfortable. It’s just so easy to move in, but I’m definitely way more confident now then I was when I started.

CrossFitters in our study thought clothing needed to be tight-fitting so that they did not have to tug at and adjust their clothing during a workout (pull shirts down, roll sleeves up, etc.). They also voiced preference for spandex-type apparel because it was purposeful for their workout. When clothing is tighter, it is more functional, especially when athletes are being asked to do multiple movements quickly or change from skill to skill. Many identified how CrossFit had transformed not only their bodies, but also their minds, when it comes to wearing certain apparel. CrossFit has served as a confidence and self-esteem boost for many women, and we reported that this allows them to wear tight-fitting clothing because (1) everyone else is doing it (i.e., elicits feelings of belonging) and (2) because they feel better about themselves. Going into a WOD, the CrossFitter is focused on the functionality of the exercise, not how she looks doing the exercise. Therefore, they will seek out clothing that allows them to be comfortable and functional—not necessarily worrying about being aesthetically pleasing to their audience. In order to best showcase the functionality of apparel during a WOD, photos of two of the authors of this chapter participating in a WOD at their respective CrossFit boxes are at the end of the chapter. What one can note from

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them is how CrossFit incorporates a variety of movements: lifting, rowing, jumping, and climbing (to name a few). Both women wear tight-­ fitting apparel in order to move as freely as possible while completing each movement. Much like the rock climbers from Michaelson et  al. (2018) study, apparel for CrossFit needs to provide mobility, comfort, and versatility. Apparel in this arena should not interfere with the movements she is trying to complete nor act as a barrier in terms of comfort or functionality. When viewing CrossFitters in the popular press, on television, or even on social media platforms, it appears that many have a preference for functional apparel. Many women, particularly those we see participating in the CrossFit games, tend to wear the staples of this unofficial “uniform”: short, barely there spandex shorts and a sports bra or tight-fitting tank top, both of which are extremely physique-revealing. This uniform—sexy, feminine, and suggestive to some—serves a purpose for these athletes, allowing for freedom of functional movement. While many would look at it as prime real estate for objectification, those competing in CrossFit see it through a different lens—not meant sexually appealing but desirable so they can breathe and move freely without any restriction or interference. Physique-revealing uniforms have been previously reported as being a negative source of stress for female athletes, a contributor to body dissatisfaction, and a potential influencer of disordered eating (Greenleaf 2002; Krane et al. 2004; Steinfeldt et al. 2013). Despite these potential negative ramifications, Krane et al. (2004) found that, although physique-­ revealing uniforms might elicit negative feelings, those competitors eventually become accustomed to wearing this type of uniform and begin to focus on its functionality for their sport. We received many comments in this regard when talking with the CrossFit women: • I don’t want to be tugging on things. I don’t want my shirt coming up. Tighter fitting clothing serves a purpose to me, and I used to wear the baggiest clothes, you know I didn’t want anything showing I was very modest now I have crazy pants. I call them my crazy deadlift pants and I don’t really care, so the tighter the better. Not for sick reasons just because its purposeful, functional (Fern, recreational CrossFitter, age 35–44).

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• …But then I see other women come in who are like…a girl here today. She has had 2 kids, one of her kids about a year old. And she took her shirt off. All of her mommy flab was showing but it’s too damn hot and so she’s shirtless. And I’m like, you know what, if she can do that, ALL OF US CAN DO THAT (Brooke, semi-competitive CrossFitter, age 35–44). While it is understood that physique-revealing clothing might elicit feelings of shame, discomfort, and dissatisfaction with one’s body, it is also clear that some women have been able to recognize how their uniform functions for performance. Additionally, because this type of apparel has become a norm for CrossFit activity, individuals are able to take cues from others about its acceptability. Specifically, despite one’s body shape, size, muscularity, or leanness, tight or revealing apparel is suitable and welcomed because it allows for unrestricted freedom of movement during a WOD, and that is key to having an optimal exercise experience. Steinfeldt et al. (2013) were able to explore this concept with a group of women volleyball players (known for wearing physique-revealing uniforms) and found similar results. Players reported that, when initially putting on a spandex uniform, they felt it showed all of their imperfections and left little to the imagination, yet they also stressed that, when it came to competition, the tight uniform allowed them to move quicker, change directions easier, and engage in proper technique during match play. It appears that, when athletes like CrossFitters are able to identify how their clothing contributes to optimizing an exercise experience, the notion of its being tight-fitting and potentially objectifying takes a backseat. It is important to address how a physique-revealing uniform might function and act as a facilitator for exercise in order to increase the desirability of wearing this type of uniform for their particular exercise domain.

Body Transformations and Apparel Evolution While women in CrossFit have been restructuring the mold of what feminism looks like, much of this change can be attributed to the physical and mental transformation that has taken place during their journey.

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Within our study, we consistently found women discussing their body transformations, and through that journey, their confidence was positively transformed. This increase, or establishment of self-confidence, was exemplified through how their clothing choices evolved, particularly relative to what they chose to wear. Harper, a semi-competitive CrossFitter, age 25–34, stated: “I used to not wear shorts, up until about a year ago and if it was too hot outside, I would wear capris. But being comfortable with the fact that my legs are bigger, but bigger because I squat and lift and do lunges, they’re not bigger because they’re jigglier. And everyone’s wearing shorts, why should I have to wear capris when I don’t have to.” Jada, another recreational CrossFitter, age 25–34, mentioned: I’ve gotten more comfortable with the way I look. Even though there are still aspects of my body that I want to change, I think everyone has an aspect about their body that they want to change anyway. But I’ve definitely gotten more clothes that fit versus the baggy clothes that I used to wear, which made me look bigger than what I was. I’ve definitely gotten more comfortable with showing off the curves that God gave me and being just more confident and comfortable and being, ‘This is who I am and if you don’t like it go somewhere else. That is fine, you don’t have to like it.’ Just being more confident inside and out.

Furthermore, we found that this new body confidence reframed women’s view about their bodies, their frame of mind seeing it as a functional tool and not an ornament. The mindset became more about what the body can do and lift, as opposed to what society or other people thought about their bodies. Erica, a recreational CrossFitter, age 35–44, offered: I will wear tank tops more now, because I don’t feel quite as self-conscious as this right here. I wear a 2 piece now to the beach. And it’s not that I think I look any better in it, my knowing what I’m capable of makes me feel better and makes me feel like I look better. Even no one else on the beach knows what I can dead lift I know so that makes me feel like I can wear this. Which is good, that way I don’t base what I see in the mirror. I just feel it.

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This statement helps strengthen the argument that women’s participation in CrossFit not only has enhanced their physical strength and functionality but also has an equally important mental growth component. Instead of being confined to the social norms of femininity, women are able to celebrate different body types through their strength and function, as opposed to their aesthetics. Podmore and Ogle (2018, p. 11) described a similar phenomenon: in discussing how they value appearance, researchers found that participants celebrated the idea that the CrossFit box was a “judgement-free zone” where strength was not only tolerated but also appreciated. Women also noted that CrossFit allowed them to better understand the functional nature of their bodies, so they chose to wear active wear more often to show how important and embedded CrossFit is in their lives. For many women, it appears that CrossFit is an identity, one that members of the community proudly display—clothing being a way to put this identity on display. It can be argued that CrossFit clothing has helped to redefine the social norm of femininity for its participants. Yet this change cannot be easily seen in other avenues of clothing, particularly street clothing. The juxtaposition comes from having a stronger, more muscular frame with an enhanced self-confidence met with a discouraging inability to wear street clothing, such as jeans, tank tops, shorts, and bras, that fits. Miranda, a semi-competitive CrossFit participant, age 25–34, even stated that “…the clothes are not made for women that have muscles and so it is challenging what the physique body type looks like for a woman … but it’s been a big challenge for me when I do go shopping and I can’t fit into clothes.” Research has delved into bigger bodies, body image, and clothing (Christel et al. 2016; Maphis et al. 2013; Tiggemann and Andrew 2012), but CrossFit women potentially present a new challenge. While their clothing choices are the norm, their muscular (and thus potentially larger) frame might hinder their ability to find clothing to fit their curvature such that heir increase in self-assurance might then be met with discomfort. Two participants in our study are representative: • More discouraging were my clothes didn’t fit and I didn’t want to buy new clothes because I like having a variety of clothes. I have a lot of clothes. I like to shop, but I don’t like to replace pants for example. It’s

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a nightmare to find pants that fit (Melinda, recreational CrossFitter, age 45–54). • They don’t take into consideration athletic build, it is like, ok, I am a size 10, but a size 10 doesn’t fit because I have big legs. So, it is just so frustrating (Emily, recreational CrossFitter, age 18–24). Maggie, a semi-competitive CrossFitter, age 35–44, reiterated similar statements, discussing her frustrations with not being able to find jeans that fit her more muscular legs without being excessive in other areas: I can’t fit into anything. I mean, I can’t find jeans that fit me, I can’t find shorts that fit me. So, I don’t know. I wear stuff like this [workout shorts] because my legs are just, and it’s not like I’m grossed out by them or anything they are just… don’t go. Like, if it fits my legs and my ass, then the waist is HUGE.  And so, I wear summer dresses. And I’m like ‘Oh my God.’ I mean, I can get jeans but it’s like (hand gesture). ‘Ok I’m in. Move me out later because I’m going to need someone to peel them off of me.’

