The moment Angel Reese taunted Caitlin Clark’s “You can’t see me” John Cena impression, and pointed to her finger indicating a championship before the shot clock hit zero, the internet erupted.
What might have been an intended moment of celebration was a turning point for women’s basketball that exposed deep biases of race, gender, and intense competitiveness in women’s sports, which has a history of being undermined in the media.
That moment revealed both a promise and the paradox of women’s basketball today: Although gaining the attention it deserves, its athletes now face growing pressure to perform as social media personalities as much as competitors.
During the 2022-23 season, Clark was an up-and-coming ‘America’s sweetheart,’ challenging what this title entails, being typically associated with hyper-femininity. However, Clark showed fierce, at times controversial, competitive spirit, in a sport that has not always been associated with women in the mainstream.
The WNBA’s resurgence of popularity is not coincidental. Women’s basketball has always represented the cultural climate around it, and right now, that climate is visibility, media and identity.
In the way that there was a clear need for a professional women’s league in the 90’s due to the success of the Olympic team and viewership of the NCAA, there is also a clear need for that space now based on how the game has resurfaced.
Women’s basketball has tapped into a new cultural movement, where women athletes aren’t just competing on the court but thriving as central figures in the media. While the league once flourished off novelty and representation, today, its momentum is generated by digital culture.
This visibility doesn’t just draw fans to the game, but positions women’s basketball at the center of larger social movements, giving the league a marketability men’s sports cannot easily replicate.
In many ways, this can be a catalyst within feminist discourse: For women, success isn’t just measured by their performance on the court, but how they’re branding themselves off it.
Social media and NIL opportunities have given women a unique advantage. Unlike male athletes, who have historically had professional platforms and media coverage to build loyalty, women can now generate their own visibility. Fans are following female players and their platforms, and sponsorship dollars increasingly go to those who command attention online. In a sense, women’s basketball has shown the athletes can drive the brand, not the other way around.
Reese, since that moment of tense rivalry with Clark, has been able to use the attention as a way of becoming a social media star. Most notably, Reese recently made history by being the first professional athlete to walk in the Victoria Secret fashion show.
Sophie Cunningham, teammate of Clark on the Indiana Fever, has used social media to voice her controversial opinions online about the league and other players, and whether fans perceive her as a good or bad seed. She has gained millions of followers across platforms this past year.
Minnesota Lynx duo Courtney Williams and Natisha Hiedeman, also known as the StudBudz via social media, went viral during the WNBA All Star Weekend for their 72-hour Twitch livestream. They gave backdoor content of parties and funny personal interactions with notable players off the court, revealing a vulnerability we don’t typically see with celebrities.
As long as the social media market is growing, so will the personal brands of female athletes, and therefore, the expansion of leagues such as the WNBA.
Yet with all this momentum, it’s fair to ask what kind of culture is women’s basketball building, and who does it serve? The sport’s rise has been powered by viral moments and personality clashes as gameplay itself.
This new attention is valuable, but it also risks turning the league into a spectacle rather than a sport.
Beneath the excitement lies a deeper cultural question: why has the world become so captivated by women’s basketball now that figures are representing certain “palatable” narratives?
The irony is that the very discourse that exposes racism and double standards is what keeps the league trending. The rivalry between Clark and Reese exposed the cultural polarization within the league. Before Clark’s arrival, the WNBA’s identity was rooted in activism. The league dedicated their 2020 season to Breanna Taylor and were leading voices in social justice. This commitment to advocacy was intertwined with the league’s growing brand.
Then, the sudden surge in attention surrounding Clark shifted this focus. A league once united around equality and collective purpose now finds itself divided over questions of race, representation, and who defines its future.
The WNBA’s visibility is only increasing, but at the risk of diluting the very identity that made it powerful in the first place.
The league grows through the very inequities that limit it. They still fail at meeting the players demand for a cut of the revenue in the ongoing CBA tensions which forces many to seek income through sponsorship, social media, or overseas plays.
Women’s basketball is being talked about more than ever, but for a lot of reasons that don’t have to do with the game itself. The challenge for the WNBA now is to decide whether this kind of relevance, built on drama and discourse, can sustain a league or whether it risks undermining the progress it represents.
