Yes sport is about effort, sweat and inclusivity – but it also turns athletes into specimens of humanity where the aesthetic is part of the appeal.
It starts with some carefully curated passive-aggression – “Dear Sydney”, “Hey Sydney”, “Respectfully Sydney” – and follows up with clips of what, in its own words, “a woman in sport actually looks like”. Training Season is getting a serious bump this week.
My own feed is swamped with inspo-insta reels from grassroots athletes alike. Some might argue it’s the best thing to happen to women’s sport this week – unless, you know, they’re the European Solheim Cup team.
The noisy reaction to an actor posing almost naked with various items of sporting equipment shows the power and importance of solidarity within women’s sport. For decades, being a woman in an incorrigibly sexist sector left you one of two responses. Either you ignored uncomfortable and demeaning situations so you could just get on with the thing you wanted to be doing, or you spoke out, braving either devastating indifference or a cacophony of scorn.
From gymnastic tumbles to grunting deadlifts, all these women look fire.
Having to argue that sportswomen aren’t sexual objects, on the other hand, feels as dated as the advert.
The bulging neck on the rugby pitch and the rock-hard calves on the marathon runner have a functional purpose, as opposed to the fantasy one that prompts today’s Hollywood actors to get superhero-buff.
Not in the ball-cradling way that Sydney Sweeney’s performance allows delusional men to believe.