In over two decades of working at the intersection of sport, media and gender, we’ve been privy to seeing and hearing a lot. Different contexts, but similar personal experiences with always the same undertones. Women who love sport but are exhausted by it. Women doing extraordinary work that goes unrecognised and undervalued. Women who’ve quietly quit, or who are thinking about it. What we’ve lacked, until now, is the evidence to turn those stories into something that can drive change.

That’s why we’re launching Benched – a research call to women working in sport. We want to hear your experiences. And there’s a long tradition behind what we’re doing.

‘The personal is political’

In 1969, American feminist Carol Hanisch argued that the personal experiences of women weren’t private problems – they were political ones, with political causes and collective solutions. Her essay helped establish personal testimony as a legitimate foundation for research and advocacy, particularly for women and marginalised groups. It also pointed towards two lines of action.

The first: personal stories as data, central to qualitative research especially for women and marginalised groups. The second, bigger-picture action has had less success in society, despite being the more consequential of the two: that structural change, driven by collective action, is the instrument for achieving gender equality.

At the Quiet disruptors, we want to build on both actions with the first driving the second. We want to hear from any woman working in sport, or who has worked in sport, in any role or level of seniority, any kind of organisation, any country our network can reach.

We will use the data to build evidence of the state of workplaces for women working in sport. Over the years, we have both heard the good, the bad, and everything in between when it comes to this industry. Now we have an opportunity to move beyond our collection of anecdotes to meaningful data that we can use to bring attention to what’s working and what’s not.

Our research has two parts:

• Part One is a short survey, which takes around ten minutes to complete.

• Part Two is an in-depth conversation for those who want to share more.
  To register interest in Part Two, follow the link in the survey.

The survey is open throughout May 2026.

Please share the link with your networks and any individual you know who would want to participate and share their story. All respondents will remain anonymous.

If you encounter any hiccups along the way, you can write to us at hello@thequietdisruptors.com

For the love of sport,
Jane & Nadia

Whether it’s a mega sports event or world cup competition, we hear women athletes being interviewed talking of doing it for the girls watching. The role model narrative, alongside the familiar refrain of “if you see it, you can be it”, has taken centre stage in the stories of women’s sporting success. And it’s a compelling story. It speaks to aspiration, visibility and possibility.

But is it that simple? And is it enough?

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When we (researchers, policy makers, educators, coaches and media) generalise girls as a homogeneous group, we tell each and every one of them we aren’t actively listening to what they are saying. Stakeholders in sport spend a lot of time talking about girls and participation rates dropping off at adolescence, but are we listening to what girls are telling us?

If sport wants to show girls it genuinely believes in them, it needs to understand how girls come to believe in themselves — and when that process begins to unravel. Educational psychologist Professor Linda S. Gottfredson’s theory of circumspection and compromise1 (1981) offers a four-stage framework for understanding how children process their relationship with society through the key stages of development.

Child development phases

Developed in the context of career development, Gottfredson’s theory2 maps how children make sense of the world of work, and by extension, where they see themselves belonging in it. Applied to sport, the four stages tell us something important about when and how to engage girls. Why is this important? Because getting the message right for the right audience is the first step to engagement.

• Ages 3-5 · The dream phase. In this early stage of development, children frame their thinking around costume, uniforms and superpowers. Think firefighter, police officer, fairy, princess. The world is open and can change everyday.

• Ages 6-8 · Gender boundaries emerge. Boys’ jobs and girls’ jobs begin to take shape. The process of categorisation and sorting has started.

• Ages 9-13 · Ranking begins. Status and effort are weighed against each other. Jobs deemed unsuitable or out of reach begin to get quietly dismissed.

• By 14 · Identity begins to set. Teenagers have already begun deciding what their interests are and what matters to them, influenced by family background and cultural contexts. Crucially, they are forming a belief about their own ability. The dream is already being edited.

Gendered dreams

If gender boundaries are already forming at age six, then by 13 — when girls’ drop-off rates in sport start to appear — the chances of a woman athlete’s message being heard by the girls watching at home is limited. Dreams of playing sport in the community, let alone at an elite level, are being dismantled throughout girlhood.