Jeans were not the only item of clothing that were an issue with many of our CrossFit women, as participants also mentioned not being able to wear open back gowns because of “muscles popping out” instead of showing off “dainty shoulder blades.” One participant openly discussed the frustration of finding a proper bra because of her new figure. Participants in Podmore and Olge’s 2018 study expressed the same sentiments, discussing that, while they felt proud of their CrossFit-related accomplishments, it was taxing trying to find nonathletic apparel that made them feel good and confident about their bodies; further, they mentioned a need to relearn how to dress due to their many transformations in size and weight. It appears to be difficult to negotiate feeling appreciative toward new muscular frames while still trying to dress in a way that is feminine. It is important to note that the frustration of finding street clothing did not deter the confidence that many of these women felt from their CrossFit body changes. One participant, for example, having a more defined figure encouraged her to buy more form-fitting dresses to “show off the figure I’ve been working on,” while another stated that she now buys dresses that are less flowy and “a little more tailored.” One mentioned that she was excited to “wear sleeveless stuff” and was less

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self-­conscious of her arms since starting CrossFit, while another embraced the love of her arms by saying, “I would show my arms in a heartbeat.” While a curvier, more muscular body can present challenges within mainstream clothing lines, women of CrossFit are navigating this world with the new self-confidence that has been a welcome by-product of their body transformation.

 avigating a CrossFit Body N and Everyday Apparel Krane et al. (2004) discuss the idea of female athletes needing to navigate a paradox between wanting to appear and be feminine and desiring to be powerful and strong (traits normally associated with masculinity). CrossFit women find themselves working through this paradox all the time. While the ideal female body tends to be one that is described as lean, toned, and with a tiny waist, CrossFit defies this ideal, constructing an alternative that strongly exhibits muscularity, strength, thick thighs, and large “traps” (i.e., the muscles at the top of the shoulder and upper back). When women participate in CrossFit, it is inevitable that their bodies change. Long gone is the notion that one has to have a thigh gap (space between upper legs so limbs do not touch) or be skinny to be sexy; defined muscles, strong legs, and powerful arms determine the body type that is sought. So how do CrossFit women deal about this paradox? What challenges do they face by trying to feel feminine in their newly shaped bodies? One challenge is wearing “normal” clothing when going out in social settings. Much of this chapter has addressed the acceptability of wearing physique-revealing clothing during WODs and competition, but how does this uniform translate to a setting outside of the box? When we addressed this situation, our findings reflected that CrossFit women want to show off their newly formed bodies when wearing traditional clothing but struggle to find clothing that is an appropriate fit for more muscular women. Krane et  al. (2004) discuss this challenge, finding that, when shopping for clothing, their female athlete participants felt as if they were being constantly reminded that they did not fit into the traditional female body norm. Oftentimes, not being able to fit into traditional clothing

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sizes or feeling uncomfortable when wearing clothing other than their uniform produced feelings of difference—a constant reminder that they are not a traditional female, as defined by society. Some reports: • Because my arms are so big now. My arms and shoulders won’t fit into some things. I have to shop differently because my shoulders and my arms are too big (Ms. Prince, semi-competitive CrossFitter, age 45–54). • …but it’s been a big challenge for me when I do go shopping and I can’t fit into clothes. Or wanting to wear like the super nice gown that’s got that big open back and I’ve got my muscles popping out of my back. And everyone wants to see these dainty shoulder blades popping out (Miranda, semi-competitive CrossFitter, age 25–34). • I used to wear jeans all the time and I have a really hard time wearing jeans now because I cannot find them to fit me (Tonya, recreational CrossFitter, age 35–44). As many CrossFit women try to find traditional clothing to fit their bodies, they discover that clothing is made for society’s ideal body, not for the alternative ideal body they have created. Many discuss wearing dresses or skirts because they cannot find pants that will fit them. They do not do this because they are ashamed of their larger body size but rather because straight-sized clothing is uncomfortable and does not provide stretch and adequate coverage. Clothing design is interesting to consider in an athletic context because, as Krane et al. (2004, p. 322) suggest, “Sport is not consistent with hegemonic femininity.” Straight-sized clothing seems to reject muscles and thick thighs, pressing forward the ideal that women should be lean and slender, have small arms, and have defined shoulder blades. Tonya, a recreational CrossFitter, age 35–44, from our study described her challenges: Yeah, it’s too tight in the thighs, my legs, and then you get the gap at the waist because my waist is smaller and then my calves are so big. Even skinny jeans I have to get the ones that are super uber stretchy to go over my calves. I have a hard time buying shoes, like boots, to go over my calves. That changed because I wear different kinds of stuff that I never used to before because my legs are too big to fit into anything. And t-shirts, like I

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said earlier, they don’t fit in my shoulder and arms and it’s very uncomfortable because I’m itching and I have to stretch everything out and then it’s baggy everywhere else. I wouldn’t take it back though; I like being strong.

Tonya adds that, although her body does not fit traditional norms of femininity and what society expects her body to look like, she would not change her transformed body because she values being strong. This is a key takeaway point for women in this athletic domain. Engaging in CrossFit empowers women to brush aside socially constructed ideals for the female body, allowing them to embrace their muscles, strength, and power—aspects that are not normally celebrated when discussing traditional femininity. While these women find challenges in clothing their nontraditional bodies, they want to wear clothing showing off their toned arms and legs because they are proud of the work they have put into their bodies. CrossFit has redefined ideals for women, eliciting support to celebrate women for being strong.

Conclusion The unofficially adapted CrossFit uniform presents an interesting dynamic when discussing traditional femininity. On one hand, a physique-­revealing uniform creates a potential arena for sexual objectification (Frederickson and Roberts 1997), CrossFit women presenting themselves as feminine as they are wearing little clothing and showing off their bodies, yet the body they are showing off in this uniform is one that is not necessarily regarded by the public as feminine in nature. CrossFit women do not seem concerned that their bodies are breaking socially constructed boundaries. As part of understanding the dynamic and paradox that occurs with female athletes, we must consider how they view their bodies as a function of their sport. Krane et al. (2004) suggest that female athletes view their size, strength, and power as key ingredients to being optimal performers. Without that muscle and speed, they could not be competitive. Likewise, it seems that CrossFit women have been able to align themselves with the attitude that many other female athletes hold, viewing their bodies as vehicles for performance. By focusing on how their body functions during activity, they are able to feel empowered.

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The CrossFit uniform, it turns out, is a small but inconsequential piece of this puzzle. By wearing apparel that is feminine yet shows off their transformed bodies, CrossFit women are able to navigate the paradox of being female athletes. Wearing apparel that is functional and versatile for their performance(s) allows them to continue to perform at optimal levels—which, in turn, allows them to continue to mold and transform their bodies into a new, ideal norm. It is not so much that they are resisting femininity by embracing larger muscles and thighs but rather that they are creating a new norm celebrating feminine strength and power. Defining muscles as beautiful is a sentiment that is long overdue in our society, one that CrossFit women actively tackle, one handstand push-up at a time (Figs. 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5).

