Written by Gracie Kejo
Like many others, I spent last summer “larping” the men’s world cup. I supported 5 different countries (none of which were my own), watched matches at pubs full of passionate patrons, and engaged in friendly rivalries with opposition fans. As the final whistle was blown on the Argentina-Spain final, I thought my time as a football fan was up.
But without me noticing, the larp had become part of my reality, and I had become a diehard football fan. My TikTok algorithm got the memo just as I did and filled my feed with club stats, memes and more information than I even knew what to do with. I was stuck at a crossroads. I needed to pick a club to support, but wanted a way to do it that didn’t involve the TikTok algorithm.
The solution was, indeed, on Instagram reels. Specifically, a reel from creator Coach Jackie, a champion of women’s sports. Her video on the lore of Arsenal WFC set me on a deep dive into women’s football content. This, combined with my lifelong status as a proud feminist, cemented my resolve to follow women’s football, or as I’ve come to call it: just football. But I knew I couldn’t call myself a fan until I’d seen a match live.
Unfortunately, the rest of the world hadn’t caught up to my feminist perspective on football. When proposing that we get tickets to see Arsenal vs Chelsea women’s, my friend replied, “I’d rather go to a match where the stadium will be full”. While I understood where she was coming from, I instinctively replied, “it’s Arsenal and Chelsea, the stadium will be packed.” And I wasn’t just saying that to convince her to come, I was certain that two teams with as much recognition and skill as these two would draw huge crowds.
So, with our jerseys (mine arsenal, hers Chelsea) and tickets (in a section marked “best for vibes) secured, we made our way to Stamford Bridge, ready to participate in the respected tradition of drinking and yelling at the field as if we could play any better. We were both giddy with anticipation, watching the mascots 67 and wave at fans before kick-off. The fans were impossibly loud, screaming as the players stepped onto the field. But the stadium was in fact, not full. More people trickled in as halftime approached, but the emptiness was glaring. I hated to admit it, but my friend was right. Low attendance at women’s football has been a consistent issue across the Women’s Super League (WSL). But this wasn’t always the case for women’s football in England, and its decline, like many things, is due to misogyny.
Towards the end of WW1, women’s football was drawing crowds of up to fifty thousand, as teams of women in different factories played against each other for charity. However, as the war came to an end and the men returned to football, the Football Association banned women from playing football professionally. The main reason cited was concern over the game’s effect on women’s health, but the FA was also concerned that the popularity of women’s football would overshadow that of the men’s. The ban, placed in 1921, was lifted 50 years later, with the creation of the Women’s Football Association (WFA). From there, women’s football made gradual gains, with inclusion in the media, the first women’s world cup and the launch of the FA Women’s Super League in 2011, the first fully professional women’s league in Europe.
15 years in, the WSL hasn’t been able to claim as much media attention and turnout as men’s football. An obvious culprit is the league’s infancy, with 15 years simply not being enough time to establish deep lore, legendary players and league traditions. But a more underlying cause for the WSL’s struggle to establish cultural relevance might be the same reason men’s football gets to simply be referred to as football.
One unfortunate outcome of living in a patriarchal society is the prevalence of gender roles and biases that discourage girls from sports from early childhood. This makes it difficult for interest in football to be cultivated from early on, meaning the women and girls who would be the prime audience for WSL games are simply not attending. This is compounded by the fact that sports coverage in media is based on the way men’s sports are promoted, focused on deep statistics, analytics and comparison of players, while many female fandom spaces tend to be based on personal stories, and priorities connection over competition.
This is not to say that women cannot enjoy football culture as it currently is, as many do and will continue to. However, the rowdy, combative, and deeply masculine stereotype of a football fan may contribute to further pushing women and girls away from engaging in women’s sports fandom.
Despite all this, there is some hope to be found in individuals and collective effort towards change. Creators like Coach Jackie, for instance are revolutionising women’s sports coverage, with videos like the one that led me to my first women’s football match. She highlights narratives of individual players and teams, recognising their technical excellence, while humanising them through humour and highlighting elements of their stories that the audience will be likely to connect to.
It was not the promise of trophies that ultimately convinced me to spend my Sunday afternoon at Stamford bridge, in a cramped plastic seat, cider in hand, watching 22 women chase after a ball. I was there to support fellow Tanzanian Lisa Baum, one of the few East Africans to make it to such a high level in professional football.
Despite a 1-nil victory for Chelsea, I was not too disappointed at the end of the match. Cheering along with the rest of the stadium with joy when there was a shot on target, or collective disappointment when it ended up bouncing off the goalpost, made me feel like I was part of something bigger. The brief escape from the stress of a botched summative or upcoming graduate scheme applications was liberating and necessary. Whatever might bring you to a women’s match doesn’t matter in the end, because the persistence and excellence of women’s sports despite adversity makes the beautiful game even more beautiful, and more worth watching.