Over the past five years, Women in Sport UK have been tracking what they call the ‘dream deficit’3, asking girls and boys aged 13-24 whether they dream of being a top athlete. In 2024, 38% of girls said yes. By 2025, that had fallen to 32%. Their latest research Black Girls and Sport: A break up story shares the stories of girls who want to play but can’t because of the cumulative effect of culture, economics, race and gender. A love story with sport that turns to heartbreak, not for lack of motivation, but for lack of system.

Investment and opportunity, or the lack of both, are two key reasons girls are modifying their dreams away from being a sportsperson. The Women in Sport research that tracks sporting dreams can only tell part of the story. A cohort spanning ages 13 to 24 covers more than a decade of development; the life experience of a 13 year-old is hardly comparable to that of a 24 year-old. Breaking these age groups down to understand more about what is going on — not just that girls are losing the dream, but when, why and from whom — is crucial if we want to listen and act with specific purpose.

The barrier to that kind of precision, as ever, is funding. Broader categories are cheaper and so the insights stay broad. Yet the value of research is the opportunity to ask more questions, interrogate with intent and share learning. As research on girls and women in sport continues to be underfunded, findings remain general rather than specific reinforcing the status quo.

How are we investing in those dreams?

Globally, investment in girls’ sport — in space, resources and competitions — remains poorly documented and unevenly distributed. The United States’ Title IX, which legally mandates equal opportunity sport funding in education, remains the landmark reference point decades after it was passed. That we are still citing it as the standard signals how little structural progress has been made everywhere else.

The pipeline in sport is only as good as the grassroots, which is only as strong as the funding that reaches it, and a focus on elite women as role models should never be mistaken for investment in that pipeline. Yet increasingly, it is.

Expecting media coverage to do that work — and treating positive coverage as a form of investment in itself — tells girls and women their sporting dreams, at every level, are decorative rather than structural. In doing so, sport risks losing sight of the grassroots entirely.

Measuring success in girls’ and women’s sport purely through elite performance is short-term thinking. Equally, the myth that mega events drive grassroots participation has enough evidence against it to be retired. What drives participation is access: to coaching, facilities, peers and time. That is a resource question, not a visibility one.

For as long as the message from sport and elite athletes is about doing it for the girls watching, we aren’t yet building what we say we believe in. Because the most powerful thing an elite athlete (or sport more broadly) could say is not ‘I’m doing this for the girls watching’. It’s ‘I’m doing this for the girls who are too busy playing to watch’.

Social media, like all media, is built on relationships. However, not all relationships – online or offline – are equal. They can be distorted and manipulated. They can empower some and disadvantage others. They can inform and they can harm.

For women working in sport – as athletes, journalists, leaders or activists – navigating social media is not easy. A single misstep can expose an individual to an onslaught of abuse. There is little mercy in the largely unregulated digital world of social media platforms, and the consequences for victims can be hard and heavy.

On the flip side, with skills and strategy, social media can be a path paved with gold bringing images, videos and messages to the masses. Olympic athletes at the Milano Cortina 2026 Olympic Winter Games have reportedly generated over 1.3 billion social media engagements, reaching 920 million followers. Growth and engagement are, of course, key indicators for media organisations, sponsors and sport federations – but do these numbers tell the whole story?

This article looks behind the scenes of social media and women working in sport.

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Media landscape

It’s almost impossible to remember life before Instagram (2010) and TikTok (2016), but they are very new. The first newspaper was published in 1605. While the demise of national and local newspapers continues and broadcast media has diversified, social media has emerged as a major disruptor in how we communicate and with whom.

These platforms remain insufficiently regulated and largely operate with limited accountability. Entering this space blindly can expose an individual to hazards, harassment and heartache – harms that are real and lived.

Governments are finally recognising the need to address the potential risks, especially for young people who have never lived without social media. In late 2025, Australia introduced a ban on social media for under-16s, and other countries are considering similar measures. But bans alone do not resolve the complex issues associated with young people and social media.