Fig. 1  Hannah Bennett jump roping

Fig. 2  Hannah Bennett rowing

Fig. 3  Christina Gipson competing a handstand push-up

Fig. 4  Christina Gipson rope climbing

Fig. 5  Christina Gipson completing a snatch

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References Cahn, S. K. (2003). Come out, come out whatever you’ve got! or, still crazy all these years. Feminist Studies, 29(1), 7–18. Christel, D. A., O’Donnell, N. H., & Bradley, L. A. (2016). Coping by crossdressing: an exploration of exercise clothing for obese heterosexual women. Fashion and Textiles, 3(1), 11. Entwistle, J. (2000). The fashioned body: Fashion, dress, and modern social theory. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Fredrickson, B.  L., & Roberts, T.-A. (1997). Objectification theory: Toward understanding women’s lived experiences and mental health risks. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 21, 173–206. Greenleaf, C. (2002). Athletic body image: Exploratory interviews with former competitive female athlete. Women in Sport and Physical Activity Journal, 11, 63–88. Grogan, S. (1999). Body Image: Understanding body dissatisfaction in men, women, and children. London: Routledge. Grundy, P. (1997). Bloomers and beyond: North Carolina women’s basketball uniforms, 1901–1997. Southern Cultures, 3(3), 52–67. Gurung, R. A., & Chrouser, C. J. (2007). Predicting objectification: Do provocative clothing and observer characteristics matter? Sex Roles, 57(1–2), 91–99. Hargreaves, J. (1994). Sporting females: Critical issues in the history and sociology of women’s sports. London: Routledge. Harrison, L. A., & Secarea, A. M. (2010). College students’ attitudes toward the sexualization of professional athletes. Journal of Sport Behavior, 33(4), 403–426. Hauff, C., Bennett, H., Gipson, C., & Malcom, N. (in press). “…the tighter the better”: Exploring the experiences CrossFit women have with traditional and exercise apparel. Hill, M. R., & Deegan, M. J. (Eds.). (2002). The dress of women: A critical introduction to the symbolism and sociology of clothing: Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Knapp, B. A. (2015). Rx’d and shirtless: An examination of gender in a CrossFit box. Women in Sport and Physical Activity Journal, 23(1), 42–53. Knight, J. L., & Giuliano, T. A. (2003). Blood, sweat, and jeers: The impact of the media’s heterosexist portrayals on perceptions of male and female athletes. Journal of Sport Behavior, 26(3), 272–284.

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Krane, V., Choi, P. Y. L., Baird, S. M., Aimar, C. M., & Kauer, K. J. (2004). Living the paradox: Female athletes negotiate femininity and masculinity. Sex Roles, 50, 315–329. Lopiano, D. (2000). Modern history of women in sports: Twenty-five years of Title IX. Clinics in Sports Medicine, 19(2), 163–173. Maphis, L.  E., Martz, D.  M., Bergman, S.  S., Curtin, L.  A., & Webb, R. M. (2013). Body size dissatisfaction and avoidance behavior: How gender, age, ethnicity, and relative clothing size predict what some won’t try. Body Image, 10, 361–368. Michaelson, D., Teel, K. P., & Chattarman, V. (2018). Assessing rock climbers’ functional needs in climbing pants. Clothing and Textile Research Journal, 36(4), 235–250. Nelson, M. B. (1994). The stronger women get, the more men love football: Sexism and the American culture of sports. New York: Avon Books. Podmore, M., & Ogle, J. P. (2018). The lived experience of CrossFit as a context for the development of women’s body image and appearance management practices. Fashion and Textiles, 5(1), 1. Schweinbenz, A. (2000). Not just a fashion statement: Bathing suits, uniforms, and sportswear in the early Olympic Games. Seminar on Olympic Studies, pp. 60–71. Steinfeldt, J. A., Zakrajsek, R. A., Bodey, K. J., Middendorf, K. G., & Martin, S. B. (2013). Role of uniforms in the body image of female college volleyball players. The Counseling Psychologist, 41(5), 791–819. Tiggemann, M., & Andrew, R. (2012). Clothing choices, weight, and trait self-­ objectification. Body Image, 9, 409–212. Washington, M. S., & Economides, M. (2016). Strong is the new sexy: Women, CrossFit, and the postfeminist ideal. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 40(2), 143–161.

Chapter 14: A Feminist Media Analysis of the Digiulian-Kinder Incident; Rock Climber Cyber-Bullying on Instagram Leandra Hinojosa Hernández

Background to a Confrontation In May 2018, Joe Kinder, a then-sponsored La Sportiva and Black Diamond American professional rock climber and athlete, was fired from his official climbing sponsorships when news accounts revealed that he cyberbullied professional women climbers through an incognito Instagram account. Posting fat-shaming pictures and referring to famous American climber Sasha Digiulian in a sexist manner by likening her image to Sarah Sapora, a self-love mentor and wellness advocate. Kinder ignited a social media firestorm surrounding how women’s bodies, women’s apparel, and women climbers are perceived and construed in the media. His public apology, coupled with Digiulian’s public commentary, climbing magazine articles about this debate, and professional rock climbers’ public support of both climbers, raises important questions about the intersections of gender, beauty, and blame in the outdoor rock

L. H. Hernández (*) Department of Communication, Utah Valley University, Sandy, UT, USA © The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7_15

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climbing sphere. To further interrogate these intersections, this chapter analyzes the embodied nature of women climbers’ clothing and the social constructions of climber culpability through media discourses surrounding the Digiulian-Kinder Instagram incident. An analysis of online outdoor news coverage of the Digiulian-Kinder Instagram confrontation revealed three main themes about gender-based harassment in rock climbing: trivialization of Digiulian’s climbing accomplishments, minimization of culpability pertaining to Kinder’s actions, and attention to gender and diversity issues in the climbing realm. A media firestorm erupted when posts surfaced on Sasha Digiulian and Joe Kinder’s Instagram accounts relative to cyberbullying in rock climbing. Digiulian (2018), a professional world champion rock climber, is the first American woman to climb an outdoor sport route graded 9a— an outdoor route with a difficulty grade of 5.14d (the most challenging established at 5.15d), and then she posted a photo on her Instagram account that read “Rise against bullying.” The caption urged the rock climbing community to “Uphold ourselves to higher standards than permitting defamatory, assaulting behavior,” referring to Joe Kinder’s incognito Instagram account where he posted body-shaming pictures of professional women climbers. His posts juxtaposed images of professional women rock climbers with images of curvier women (or what some writers have referred to as “morbidly obese” women) along with offensive, sexist, and degrading terms to describe their bodies and their attire choices. Digiulian publicly stated that Kinder had been posting “malicious and ongoing” images for eight years and confronted him publicly when her private correspondence went unanswered (cited in Carberry 2018). She then went on YouTube to state this about his cyberbullying: “It has gone on for years and those who know both of us are fully aware of this. I was not going to just let this keep escalating; it has been so incredibly hurtful. My response was to a meme that was the final straw. I am not going to stand by and be silent about something like this. It is not acceptable behavior” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continu e=203&v=WtzPeHVAnGU). Before Kinder’s cyberbullying was exposed, Digiulian publicly addressed her personal body image issues and athletic figure fluctuation on several podcasts, Instagram posts, and articles,

