MoxVib

For female Olympians, the debate over uniforms has taken center stage alongside their athletic performances. U.S. beach volleyball players April Ross and Alix Klineman wear bikinis because of heat and sand, though Ross acknowledged that the two-piece bathing suit also attracts fans. “I have always felt like when you get somebody drawn in, however you get them in to beach volleyball, they fall in love with the sport,” Ross said. “So, hopefully that happens also.”

But not all athletes share Ross’s sentiments. Recently the Norwegian women’s handball team wore shorts to protest European Handball Federation rules mandating female athletes wear a bikini. And the German women’s gymnastics team similarly challenged the sexualization of female athletes by wearing pant-length unitards during the team qualifying round in Tokyo.

These cases underscore the paradox facing female Olympians. Sexualization during the Olympics has historically increased women’s endorsements, fans and media coverage; however, it also delegitimizes their athleticism and provides an excuse for people to not take women’s Olympic sports as seriously as men’s.

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The sexualization of female Olympians dates to the early 20th century. Because modern sport developed as an avenue for men to cultivate and exhibit manliness, women’s encroachment into this realm sparked anxieties. Sexualizing female competitors was one way to calm this angst. Sport leaders and the press highlighted female Olympians’ appearances and heterosexuality to reassure the U.S. public that women would neither overrun sport nor upend conventional gender relations.

This trend was on full display at the 1920 Antwerp Olympics. U.S. women competed in swimming and diving for the first time. The press celebrated their allure before they had even entered the pool.

For example, the Los Angeles Express ran an article titled, “ ‘Raving’ Beauty to Enter Big Olympic,” to discuss the selection of Gertrude Artelt to the Olympic team. But rather than previewing her racing prowess, the article detailed how the “beguiling 17-year-old miss is a sea nymph of the most modern type of beauty.” The only mention of her athletic abilities came at the end of the short article, when it offhandedly noted that “among other things she has been able to swim the 100-yard backstroke in 1 minute 27 3-5 seconds.”

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Even after the U.S. women swept four of the five individual events and won the relay, their sensuality continued to receive more attention than the 10 medals they earned. Along with descriptors like “American mermaids, “water sprites” and “aquatic queens,” reporters repeatedly referred to the Olympians as “nymphs,” mythological maidens known for their beauty and sensuality. The reference afforded the women celebrity status, but in an infantilizing way that downgraded their athletic prowess.

Such sexualization was not accidental. Editors were trying to sell newspapers. “It is axiomatic that nothing so gladdens the heart of a … Sunday page editor as the picture of a pretty girl or a group of pretty girls in one-piece bathing suits,” explained 1920s sportswriter Paul Gallico. “The newspaper editor and publisher for many years has been aware of the value of s.a. [sex appeal] in his pages as a sales stimulus.”

But even Gallico recognized the trade-off for the athletes: “The newspapers got their exciting pictures. The girls got their necessary publicity.”

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While mainstream newspapers emphasized the sex appeal of White female American Olympians, they initially ignored Black women almost entirely. The Black press filled this gap occasionally, though it dedicated a majority of its coverage to male athletes. When Black journalists did discuss Black female Olympians, they, too, highlighted their femininity and heterosexuality, though for a different reason. Black journalists wanted to counter racist stereotypes of Black women as less feminine than White women.

As Black Olympians excelled, particularly in track and field, it eventually became impossible for the mainstream press to ignore them. It immediately applied the playbook of sexualizing female athletes, albeit in a slightly different way. In contrast to their White teammates, Black Olympians were — and continue to be — depicted in a more erotic fashion. For example, in describing Wilma Rudolph, the first U.S. woman to win three gold medals during the 1960 Rome Olympics, Ladies’ Home Journal columnist Harlan Miller wrote that “I’ve seen Wilma Rudolph run like a gazelle, walk like a queen, & smile like an angel.”

As women’s opportunities in the Olympics increased in the late 20th century, the sexualization of Olympian women intensified. Media paid increased attention to Olympians’ appearances as a backlash to the advances made in the wake of Title IX, granting gender equity in college athletics.

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For example, one study found striking contrasts between the photographs of male and female athletes in major North American magazines during the 1984 and 1988 Olympics. The women were photographed in ways that bore a “striking resemblance to those of women in soft-core pornography.” Images zoomed in on their pelvic areas or buttocks, showed them with “pinup” facial expressions or posed them in sexualized positions.

Olympians recognized and took advantage of this tendency. For example, sprinter Florence Griffith Joyner, also known as “Flo-Jo,” intentionally mingled sexuality and speed, racing in unique self-designed running outfits and painting her long fingernails an array of bright colors. This helped Joyner garner more celebrity than her sister-in-law Jackie Joyner Kersee — even though Kersee won more athletic accolades. Other female Olympians leaned into the trend, posing either nude for Playboy or appearing scantily clad in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition. Swimmer Amanda Beard defended her decision to appear without clothes in 2007, noting “it’s just a business decision, a career decision.”

Ironically, the very fans and journalists who highlighted female athletes’ sex appeal recoiled at such decisions. For example, in 2011, when Olympic soccer goalie Hope Solo appeared in ESPN The Magazine’s third “Body Issue,” Bleacherreport writer Will Tidey noted that many people felt she was “dining out on her sex appeal and titillating her way to wider fame.”

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These reactions place female Olympians in a no-win situation: They garner less attention and fewer endorsements if they eschew sexualization, but receive condemnation for embracing it.

These contradictions continue in Tokyo. Women comprise an unprecedented number of the athletes competing, including some of the biggest stars. However, Olympic uniform regulations, media coverage and sponsorships still focus on their aesthetic features. Until Olympians are valued for their athleticism, Tokyo organizers’ mantra “sport appeal, not sex appeal” remains nothing but an unfulfilled fantasy.

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