Media and “intimacy at a distance”

In the 1950s, as television became a mass medium, radio remained a bedrock and cinemas were widespread, Donald Horton and Richard Wohl introduced the concept of “intimacy at a distance” – the idea that mass media creates a sense of closeness and familiarity with a persona or performer. The aim is to curate an illusion of a real social relationship that is one-sided; there is no reciprocal bond between the viewer and the persona.

Erving Goffman’s 1959 Presentation of Self in Everyday Life discusses how we perform “front stage” and “backstage” behaviours. Social media in sport has not only blurred the lines between front and backstage, but actively encourages women athletes to invite fans behind the scenes. This suggests we are asking athletes to trade or sell their personal space in return for engagement. IOC social media reporting for Milano Cortina cited behind-the-scenes content as driving strong global interest and high engagement.

Women journalists in sport and news face many of the same tensions as women athletes. Social media usage is important for developing engagement with readers and followers, but it also comes with harassment. Journalists operate in close proximity to those they report on as a necessary part of delivering the story, and in some cases, online hostility can spill into the physical space.

How can a balance be found that shifts from “access all areas” to building stronger foundations of, what Molly Pocock & Michael Skey (2022) describe as, “appropriate distance”?

Planning for athlete engagement

Designing a communications plan for athletes that gives them the freedom to determine their own relationship with fans and sponsors sounds straightforward. But conflicts can arise as boundaries around “appropriate distance” become blurred.

Encouraging an athlete to use social media carries a double burden: first, knowing they must commit time and energy to build content and audiences; second, they are potentially setting themselves up to be a target for sexist and racist abuse.

The data is clear: across sport and geographies, women athletes express significantly more online abuse than their male counterparts. Federations and sports clubs need to evaluate their safeguarding structures and invest in social media training for athletes.

Rationalising burdens and opportunities

How do we rationalise the burdens and the opportunities?

It’s a difficult road to navigate and, in the short term, there are no easy fixes. As women’s sport has commercialised, some athletes have successfully built profiles – or personal brands – that attract sponsors and income. And let’s be honest – money buys time to train and energy to focus on performance.

The precarious nature of women athletes’ income remains a major issue, but there are some green shoots, including the introduction of central contracts in some sports. This is good news. But more needs to be done.

While social media has often been portrayed as empowering for women athletes, the backlash faced by those who use it exposes a deeper problem. When traditional media under-represents women’s sport, athletes are forced to carry the promotional burden themselves and absorb the abuse that comes with increased visibility. Enduring widespread resistance to women’s sport in traditional media – including paid-for and publicly owned entities – has created a cumulative bank of frustration and fatigue among athletes, journalists, researchers and advocates on the front line.

What can be done?

First and foremost, federations and clubs need to review and strengthen safeguarding policies and practices in the virtual world. Clear reporting mechanisms, psychological support and meaningful consequences for online abuse should be standard.

There needs to be access to structured training for athletes and coaches on social media – the good, the bad and the ugly. Digital strategy, boundary-setting, content planning and online safety are no longer optional extras, but have become core professional skills.

Traditional media organisations also need to refresh and rethink their approach to women’s sport and have short-, medium- and long-term strategies that give audiences real choice and send a clear message:

The media is not a bystander in women’s sport – it is a stakeholder.

Until exposure no longer comes at a personal cost or carries unequal consequences, social media will remain both opportunity and obstacle – and women in sport will continue to walk that tightrope.

Women’s sport is – or so we’ve been repeatedly told – entering a “new era”. But beyond the superlatives and uplifting soundbites, a quieter question persists: are we witnessing a genuine transformation, or simply a louder echo of the same old system? Amid celebration and ceremony, this moment invites a closer look at what progress in women’s sport really looks like – and whether it is built to last.