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partially in response to Instagram hash tags referring to her as #sausagedigiulian and discourses about her perceived weight gain. Competitive athletes are already considered to be “at-risk” for body image disturbance, body dysmorphia, and disordered eating due to body shape ideals and cultural and societal pressures (Gaines and Burnett 2014; Kong and Harris 2015), and athletes in sports where leanness and thinness are perceived to be linked to sporting success (such as in rock climbing, gymnastics, or figure skating) experience heavier training, disordered eating patterns, and more dietary restrictions (Sundgot-Borgen and Torstveit 2004, 2010). A unique body culture exists within rock climbing whereby the “body culture encompasses the value climbers place on certain ideals such as lean muscle mass, strength-to-weight ratio, and low body fat for optimal performance and is specific to the sport of climbing” (Reeves et al. 2017, p. 389). This body culture is also impacted by “climbing idols and climbing media,” which augments climbers’ sporting body ideals, self-esteem, and body image in powerful ways (ibid., p.  390). Research has found that women climbers are more likely to exhibit body dissatisfaction when reflecting upon their climbing performance and the social comparison they engage in when they compare their bodies and climbing abilities to other professional women climbers and the “ideal climbing figure.” One climber participant referenced Digiulian, stating: “So I’m looking at [her] climbing and how easy it looks for her to climb, not observing the fact that she has all this muscle and that she’s been training for this for years. My mind always goes like, ‘Oh, she’s smaller. Therefore, it’s easier.’” A quick perusal of Digiulian’s Instagram account and personal website spotlights images of her climbing highly challenging routes in sports bras, tank tops, and various climbing pants and leggings, highlighting her toned physique and the strength that propels her to conquer difficult and physically demanding routes. The mere fact that she, a toned, strong, world championship rock climber, was bullied by a fellow professional climber illustrates the insidiousness of sexism and fragile masculinity in the climbing realm and the pervasiveness of sexist discourses surrounding professional women athletes. As Fuller (2016, p. 2) has noted, “The standard mantra about female athletes claims that they have been trivialized, marginalized, hypersexualized, hierarchically devalued, made invisible,

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inferior, and infantilized.” In Digiulian’s case, climbing accolades have been trivialized and devalued, while her physical body has been propelled to the forefront of a sexist social media controversy. Upon her public confrontation on Instagram, Kinder (2018) reportedly deleted that account and issued a public apology. First, he stated that social media can be used in both “great ways” or “harmful” ways, then justified his actions by stating he grew up with a “harsh sense of humor” as a “skater-kid punk”: Bullying or harmful content is nothing I’d like to be connected to and I’m not proud to have offended people. For a few months I had a private account that would include a small group of people on inside jokes and memes poking fun at people. (It’s deleted now so no need to search it out.) I went overboard and would like to publicly apologize, Sasha, I’m sorry. I respect women and support our current era for our women as we’re in a historical moment of time. It was not pro, kind, human, or yielding of anything positive.

Kinder was soon fired from his La Sportive and Black Diamond sponsorships, the latter stating that Kinder “strayed from our core values,” the former because he violated their anti-bullying zero tolerance policy. Black Diamond later released this statement: “We have always valued women in the climbing community. From our incredible and inspiring female athletes—a group of women who consistently break down barriers that were once thought impossible due to their gender—to the gear we design specifically for women, our support for the female climbing community remains unwavering.”

Literature Review Until the past few decades, women’s experiences in alternative sports, extreme sports, or male-dominated sports were relatively understudied (Appleby and Fisher 2005); however, with the rise of more female professional athletes participating in male-dominated sports, particularly in rock climbing, research has analyzed women climber identity and embodiment (Dilley 2006, 2007, 2012), women climber’s body image

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ideals and perceptions (Reeves et al. 2017), gender and risk in climbing and mountaineering contexts (Moscoso-Sánchez 2008; Rak 2010; Robinson 2008), and femininity and masculinity in rock climbing (Plate 2007). Several studies have utilized feminist approaches to explore the intersections of gender and identity in rock climbing contexts, which inform this study as well. Feminist sport study researchers have both articulated and responded to a call for the inclusion of feminist theories and attention to gender issues in sport contexts, and feminist sport theoretical approaches analyze and deconstruct how “dominant paradigms of power impact and constrain individuals” and also impact social change and empowerment (Appleby and Fisher 2005, p.  11; Whaley 2001). Appleby and Fisher (2005, p. 11) elaborate: “The social construction of gender impacts our perceptions of, abilities in, and access to specific sports. By recognizing how these social constructions affect the everyday lives of women, feminist researchers endeavor to highlight how social change can occur and help improve the lives of humans in general.” Gender is a complex and changing social category of analysis, and research on sport and gender illustrates how gender as a social category has worked in tandem with the category of sex to produce dominant ideals of “males and females, masculinity and femininity” that shape men’s and women’s experiences in sport and also the larger imbalance between the public’s recognition of men’s and women’s sports (Hargreaves and Anderson 2014, p.  4). Indeed, gendered ideologies of sport have long contended that “Males, by their very natures, are more suited to take part in energetic and aggressive forms of physical activity than are females. Secondly, it reflects the power of men to dominate sport participation, mediation, management, and finance” (p. 5). Still, climbing is a unique sport wherein men and women undergo the same training to climb the same routes, women climbers establishing first ascents at the same rate as men climbers. Beth Rodden, for example, redpointed (meaning that she climbed the entire route without relying on a rope for support) Meltdown, a 70-foot, 5.14c finger crack route in Yosemite, making it the hardest pitch in Yosemite Valley at that time. She is the only climber—male or female—to climb that route (Lucas 2016), never mind redpointing it.

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Rock climbing as a sport, then, has the potential to disrupt the formation of sport “stable identities and personalities” (Hargreaves 1982, pp. 34–35; Hargreaves and Anderson 2014) and, by extension, gendered social arrangements because of the proliferation of both men and women at all phases—coaching, promotion, management, finances, and competitive, professional, and world championship athletes, in addition to gendered resistance tactics such as the creation of women-only climbing organizations, events, and festivals (Plate 2007). As Katherine Plate (2007, p. 4) notes, climbing is an “odd blend” of sporting characteristics because it “involves high levels of risk and requires strength, yet good technique demands balance, grace, and is very aesthetic”; moreover, feminine masculinities in climbing (as will be discussed here) and the proliferation of strong, inspiring women climbers at professional and nonprofessional levels have the power to disrupt traditional, hegemonic masculinities in the climbing sphere. Yet rock climbing is not without its own gendered issues. Female athletes in sports across the continuum are subjected to sexism and other gendered structural issues and expectations. Paul Willis (1982, p. 122) contends that women athletes’ sexuality is often given precedence over their sporting ability, making them “symbolically vaporized and reconstituted as an object, a butt for smutty jokes and complacent elbow nudging.” Let’s add that women athletes’ bodies and clothing attire are also discursively dissected, hypersexualized, and trivialized (Daniels 2009; Smith 2015), partially in efforts to obscure sport accolades and successes with detrimental effects on athletes’ self-objectification and body dissatisfaction. The sexualization of female athletes requires them to embody and adhere to the constraining social constructions of heterosexuality in order to not disrupt the masculine image of the sport: attractiveness for male athletes and consumers, availability for heterosexual dating, and subversiveness of femininity and gender expectations by “trying to be like men” or “act like men” in their respective sports. Earlier research in rock climbing contexts (Young 1997) found that male rock climbers did not find women rock climbers as equally capable partners or opponents and that they tried to outperform women climbers to assert their masculine dominance in the sport. Other gendered constraints in rock climbing include women’s being introduced to the sport by mostly men, who served as climbing gatekeepers, women crediting

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their success to their male partners; also, there was perceived constant search for female mentors and undermining of one’s climbing competencies because of the “double-edged sword and negative stigma of being associated with male climbing partners” and body/self-image incongruence in mitigating societal standards of beauty with rock climbing muscular expectations for “heterosexual physical attractiveness” (Appleby and Fisher 2005, p. 17). From an apparel perspective, self-presentation played an important function in women rock climbers’ identities and experiences, as “what to wear to the crag was based upon two specific factors: heterosexual appeal of clothing and comfort or function” (ibid., p. 15). Female athletes are often depicted in problematic ways—deviant, unfeminine, dykes, abnormal, mannish (Dilley 2012), representative of the perpetual cultural contradiction between femininity and athletic prowess (Cahn 1996). Apparel, musculature, bodily stature, and outward appearance contribute in powerful ways to the construction of climber identity, yet female climbers can embody difference in positive ways as well. In Dilley’s 2012 study, women rock climbers did not perceive themselves as “normal,” which was empowering—they worked in male-­ dominated industries, excelled in rock climbing competencies, had mountaineering and other outdoor aspirations, and responded positively to their strength and physical competencies. This participant group performed a version of female masculinity wherein “the body’s physical capabilities, being strong, fit and physically active, constituted an important site of identity formation. The women gained confidence and felt empowered by their bodies, which affected how they interacted with others and how they valued themselves” (p. 202). Thus, women rock climbers’ experiences in the sport—and associated performances of and considerations of femininity—cannot be separated from the constant negotiation of and compliance with identity expectations, approaches to masculinities, apparel navigation, and corporeal standards.

