After the Women’s World Cup, the future is roaring at dinosaur men

The future is roaring at the dinosaur men, Luis Rubiales supreme among them right now, writes Nikki Gemmell. Picture: Getty Images

Imagine if we grew up in a world without labels; the labels that are applied to us, all of us, from childhood onwards. The patriarchy sticks its reductive little labels on women, has always done so; females exist under the great thumb of male expectation. We’ve been conditioned from childhood to know things we must not be. That we’re somehow bad if we’re not obedient, quiet, meek, if we’re not subservient to the so-called “greater sex”. We must never overshadow. But what if you’re a female who’s loud, questioning, stubborn, honest; who’s jostling for attention? Then we feel bad, are made to feel bad, because those descriptors are not the label of the traditionally acceptable woman. And that’s where self-hatred sneaks in, so destructively, because we’re just being ourselves – yet we’re told by the world that this is wrong. Cue, crisis.

Which is why I loved the recent Women’s World Cup, on so many levels. We saw women’s bodies sculpted for strength, agility and speed as opposed to mere eye candy for the male gaze; bodies not honed for prettiness but usefulness. We saw muscular thighs, sports bras, ripped abs and gloved hands like warrior tokens of invincibility. Working mothers who didn’t look like traditional mothers. Lesbians out and proud. We saw mental determination, courage and grit. Tatts. We saw a woman who was kissed without consent calling it out. A woman speaking for all survivors who knew the grimly predictable next step – that she’d be called a liar, because that’s the playbook. But this time the woman won. The world united in revulsion and roared, enough. The World Cup was not about a Spanish football boss who couldn’t read the room.

It was a festival of joy that united our nation. It galvanised us in a way nothing else has since Covid. An image of womanhood we’re not used to, and the world drank it up. But not everyone was celebrating. I posted on X about a World Cup match crammed with spectators on a weekday Sydney lunchtime. The caption: “And they said no one would watch women’s sport.” Cue the pile-on. “No way everyone is on the edge of their seat with full-blown support here.” “Still hard to watch.” “No one would pay decent $ in the current economy to watch women’s sporting events.” “Been to one game. Not going to others. It was garbage.” “Yeah but no one takes it seriously.” Etc, etc.

And they said noone would watch womens sport https://t.co/7z6MY94RJV

— Nikki Gemmell (@NikkiGemmell) July 25, 2023

What were these men so afraid of? Their default was to sneer, denigrate, abuse. Why are they so nakedly insecure? At the World Cup we saw women freed from the diminishing labellings of the patriarchy and it was magnificent, cause for mass celebration. Men have kept us weak, quiet, subservient over millennia, in a vast ghosting; ignoring and reducing our achievements, strength, voice. Yet this year feels like a fulcrum moment, a tipping into something else. There’s an emotional resonance for so many women in terms of the Matildas, Greta Gerwig, Taylor Swift. Because we know how hard it is, for all women, to thrive in a man’s world.

Meanwhile, the men continue to ghost us by demeaning, reducing, not engaging. King Charles went to church during the Women’s World Cup final that featured England’s Lionesses. Prince William, as Football Association president, couldn’t be bothered getting on a plane to support his team in the final. Sorry, but why is he even in that position? His job was to be there, on the world stage. Queen Letizia made it and her girls won. Did her presence supply an extra boost?

The future is roaring at the dinosaur men, Luis Rubiales supreme among them right now. The dinosaurs still hold out – punching down, ghosting, sneering – but money, and the weight of popular consensus, will win out in the end. The women are on their way. And don’t they know it.