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In recent years, we’ve been swept up in a tidal wave of celebratory narratives. Stories praising the “incredible”, “historic”, “ and “extraordinary” rise and growth of women’s sport. Record attendances, surging viewership, commercial milestones and breakthrough moments are heralded as proof that something has fundamentally shifted. Profitability, in particular, has become a favourite marker of legitimacy – and with it, the promise that women’s sport has finally “arrived”.

There is no doubt these milestones deserve celebration. Women’s sport has, after all, waited long enough for recognition, investment and visibility. But celebration alone does not answer the deeper questions that determine whether progress is meaningful – or sustainable.

Questions of structure, governance, resource allocation and decision-making remain largely untouched by the headlines.

So we have to ask :

What lies behind the headlines and the countables?
Is this shift real – or simply louder?
And is it intentional, meaningful, and (more importantly) built to last?

While these bigger questions remain open – and we have plenty of thoughts – what we can do is start by examining what’s happening closer to home. In our own workplaces, teams, organisations and media circles, we can begin to ask: what is fact, and what is front? Where does progress exist in practice, and where does it exist mainly in presentation?

For quiet disruptors, this tension doesn’t exist in isolation. It is unfolding within a broader global backdrop marked by growing resistance to gender equality, increasing scrutiny of diversity initiatives, and a re-emergence of exclusionary ideologies. In such a climate, where fear and division spread easily, progress is neither guaranteed nor linear, and gains can just as easily stall or reverse.

Moving women’s sport forward into something​​ that is not simply men’s sport is not about attacking, erasing or rewriting history, nor is it about diminishing achievements already made. It is about recognising where we are now. Women’s sports sit at different stages of development, shaped by distinct histories, cultures and constraints. Only by acknowledging those differences can individual sporting disciplines craft meaningful growth strategies.

Going beyond the glitzy headlines and triumphant language.

Women’s sport does not need to mirror men’s sport to be legitimate. It deserves to honour its own rhythms, stories, structures and cultural nuances. We don’t try to turn rugby into football or basketball into ice hockey – each sport is valued for what it uniquely offers athlete, fans and communities. Women’s sport should be afforded the same respect.

That does not mean working in isolation. Cross-pollination – between sports, organisations, and disciplines – can make scarce resources go further and widen our networks to hear new voices. It can also disrupt entrenched thinking. When was the last time you spoke to someone outside your club, department or immediate circle?

Real progress in women’s sport depends on a vibrant, open and genuinely collaborative ecosystem – one that invites people to contribute ideas, expertise and challenge, rather than simply amplify celebration. It requires curiosity as much as conviction, and structure as much as momentum.

If this truly is a new era for women’s sport, it will not be defined by how loudly it is declared, or how impressive the numbers look in the moment. It will be measured by who holds power, how decisions are made, where resources are directed, and whose voices shape the future once the spotlight moves on.

A new era is not something we announce. It is something we build – deliberately, collectively, and with our eyes wide open.

Once upon a time, the idea of women running, jumping, or swimming was considered laughable and, frankly, outrageous. Yet, women persisted anyway. We skied in long skirts and played tennis in dresses – well, we still play tennis in dresses, but that’s beside the point. What matters is that women’s athleticism was once seen as inappropriate, scandalous, even forbidden.

Today, girls and women sprint, tackle, row, throw, and dive, and in many Western countries their participation in sport is far more accepted. But has it truly become the norm?

Has women’s sport moved from being a cultural novelty into something more ordinary? And if so, why does it still feel as if its storytelling remains stuck in its exceptionality?

Let’s be honest, women’s sport still receives coverage because it is framed through inspirational narratives like: representation matters, history made, landmark summer, barriers broken. These narratives aren’t wrong – but they dominate, and keep women’s sport positioned as exceptional rather than everyday and that limits progress.

Because women’s sport is still less visible and less consistently available, every moment feels as though it must stand for something bigger. Every result must mean progress. Every broadcast must double as activism. These double burdens shape not just the coverage but the expectations placed on the athletes themselves. Women are not treated as athletes (professional and amateur) first. They are their gender roles, norms and history.

And in such environments, something essential goes missing: the ordinary drama of sport. Where are the fan-journeys? The rivalries? The grudges simmering just beneath the surface? The storylines that make sport more than a social cause?