News Media Discourses of Sport and Gender This is another important aspect of sport, gender, and sexism. As scholars have long demonstrated, media representations of sport and gender are important because they shape the way men’s and women’s sports are

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depicted, impact larger discourses surrounding these topics, and suggest both preferred and dominant meanings of sport and gender to larger audiences (Duncan and Messner 2002). From a symbolic annihilation perspective, female athletes and sports receive less coverage than men’s (Cooky et al. 2015; Duncan and Messner 2002). As Cooky et al. (2013, p.  203) illustrate, the coverage of women’s sports is “the lowest ever,” leading them to conclude that “the amount of coverage of women’s sports and the quality of that coverage illustrates the ways in which the news media build audiences for men’s sport while silencing and marginalizing women’s sport.” Moreover, the dearth of news coverage of women’s sports and women athletes is characterized by “nonserious women’s sports,” humorous sexual objectification of women athletes (Messner et al. 2003), and “dull, matter-of-fact delivery” of women’s sports stories when compared to the “exciting, amplified delivery” of men’s sports stories (Cooky et al. 2015, p. 261). Thus, this chapter asks the following questions: 1. How do news articles frame the Kinder-Digiulian Instagram cyberbullying incident? 2. What do news discourses reveal about sexism, racism, and hegemonic masculinity in American rock climbing communities?

Methodology: Textual Analysis As an avid rock climber for the past five years and the San Diego women’s rock climbing ambassador for the official Girls Who Climb advocacy organization, I have reflected upon the Digiulian social media incident for quite some time in conjunction with my own racial, ethnic, and gendered experiences in the Southern California rock climbing community. I began climbing with my spouse—my primary climbing partner—five years ago, becoming aptly aware early in the process of the gendered nature of the sport, with both men and women climbers succeeding at climbs of the same grades and yet how isolating it can feel when comparing one’s worth to a grade, the amount of time one has been climbing, or demeaning comments from other climbers. Although I personally have

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not experienced outright racism or sexism, I am well aware of how they manifest in rock climbing gyms, festivals, and outdoor climbing trips (see Abel 2018; Ellison 2018; Pevzner 2018; Walker 2017), as well as the arguments women climbers have posited that critique the role of feminism in rock climbing (Gurian 2017), noting that it is detrimental because it leads to “complaint feminism” and women “not being taken seriously.” These sentiments undoubtedly filter into other online discourses about gender and climbing, which serve as the inspiration for this chapter. Thus, to analyze how online news articles frame and discuss the Digiulian-Kinder Instagram cyberbullying incident, a textual analysis (Dworkin and Wachs 2000; Hardin and Whiteside 2010) was conducted on articles from outdoor news websites. Preliminary searches with the terms “Joe Kinder” and “Sasha Digiulian” did not yield any results on LexisNexis, but Google resulted in 22 news articles from outdoor news sites and contemporary news sites—primary news stories providing a unique snapshot of the framing mechanisms and gendered terms for discussing Kinder’s cyberbullying, Digiulian’s response, and the larger American climbing community’s reactions. A multistep strategy of coding (Baptiste 2001) was utilized to analyze the content and to deconstruct dominant assumptions (Dworkin and Wachs 2000) about women’s apparel and women’s bodies in rock climbing contexts. First, it identified labels (or themes) to sentences, paragraphs, and overall ideas relating to sexism, racism, gender, blame, and masculinity/femininity. Then codes and categories related to the initial themes were analyzed, resulting in three main themes that “capture[d] important information about the data as it relates to the research question” (Braun and Clarke 2006), discussed in the next section.

Media Coverage of Gender and Sport An analysis of online outdoor news coverage of the Digiulian-Kinder Instagram confrontation revealed three main themes about gender-based harassment in rock climbing: trivialization of Digiulian’s climbing accomplishments, minimization of culpability pertaining to Kinder’s actions, and attention to gender and diversity issues in the climbing realm.

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Trivialization of Digiulian’s Climbing Accomplishments First, several news articles trivialized Sasha Digiulian’s climbing persona and accomplishments by referring to her as a “fellow climber,” by prolonging identification of her name or identity until several paragraphs into the article rather than in the headline or opening paragraph, and by saying that Kinder “allegedly” cyberbullied another climber. Given Digiulian’s world championship climber status, referring to her as a “fellow climber” obscures her accolades. Peter Verry (2018) utilized the headline “Sportiva drops brand ambassador over cyberbulling claims” and did not identify Digiulian until the third paragraph, stating that she was “one of Kinder’s alleged victims.” He refers to her as a “professional rock climber,” yet there is no mention of her world championship status. Similarly, Max Ritter (2018) utilized the headline “Black Diamond and La Sportiva drop climber Joe Kinder for cyberbullying” with no mention of Digiulian. Nor does The Outdoor Journal (Kalman 2018) mention Digiulian, instead focusing on “the response to Kinder’s boneheaded bullying,” which feels “more like a lynch mob”; it states that “Sasha is not the only female climber who has ever endured bullying.” A few articles deviated from this norm by both naming Digiulian in the headline and by mentioning her climbing championships and accolades at the outset of the article. One on the Freeman site referred to her in the headline “Zero tolerance of Black Diamond and La Sportiva before Bullying: Joe Kinder loses sponsorships in front of public statements of climber Sasha Digiulian,” leading with this statement: “Sasha Digiulian is one of the strongest climbers worldwide. She was the first American woman to climb 5.14c/9a, climb Magic Mushroom, one of the most difficult routes on the north face of the Eiger, and has more than 30 first ascents.” The Intertia (Carberry 2018) mentions Digiulian’s name in the headline and refers to her in the first sentence by noting that “In a bizarre story from the climbing world, professional climber Joe Kinder was booted by his sponsors, Black Diamond and La Sportiva, after he admitted to cyber harassing Sasha Digiulian—very much a mainstream name thanks to a World Championship in sport climbing and success transferring that skill set to the natural realm outdoors with numerous first

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ascents.” Downplaying or minimizing Digiulian’s climbing accomplishments also facilitates the easier deployment of the second strategy, the minimization of Kinder’s culpability.

Minimization of Culpability and Kinder’s Actions Some articles discursively minimized the culpability of Kinder’s cyberbullying by referring to his actions as “harmless jokes” that “poked fun at other climbers,” which originated with discussions of the manner in which Kinder apologized. Georgie Abel (2018) noted: Eventually Joe apologized to Sasha in the way that most men who are publicly called out like this seem to do. In a statement that vaguely resembled taking responsibility, he blamed a variety of strange things for his behavior. He said that because he was a “skater-kid punk” with a “harsh sense of humor,” he was sort of just used to making harmful jokes all the time, which is a notion that I find insulting to skaters, kids, punks, and senses of humor everywhere.

Citing Kinder’s Instagram apology, Verry (2018), Carberry (2018), and Ruggiero (2018) described Kinder’s actions on Instagram as “inside jokes and memes” poking fun at people. Max Ritter (2018) described Kinder’s action as “pok[ing] fun at other athletes,” while Adam Ruggiero (2018) described how Kinder “claimed to be the victim of cyberbullying” and how he “contemplated suicide” following incessant online ridicule.” In this same vein of minimizing the cyberbullying, Chris Kalman (2018) wrote: It’s not that I think Joe Kinder is in the right, or that I think Sasha Digiulian is in the wrong. It actually has nothing to do with either of them. It has to do with us. The thing that irks me is the lynch mob that has followed this event. I find it frustrating that we, as a community, are suddenly so morally righteous. I find it incongruent with our response, or lack thereof, to other issues. Here in the United States, climbers have plenty to feel pretty chagrined about.

