Picture perfect: Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders perform in Washington, D.C., November 2023. Photo: Getty
Being a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader has become synonymous with American excellence: a paradigm of beauty and class (or, as their official motto says, talent «often imitated, never equal»). Since their inception in 1961, DCC—with their quintessential Texas bouncy curls, white cowboy boots, and sparkling smiles—has long captured the imagination of the American public.
From 2006 to 2021, they were the subject of Country Music Television's (CMT) most popular reality show, Making the Team, which chronicled the journey from auditions (600 girls competing for the final 36 spots) to game days; the dancers were immortalized as special Barbie dolls and their uniforms were displayed in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC; and the team performed with stars such as Queen, Luke Combs and Dolly Parton.
The Dallas Cowboys, owned by Jerry Jones, is the most profitable sports team in the world, valued at $9 billion. The ideal image of fans is almost as important as the image of their players. If anything, they are held to a higher standard: those talented enough to make the final 36 must sign contracts pledging not to «fraternize» with players, undergo physical transformations (from weight loss to hair changes), and strictly adhere to attendance tracking on social networks.
But this dark side of NFL support hardly appears in Netflix's brilliant new seven-part reality series America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cheerleaders Cowboys.» Directed by Emmy Award-winning director Greg Whiteley (“Cheer”), the series follows the 2023-24 hopefuls and future team as they navigate auditions, training camps and the football season.
We're invited into a glitzy, sequin-strewn girls' locker room, shown footage of them shaking pom-poms, practicing their iconic dance moves and religiously attending church services — with less attention paid to recent lawsuits over low pay or lack of work. home voyeurism; allegations of misogyny and racism in the recruitment process; political censorship and infantilization; or the personal problems and insecurities of girls in an institution where beauty is above all else.
The DCC (and NFL cheerleaders in general) have long been plagued by reports of the above. Old episodes of Making the Team often focused on private meetings between the dancers and the staff, largely consisting of director Kelly Finglass and choreographer Judy Trammell, where the latter two would sort through technique, weight gain, messy hair or appearance. Former DCC Victoria, who is active on the Netflix show and whose mother is close friends with Finglass and Trammell, was featured on Making the Team when she was called out due to her growing weight.
Picture Perfect: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders Credit: Netflix
Then 18-year-old Victoria was told that during the auditions the judges wanted her to «ton up her tummy» to increase her chances of becoming one of America's Sweethearts. In the new series, she talks candidly about how the organization has been a huge part of her life since childhood — and how much it destroyed her self-esteem, damaged her relationship with food and left her unsure of whether to be an outsider or not. popular enough to become a future leader in a close-knit group of girls.
One former DCC «Rookie» (a dancer who made it to training camp) says senior staff regularly told her she was too heavy to compete in team, even though she was a US size 2 (UK size 6) at the time.
“I remember coming to practice after a full shift at work, in the hospital, and one of the older dancers told me that I should put on more makeup because Kelly would be angry if I didn’t,” a dancer from Chicago [all dancers interviewed for this article asked that their names and their rookie years not be used to avoid risk of legal action from the Cowboys. “Most days I was working 12-14 hours a day trying to get on the team, and I barely ate because I was so afraid of getting fat — I would come home and watch old episodes of Barefoot Contessa [Ina Garten's series] got on a cooking show ] on the Food Network while nibbling on rice cakes to make me feel full.”
Two years ago, the Cowboys were forced to pay multimillion-dollar settlements to four former fans after allegations that Richard Dalrymple, the Cowboys' senior vice president of public relations and communications, filmed them in locker rooms at AT&T Stadium. Dalrymple denied the allegations, and the Cowboys said they found no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part; In a later statement, owner Jones said the settlement showed the Cowboys took such allegations seriously.
An episode of the new Netflix series shows a fan being escorted from the stadium sideline to file a police report after being groped by a cameraman; another describes the team's rules for taking photos with members of the public: Men must hold a soccer ball in front of them so they are not tempted to grab the cheerleaders by the waist.
Big Beast: The Dallas Cowboys are the most profitable sports team in the world, owned by Jerry Jones. Photo: Bettmann
In a statement to HuffPost regarding the fumble incident, the Cowboys said: “Safety and security is always a top imperative for us and the cheerleaders. Officers from the Arlington Police Department were immediately involved in this particular situation. A thorough investigation into the incident was quickly launched. Any contact was determined to be unintentional and APD did not consider any charges to be appropriate.»
The organization has also been criticized for its lack of diversity, with just six black dancers on this year's roster. A black woman who applied in 2014 after playing for another top sports team says she was told not to wear her natural hair or braids to auditions, but to straighten it to make her “look more feminine.” Years of classical training in jazz and contemporary styles were ignored by fellow dancers who asked if her background was in «street or hip-hop,» she says.
Unrealistic beauty standards and racism aren't the only controversies that have plagued the Cowboys (and NFL cheerleading in general) in recent years. The NFL was rocked by its first class action lawsuit in 2014, when former Oakland Raiders dancer Lacey Thibodeau-Fields accused her organization of wage theft and gender discrimination; she was paid only $1,250 for the entire season, with rehearsals and ambassadorial events remaining unpaid.
Cheerleaders auditioning reveal how they were allegedly told to become «more feminine»; Photo: Netflix
Four years later, Erica Wilkins, who danced with DCC for three years, including as part of a prestigious 12-person «show troupe» and appeared solo on the team's swimsuit calendar, sued the Cowboys for lost wages , claiming that she was paid only $4,700 after taxes (they are paid $8 an hour for training, which is only slightly more than the minimum wage in Texas). This figure becomes even more staggering when compared to the reported income of Dallas Cowboys mascot Rowdy of $65,000 per year plus commissions.
Cheerleaders are expected to train most evenings, do their real jobs, and be available to perform on holidays and weekends—and that doesn't include the thousands of dollars spent on lifelong dance training or clothing and housing for auditions. Speaking to the New York Post during the trial, Wilkins said: “Yes, it's prestigious. But in the end, Prestige doesn't pay me rent. I can’t go to my leasing office and hand them a form for the month.” In the new series, former cheerleader Catherine Puryear says a dancer on the team makes a salary comparable to that of a substitute teacher or Chick-fil-A employee; this means that those without family wealth or support rely on other jobs to survive.
&# 39;DCC still seems to prioritize making great television over protecting its «sisterhood»; Photo: Netflix
The restrictions are not just financial: the women on the team undergo rigorous media training and social media regulation. When Roe v. Wade was overturned two years ago, the DCC was criticized for not issuing a public statement condemning its impact on women and girls in Texas. Elsewhere, during the pandemic, one of the team's most talented dancers, Hannah Anderson, decided to leave due to the organization's perceived lack of safety protocols. She wrote on Instagram: «Decisions made to prioritize reality TV over the health and well-being of the organization's employees, using the dreams of 50 women to create content and ratings in the middle of a pandemic.»
Now, inviting Netflix cameras into their sacred halls, DCC still seems to prioritize making great television over protecting its «sisterhood.» Remembering how little the dancers are paid and how strictly their professional and personal lives are regulated by the organization makes it an even more bitter pill to swallow, begging the question: How much of Netflix's cash injection actually ends up in their bank accounts? ?
America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Fans Now on Netflix
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