Too often, women in sport are expected to remain polite, grateful, inspirational, well-behaved. They are certainly not supposed to be messy or dissatisfied, never angry or competitive in ways that might feel unseemly.

A woman in sport expressing discontent, fury, or animosity about her sport or towards another athlete? Goodness no, that won’t do. We shouldn’t air our “dirty laundry” – that would be, after all, “baffling” and “bang out of order” (to quote some responses to Mary Earps’ recent autobiography). The so-called controversy surrounding the former England goalkeeper’s book – which includes candid reflections on her experiences, relationships, frustrations, and the realities of elite sport – has caused quite a stir in the UK.

But why? Why should women in sport be held to a higher standard of niceness, attractiveness, and silence? When women show emotion, conflict or critique, it is all-too-often judged as inappropriate. Yet should we not actually laud it as a sign of maturity in the sporting ecosystem?

We’ve seen this before. When Serena Williams showed visible frustration during the 2018 US Open final, her anger was treated as a cultural controversy rather than a normal expression of competitive intensity. Men in sport routinely argue with referees or umpires, smash racquets, or shout expletives without moral commentary (oh hello Novak Djokovic, Andy Roddick, John McEnroe, to name but a few). Williams’ emotion, however, was framed as a tantrum, breach of decorum, even a “meltdown”. She wasn’t allowed to simply be an athlete in a heated match, instead the “incident” (or emotions expressed) became a referendum on her professionalism and character.

If women continue to be held to different standards, women’s sport risks confining itself to being only uplifting, only emblematic, only *sparkle*. Fairy tales make for lovely bedtime stories, but they’re hardly real. What about acknowledging the everyday obstacles? The ordinary highs and lows? The humanity, and not just the heroism?

Women can and should be more than inspirational glitter and glam. We are grit and grime. Tempers and tenacity. Rivalries and resilience. Sisterhoods and solidarity. Passionate, perfectly flawed and fully human. So has the sparkle gone? Perhaps not, but maybe it’s finally being absorbed into something more powerful: normality.

Once upon a time, there were only amateur athletes. Then sport got commercial and we saw the arrival of professional athletes, leagues and lots of viewing data. Yes, this is a massive simplification, but as professional sport grows, the amateur athlete seems to have gone missing.

Why is this important?

The mainstream language in sport now revolves around professional and elite athletes, and grassroots sport. These descriptors do not capture all the athletes who compete as amateurs, including those playing in open competitions against professionals. For women’s sport, there is value in reclaiming amateur status. Providing women athletes with identifiers, building structures that are easily understood, and making clear distinctions between amateur and professional can be good for everyone.

Shamateurism and Professionalism

The “shamateurism” phenomenon of the 1970s and 1980s probably has some responsibility to bear for the loss of the amateur athlete. Some Olympians, for example, claimed amateur status while receiving financial support from governments, sponsors and brands. As the lines got blurred, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) voted in 1986 to allow professional athletes to compete but left the decision to individual federations.

The term amateur comes from the Latin amator, meaning lover or one who loves — and let’s be honest, those who play their sport for the love of it are to be admired for their commitment and joy at playing. Yet for as long as the amateur athlete does not have the profile it should, how can girls and women define themselves and their relationship with the sport they love?

The focus on women’s professional and elite sport has, I would suggest, happened before amateur athlete had a chance to really be embedded in the minds and identities of girls and women. This may not seem that important, but when resources are being distributed, groups without clear identifiers are too easily ignored or have their needs and future goals diluted. This is one reason why reclaiming the term amateur athlete in women’s sport has some long-term value.

In men’s sport, the David-and-Goliath stories often capture public attention. Open competitions in golf, for instance, can draw audiences well beyond the usual fan while in English football, the FA Cup regularly delivers an underdog story when semi-professional or amateur teams reach the third round and face the big clubs in the competition. And yes, the TV rights money for these small clubs can be the difference between survival and not.