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Activism in climbing—particularly feminist activism—has a strong history, leading to resistance to land exploitation, women-specific climbing festivals, and several documentaries, series, and YouTube episodes on the role of gender in climbing. Kalman (2018) disparagingly laments the social media activism and conversations surrounding Kinder’s cyberbullying, arguing instead that the climbing community’s efforts would be better served by (1) supporting climbing companies in reforming Kinder and (2) protesting against the root of sexism in climbing, instead of protesting Kinder’s Instagram bullying. This occurrence is significant because it is one of the first highly publicized instances of cyberbullying in rock climbing, especially including a world championship woman climber at the center of the debacle, so methods utilized by news outlets to frame the cyberbullying have significant implications. Penny Orr (2018) discussed Black Diamond and La Sportiva’s decision to terminate Kinder’s sponsorships, analyzing the connotations of “joke” versus “bully” in reference to commentary stating that Sasha “just can’t take a joke”: This “snowflake” narrative is harmful in several respects. For instance, it legitimizes damaging attitudes and behavior, and it constitutes an attempt to invalidate the victim’s point of view. It’s also potentially an example of gaslighting. So, not only is this damaging for the victims involved, it discourages other victims from speaking out against harassment. Overall, this helps to create a divisive and exclusive environment, a place where not all the members of our community feel safe.

Her comments about gaslighting and safe spaces in climbing are also representative of the third theme, which focuses on how authors utilized Kinder’s cyberbullying comments to serve as a platform for the interrogation of other issues, including sexism, body image issues, hegemonic masculinity, and white male privilege.

Attention to Gender and Diversity Issues in Climbing Several authors who both supported and criticized Kinder’s actions utilized his Instagram cyberbullying incident as a platform from which to speak about other gendered and racial issues in American rock climbing

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contexts. In terms of gendered issues, Alicia Durgin (2018) advocated against referring to this incident as “drama,” because it demeans the severity of bullying, and applauded Digiulian’s efforts because they will lead to more gender inclusivity in climbing. Siber (2018) and also other writers lamented sexism in rock climbing and urged readers to speak out against it: Culturally sanctioned misogyny isn’t limited to climbing or even the outdoor industry, of course. It seeps through all aspects of our culture. But when an incident like this stirs up so much conversation, we in the outdoor community should see it as an opportunity to lead the way in uprooting it. First, we must reflect more deeply and ask ourselves how this culture is constructed and how aggressions are perpetuated.

“This culture” is also discussed and critiqued in articles by Orr (2018), Abel (2018), Chang (2018), and the author of “The Problem with Joe Kinder” (2018), among others. Some framed it as a problem with sexism, others as a problem with white male privilege. Georgie Abel (2018) noted that Joe Kinder’s cyberbullying is not an isolated incident in the climbing world but is, rather, “a portal to examine something that is usually hidden away in the dark underbelly of this community.” She discusses how, in spite of the proliferation of climbers of color and sponsored women climbers, only 29 percent of sponsored climbers are women and only 4.5 percent of guidebooks are written by women, highlighting the male-dominated nature of the sport: There are many other instances where prominent members of the climbing community have acted hateful towards the land, women, of other ­marginalized groups, were publicly called out, and have had absolutely nothing happen to them. Joe probably saw these dynamics happening and felt justified and safe in his own actions. It’s also likely that he experienced the safety of his privileged position firsthand, and assumed he could continue to act badly without consequences.

She concludes by emphasizing that the climbing community needs to be more supportive of diversity in climbing, stating that climbing companies need to reexamine sponsorships, that white men need to denounce

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harassment, that women’s stories need to be taken seriously, and that women of color need to be in positions of power both indoors and outdoors. Jeeae Chang (2018) has argued that Kinder’s actions are symptomatic of issues pertaining to the intersections of (white) feminism, white allies, and toxic masculinity in climbing. First, she discusses the “stamp of approval from white, cisgender, male-dominated culture” and agrees that “it’s easy to shirk that responsibility on white males because of the fact that for a good part of the American people, white males have dominated the majority of every area of our (again, the royal “our”) lives.” Yet Chang has asserted that the main issue that deserves more attention and conversation is the perception that women of color will solve climbing problems, which is a direct response to Abel’s (2018) conclusion. Utilizing an intersectional approach to frame her response and critiquing white feminism, she wrote: I’m here to talk about a small but significant part of this conversation that needs to be removed completely: people of color will not fix your white-­ created problems. Or at least, this person of color won’t. the real fact of the matter is that rock climbing is not only “not diverse,” it’s white-dominated. Let’s not even include male versus female at this point. The problems that exist because of this culture are created by those who dominate it, period. While yes, I think sexism is a huge problem in the climbing sphere and the frontline of the feminist solution lies in the hands of those who dominate that sphere: men, it also lies in the hands of another person dominating that sphere: white women.

While she supports Sasha’s actions in publicly outing Kinder’s actions, Chang argues that Abel’s (2018) discursive support of women of color in power positions was “conveniently inserted” in the conclusion and not developed with tangible strategies. She ultimately concludes by stating that larger discourses surrounding the Kinder case focus on only one type of woman: white women. Similarly, an article by Melise Edwards (2018), a sponsored woman of color climber, discussed the importance of considering racial, ethnic, and gendered privilege in climbing when noting that “Prominent white and

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male authors had a similar stance to each other” when writing about Kinder’s actions, such as “questioning whether it was right to ‘out’ your bully, explain how critique makes you stronger, and offer examples of being heckled by their likely white male peers and how this was a catalyst for their personal growth and humility.” In response, she elaborated: These men all horribly missed the point. White and male authors: you feel comfortable in sharing an opinion that has likely been reinforced by climbing and existing in a community that—the majority of the time—looks like you. Your reality and perspective is that, as white men heckling each other, there is no harm in engaging in that sort of behavior and that is or was a catalyst for your personal growth.

Edwards concludes by noting that several articles “put the fear and discomfort of the author above the suffering and negativity pervasive in the lives of minorities and defensively say, ‘Well, maybe we should stop being so sensitive.’” Instead of parroting discourses of sensitivity and “snowflake overreactions,” she urges (white male) climbers to consider their privilege, not be defensive, not question the realities of people of color, and “ask what you can do to better support these causes and use your privilege or platform to ignite change.” Thus, white women climbers and women climbers of color utilized the Kinder-Digiulian Instagram confrontation as a platform to urge (white male) climbers to use their privilege and resources to support people of color and diversity in climbing.

Discussion In online outdoor news discourses about the Instagram confrontation between Sasha Digiulian and Joe Kinder, three themes worked in tandem to contextualize climbing accomplishments: cyberbullying culpability, the problematization of gender, femininity, masculinity, and diversity in current American rock climbing communities. This analysis provides support for earlier research on the symbolic annihilation and trivialization of women’s sports. First, several news outlets referred to world champion rock climber Sasha Digiulian as a “fellow

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climber,” while Joe Kinder was frequently introduced by his sponsorships, years spent climbing, and other notable accomplishments. Moreover, in this same vein, several articles minimized the culpability of Kinder’s cyberbullying as “poking fun at other climbers” or “making harmless jokes.” Whereas men’s actions are erased from culpability or downplayed, women’s climbing accolades within the context of apparel choices, body shape, and thinness are downplayed or trivialized. This is, of course, not novel in news coverage of sports. Second, online support for Kinder is evidence of hegemonic masculinity in climbing, as seen in articles that referred to her as being “too sensitive,” blaming her for the media firestorm, and that referred to the backlash against him as a “lynch mob,” invoking problematic racist tropes and portraying him as the victim. The hegemonic masculinity at play in these news discourses both invokes stereotypical sport tropes and discursively silences the debate, eradicating any culpability on Kinder’s behalf— it “provides cultural icons or mythic images of masculinity that privilege the most powerful half of multiple dichotomous social locations” (Dworkin and Wachs 2000, p. 48). Moreover, hegemonic masculinity is defined in relation to femininity and subordinated masculinities (see Fuller 2006). In American rock climbing contexts, particularly this one, Kinder as a well-known, professionally sponsored, athletic, powerful climber—characteristics that signify hegemonic masculinity—is given a “discursive pass” in discourses that expressed his unculpability as a result of the climbing community being too “sensitive.” As a sports athlete and celebrity who fell from proverbial grace, Kinder is located simultaneously at the center and the margins of this debate as the “victim” of “snowflake overreactions” and perpetrator of gendered cyberbullying: (1) he deleted the cyberbullying Instagram account and vowed to be a better person; (2) Sasha Digiulian and other professional women rock climbers have utilized this incident to critique cyberbullying, sexism, and body image criticism; and (3) women climbers and women of color climbers utilized this incident to critique white feminism in climbing and advocate for more intersectional approaches to news coverage, community building, and alliances in the climbing realm. Thus, although the confrontation did incite activism and larger conversations about women’s rights and

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success in climbing, it is evidence that there is still more work to be done so that women climbers are praised more for their successes and critiqued less for their apparel choices and physiques.