Wrexham FC are the perfect example of investment being the difference between growing and not. In December, the club’s story continued when a stake in the company owned by Hollywood actors Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney was sold to US private equity investors.

Finding similar stories in women’s sport is more challenging. Boxing has delivered us Nicola Adams and Savannah Marshall, and this year golfer Lottie Woad won the Irish Open as an amateur. There must be more stories making a strong case for the amateur status to be embraced and demonstrating the pride of an athlete competing for love of their sport.

Amateur sport as a foundation

The Quiet disruptors are particularly interested in the woman amateur at a time when resources are scarce and yet growth is vital for sports. Comparative research by Manolachi and Manolachi (2025) on professional versus amateur sport concludes that:

“Amateur sport is the basis of professional sport, providing talent and dedicated communities.”

They say the major differences between professional and amateur sports have three strands:

1. Purpose (profit versus recreation)

2. Resources (significant funding versus limited budgets)

3. Involvement (full time versus leisure activity).

The article also includes useful charts if you are interested in exploring this topic further.

Another important issue is that without identifying as an athlete (or amateur athlete) — and too many girls and women don’t, a topic we will write about in future articles — support and knowledge on health can feel like it is meant for someone else. In a Stylist magazine article, sport nutritionist Renee McGregor explained why she uses the word athlete:

“I would worry about not calling someone an athlete and then them not taking nutrition, recovery, injury or illness seriously enough.”

Reclaiming amateur athlete by and for women and girls may not seem like much more than a hollow gesture. But words matter, and the amateur athlete has not disappeared, she has simply been unnamed for too long.

*We understand ‘amateur’ may have different cultural interpretations. We would love to hear your thoughts and experiences.

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We love sport for similar reasons. It’s the drama and entertainment, the joy of playing (or remembering the joy) and the camaraderie that comes from a shared love. Our most passionate conversations are anchored in the pain, beauty, resilience and freedom of expression which comes from talking sport.

Whatever our stories of sport, they are part of us, ignited when we talk to fellow sports fans. The energy around sport is broad, rich and sustainable – humans have been playing games since the beginning of time.

Even when we tire of a competition, lose interest in a game, or are despondent with the decisions made by federations, there is a light which draws us back in. It is this unbreakable bond we have with sport which is unique. It crosses cultural boundaries and language barriers but is challenged by women who as athletes, fans, coaches and journalists want equal access.

Sport is often described as a microcosm of society and when it comes to gender equality, the description is apt.

Sexism fuels a deficit argument that what we give to girls and women means there is less for boys and men (and they were here first!). Yet when girls and women are physically active, they are healthier and that positively contributes to communities.

Sexism charges women with being unfeminine if they play sport – sweaty, raw and dirty with grazed knees does not match with conservative versions of femininity. Sexism polices girls and women’s bodies – what is marketable and commercial is too often bound in narrow westernised stereotypes.

Shifting more people towards an open-minded view of sport which welcomes girls and women as athletes – amateur and professional – and in all the connected roles, is the bedrock of equal access. Sport can be transformative, and story by story, we can build a narrative that invites more women and girls in, supports their potential and respects their value.

Who are we?

We are two women from different generations, from opposite sides of the world, with distinct vantage points – one grounded in academic, gender research and consulting, the other rooted in the operational realities of sport and media.

We are united by a love of sport and a shared personal and professional commitment to challenging the deep-rooted inequalities that persist in sport and media.

Our focus lies in the complex intersections of sport, media, and gender: what stories are told and how, who features in them, who gets to tell them, what — and who — is missing, and why that matters.

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Why subscribe?

This newsletter is for all the other quiet disruptors – often without visibility or voice, yet holding the power to shift cultures from within.

We know how lonely this position can feel. We know the fatigue (and at times despair) of navigating systems shaped by subtle and persistent unconscious and conscious sexism. And we know the strength it takes not to walk away.

Here at the Quiet disruptors, we aim to create a safe space – one that honours your efforts, fuels your thinking, and reminds you that you are not alone.

Let’s reflect, challenge, and build – quietly, but with purpose.

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