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Index

A

B

Activism, 13, 58, 63, 66, 68–71, 75, 260, 264 Advertising, 64, 79, 119, 174 Amazon, 163 American sportswear, 35–50 Antunovic, Dunja, 11, 93, 98 Athleisurewear, 4, 13, 156, 158 Athletes, 2, 3, 6–12, 24, 31, 40, 42, 49, 50, 58–60, 62, 67–72, 75, 76, 80, 81, 83, 100, 104, 106, 111–125, 145, 153–156, 159–162, 172, 180, 188–191, 193, 196, 198, 199, 206–211, 214, 218–221, 223, 226, 227, 235–237, 241, 243, 244, 249, 251, 252, 254–256, 259, 264

Bagley, Meredith M., 11 Baseball, 3, 4, 79, 81, 172 Basketball, 4, 7, 19, 20, 45, 62, 67, 69, 70, 83–85, 111–115, 121, 122, 156, 162, 232 Bennett, Hannah, 12, 244, 245 Bikes/bicycling, 11, 19, 20, 23, 25–27, 35–50, 199 Black Lives Matter, 63–68 Bloomers, 13, 22, 27, 30, 40, 232 Blumer, Herbert, 36 Bodybuilders, 7 Body image, 10, 85, 206, 209, 211–212, 214, 219, 234, 235, 239, 250–252, 260, 264 Bodysuits, 2, 9, 219

© The Author(s) 2021 L. K. Fuller (ed.), Sportswomen’s Apparel in the United States, New Femininities in Digital, Physical and Sporting Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-45477-7

271

272 Index

Body transformation, 237–241 Boston Globe, 42, 104 Brainerd, Adelia K., 21–23 C

Casey, Evan M., 11 Clay, Kellee, 11 Clemente, Deirdre, 3, 11 Clothing, 2–5, 7, 11, 12, 19–32, 35–41, 43, 46, 47, 49, 50, 58–60, 91–106, 116–118, 122, 124, 130, 132–142, 144, 145, 154, 158, 160, 162, 177, 180, 208, 211, 213, 214, 220–222, 227, 231–243, 250, 254, 255 Collegiate women, 11, 205–214, 220 Commercialization, 58, 66–68 Contracts, 57, 60–62, 79, 93, 96–97, 99, 102–106 Corporations, 83, 112, 158 Corsets, 3, 20, 22–24, 26, 30, 31, 232 Costumes, 2, 12, 26, 28–31, 36, 38, 43, 161, 162, 200, 206 CrossFit, 7, 12, 146, 231–247 Culpability, 250, 257, 259–260, 263, 264 Cultural appropriation, 11, 153–164 Culture, 4, 8, 19, 25, 31, 32, 36–38, 44, 50, 98, 105, 106, 118–120, 131, 136, 153–157, 161, 163, 169, 194, 219, 251, 261, 262 Cyberbullying, 12, 249–265

D

Department stores, 38, 41, 47, 48 Digiulian, Sasha, 249–252, 256–259, 261, 263, 264 Digiulian-Kinder Instagram incident, 249–265 Discrimination, 12, 67, 93, 129, 130, 133, 138, 143 Dress code(s), 11, 39, 40, 42, 217–227 E

EBay, 163 E-commerce, 5 Economics, 3, 37, 41, 49, 50, 60–61, 65, 71, 132, 137, 140, 141, 159 Emotions, 67, 68, 71, 212 English, Colleen, 11 ESPN, 83, 93, 98, 119 Etiquette, 39, 42 Exercise, 3, 4, 10, 19–32, 38, 39, 42, 45, 49, 117, 129–147, 178, 179, 233, 235, 237 Exercise apparel, 129–147 Extreme sports, 252 F

Fairchild, Emily, xvii, 11 Fans/fandom, 62, 65–67, 70, 71, 75, 76, 79, 81–83, 91, 93, 99, 101, 102, 105, 111, 114, 119, 155, 162, 163, 170, 175, 177, 190, 198, 210

 Index 

Fashion, 4, 5, 9–11, 21, 25–30, 35–44, 46–50, 84, 132, 135, 136, 153–164, 167–182, 187–200, 220, 226 “Fat tax,” 133–135, 141 Female athlete paradox, 218–219, 221, 223, 226, 241, 243, 244 Female athletes, 3, 7–12, 24, 49, 59, 69, 111–125, 153–155, 160, 161, 172, 188, 198, 218–219, 221, 223, 226, 227, 236, 241, 243, 244, 251, 252, 254–256 Femininity, 59, 98, 103, 111–114, 116–119, 121, 122, 124, 125, 153, 160, 167, 187, 189–191, 193, 195, 196, 200, 210, 218, 219, 223, 227, 231–247, 253–255, 257, 263, 264 Field hockey, 30 Fishnets, 155, 196–200 Fitness industry, 2, 131, 132, 143, 146, 147 Flo Jo, 153–164 Football, 82, 84, 172, 189, 198 Foucault, Michael, 10, 112, 113, 116 Franchises, 60, 61, 71, 81 Functionality, 145, 146, 158, 159, 233–237, 239 G

Gender, viii, xii, xiv, xvi, xviii, 6, 8–10, 12, 20, 31, 49, 59, 62, 66, 69, 78, 84, 92–96, 98, 103–106, 111–117, 119, 121, 130, 155, 160, 161, 169, 172, 190, 191, 193, 195, 196, 198,

273

211, 214, 222, 223, 231, 232, 249, 250, 252–257, 260, 261, 263 Gendered Critical Discourse Analysis (GCDA), 8–10 Gibson Girl, 37 Gipson, Christina, 11–12, 245, 246 Golf/golfers, 3, 4, 11, 19, 20, 22, 23, 27–28, 35–50, 218, 220, 221, 223, 224, 232 Greenleaf, Christy, 11, 132–134, 136, 137, 139–142, 144, 236 Gregg, Elizabeth A., 11, 218 Gymnasts, 7, 11, 117, 154, 159, 161, 205–214 H

Hardin, Robin, 11 Harman, Kate, 11 Harper’s Bazaar, 20–23 Hashtags (#s), 63, 64, 69, 225 Hauff, Caitlyn, 11, 234 Health, 2, 20, 21, 23, 25, 32, 46, 62, 65, 103, 131, 132, 137, 142–146, 211, 214 Hegemonic masculinity, 10, 59, 172, 254, 256, 260, 264 Hernandez, Leandra Hinojosa, 12 Heterosexuality, 69, 112, 113, 118–119, 121, 122, 172, 175, 232, 254 Hijab, 13, 59 Historical perspectives, 3, 7, 11, 19–21 Hockey, 3, 30, 44, 45, 172, 189 Hollywood, 39 Homophobia, 75, 172

274 Index I

Images, 3, 7, 10, 20, 24, 32, 39, 59, 62, 66, 84, 85, 112–116, 122–125, 139, 153, 161, 162, 173, 177, 180, 181, 187–189, 191–196, 206, 209, 211–212, 214, 218, 219, 221, 223, 232–235, 239, 249–252, 254, 260, 264 Instagram, 9, 91, 163, 164, 224, 249–265 Intersectionality, 68–71 J

Jerseys, 38, 40, 57, 61, 65, 76, 81, 83–85, 91, 158, 162, 188, 189, 192, 193, 195, 196, 198, 199, 219 Journalism, 98, 100, 104, 105 Joyner, “Flo Jo,” 153, 154, 163, 164 Justice, 8, 11, 13, 63, 65, 66, 70, 71, 129–147 K

Knitwear, 43–48 L

Ladies’ Home Journal, 20, 23, 28 Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA), 11, 217–227 Language, 2, 6, 8–10, 31, 71, 122, 143, 144, 157, 160, 174, 221, 224

Legalities, 67 Leotards, 123, 161, 194, 205, 210–214, 219 Lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ), 5, 57, 62, 66, 75 LGBTQ, see Lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, and queer Liao, Judy, 11, 67 Logos, 60, 61, 64, 65, 81, 84, 85, 220 Loungewear, 4, 13 LPGA, see Ladies Professional Golf Association Lululemon, 2, 138, 154, 158, 159, 162, 167 M

Mademoiselle, 42, 47 Magazines, 11, 12, 20, 21, 38, 39, 50, 111–125, 145, 168, 187, 249 Makeup, 69, 117, 118, 124, 192, 206, 210, 212–214, 218 Malcom, Nancy L., 12 Malin, Leelannee M., 11 Marketing, 10, 49, 50, 62, 71, 79, 84, 119, 168–170, 175 Mau, Heidi, 11 Media, 5–8, 10, 12, 19, 41, 62, 64, 68, 70–72, 83, 91–95, 97–99, 101–106, 115, 116, 119, 145, 146, 154, 156, 164, 170, 172, 206, 220, 221, 223–226, 232, 236, 249–265

 Index 

Men/masculinity, 9, 10, 40, 42, 44, 47, 49, 50, 59, 69, 76–78, 84, 85, 98, 100, 104, 113, 117–119, 121, 124, 125, 144, 168, 171–175, 179, 182, 187, 188, 190–193, 195, 200, 206, 212, 218, 219, 222, 223, 241, 251, 253–257, 259–264 Messages, 24, 62, 81, 82, 100, 111, 125, 135, 138, 145, 146, 168, 169, 173, 176, 179–182, 206, 208 Methodology, 97–99, 113–115, 170, 207, 223–224, 256–257 Military, 11, 75–86, 172 Modesty, 2, 24, 26, 42, 59, 222, 231 Mount Holyoke College, 24, 25 Movies, 5, 67, 146, 197 “Muscular Christianity,” 78 Muslim, 59

275

92, 96, 102, 103, 106, 112, 113, 118–119, 169, 176, 181, 217, 220, 222, 254, 256 ORLANDO UNITED, 61–63 P

Patriotism, 76, 79, 80, 82 Pinterest, 163 Plus-size, 11, 129–147 Podcasts, 93, 97–99, 101, 104, 106, 250 Police, 11, 57, 58, 64, 65, 70 Politics, 11, 57–72, 119 Popular culture, 19, 25, 32, 119, 154, 156, 157, 163 Post-structural critique, 112 Professionalism, 100 Professional sport, 66, 67, 76, 79–81, 84, 217, 226, 232 Protests, 11, 57, 58, 63–66, 68, 69, 71, 82, 174

N

NASCAR, 65 Neoliberal discourse, 65 News, 40, 94, 95, 99, 105, 120, 193, 223, 249, 250, 255–258, 260, 263, 264 News discourses, 256, 263, 264 The New York Times, 20, 25, 26, 46, 50, 133, 168, 189 Nike, 142, 159, 163, 164 O

Olympic Games, 157 Organizations/organizational behavior, 1, 2, 26, 66, 67, 81,

R

Race, 9, 59, 69–72, 93, 94, 104, 130, 155, 157, 160–164, 167–182, 189 Racing, 4, 65, 170, 173, 174, 181, 182 Radcliffe College, 40, 42, 50 Representations, 5, 9, 20, 93, 94, 112, 114, 115, 119–120, 161, 206, 255 Rhetoric, 58, 64–66, 71, 80, 131 Rock climbing/climbers, 234, 236, 249–265 Roller derby, 11, 187–200

276 Index

Rosoff, Nancy G., 3, 11 Running, 11, 29, 144, 158, 159, 161, 167–182, 199, 233 S

Self-esteem/self-image, 100, 178, 219, 235, 251, 255 Sexism, 78, 93, 251, 254–257, 260–262, 264 Sexual harassment, 78, 95 Sexuality, 10, 62, 66, 69, 72, 100, 104, 113, 116–118, 121, 125, 169, 180, 195, 197, 232, 254 Sexualization, 59, 98, 99, 113, 116, 120, 189, 192, 214, 254 Shorts, 11, 23, 25, 29, 30, 35–50, 139, 144, 145, 168, 173, 177, 187–189, 192, 195, 198, 199, 210, 212–214, 218–221, 232, 233, 235, 236, 238–240 Skating, 4, 7, 187–200, 251 Skirt Chaser race, 168, 172–176, 178, 181 Skirts, 3, 4, 9, 22–24, 26–31, 39–41, 46, 47, 94, 167–182, 196, 218, 219, 221, 225, 232, 242 Smith College, 46 Sneakers, 4 Soccer, 3, 4, 60, 81, 91 Social media, 6, 8, 70, 91, 95, 98, 101–104, 145, 146, 156, 164, 223–226, 236, 249, 252, 256, 260 Sociology, 10 Solidarity, 58, 66, 68–72 Spandex, 144, 158, 159, 173, 178, 219, 233, 236, 237

Spelman College, 42 Sponsorship, 57, 61, 64, 71, 76, 81, 83, 84, 220, 224, 249, 252, 258, 260, 261, 264 Sport, viii–xviii, 2–8, 10–13, 19–21, 23, 26, 27, 29, 31, 37–40, 42, 44–46, 49, 50, 58–62, 64–72, 75–86, 91–99, 101, 102, 104–106, 111–125, 144, 145, 153–155, 159–161, 164, 169, 172, 176, 178, 187–190, 192–200, 205–211, 213–214, 217–220, 223, 225–227, 232–236, 242, 243, 250–264 Sports bra, 2, 13, 144, 154, 160, 233, 235, 236, 251 Sportscasters, 11, 91–106 Sports Illustrated, 113–115, 119, 120, 122, 123 Sportswear, 3, 5, 12, 13, 35–50, 153, 167, 177, 180, 232 Stories/storytelling, 3, 20, 25, 49, 66–69, 98, 122, 146, 157, 181, 187, 190–193, 197, 198, 256–258, 262 Survey instruments, 208 Sweaters, 11, 22, 35–50 Sweatpants, 50, 158, 220 Swimming, 4, 22, 30–31, 179 T

Taylor, Elizabeth A., 11, 225 Team sports, 11, 70 Technology, 2 Television, 4, 6, 60, 83, 92–94, 101, 104, 144, 156, 189, 190, 194–197, 200, 236

 Index 

Tennis, 3, 4, 9, 11–13, 19, 20, 22–24, 27–30, 35–50, 102, 115, 122, 154, 160, 232 Theory, 8, 35, 36, 69, 70, 123, 218, 253 Third-wave feminism, 188 Track and field, 155, 164, 232 T-shirts, 50, 57, 58, 63, 64, 66, 70, 140, 145, 198, 220, 235, 242 U

Underwear, 5, 26, 39–43, 198 Uniforms, 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 10, 11, 37, 39–44, 57–72, 76, 77, 80–85, 92, 93, 96, 97, 104, 106, 111–113, 117, 123, 141, 154, 159, 162, 163, 187–200, 205–214, 219, 220, 222, 226, 232, 233, 236, 237, 241–244 Universities, 38, 40, 79, 98 US Open, 10, 163

W

Warner, Patricia Campbell, 3, 7, 36 Weight bias, 130–131, 138, 140, 143, 145, 147 WFTDA, see Women’s Flat Track Derby Association Wheelwomen, 26 Williams, Serena, 9, 10, 49, 112–114, 122–124, 154, 160, 161, 163 WNBA, see Women’s National Basketball Association Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA), 196–199 Women’s issues, 62, 65 Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA), 7, 11, 57–72, 84, 85, 113, 114, 119 Women’s wear, 232, 233, 236 Wool, 46 Y

V

Vogue, 41, 44, 47 Voice, 8, 57–72, 92, 135, 157, 169, 197, 206 Volleyball, 7, 59, 113, 121, 219, 237 Vulnerability, 60–61, 212

277

Yanity, Molly, 11 YouTube, 9, 95, 102, 250, 260 Z

Zipper, 36, 40, 193, 195