As we approach the final AFLW round, the conversation has been dominated by another social media attack on an AFLW player.
Last week Gold Coast Suns forward Sarah Perkins tweeted an apology to supporters for missing what would have been a match winning goal against the Saints, a series of tweets followed criticising Perkins based on her body shape. Countless AFLW players, fans, and commentators rushed to Perkins’ defence, reinvigorating the debate on the dangers of social media for high profile sports people, and driving the conversation about the right to criticise an athlete’s body in the context of performance.
Enter Kane Cornes, who declared he “hated the term body shaming because I don’t think anyone from a professional sporting sense, when your body is your weapon, can be body shamed”. He acknowledged this should not apply to AFLW players, given their part time status, but this does not counter the issues his comments raise across all elite sport.
Apart from ignoring the historical and gendered aspect of body shaming of women and girls, this opinion is unhelpful and potentially dangerous. Indeed, one of the findings from a recent report into Gymnastics Australia stated that the focus on the “ideal body”, in conjunction with weight measurement and body shaming, could “result in the development of eating disorders and disordered eating which continue long after the athlete has left the sport”.
Former international athletes have called out body shaming by their coaches and trainers. Olympic medallist Leisel Jones described the dehumanising and humiliating effect skinfold tests had on her as teenager, and fellow Olympian Maddie Groves referred to widespread body shaming in swimming as a “disgusting open secret”.
While the evidence mounts of the harm this practice does to girls and women in elite sports, men are not exempt. The AFL recently banned pre-draft skinfold tests for AFL hopefuls, acknowledging that without the necessary psychological and dietary support attached to a club, those who miss out are potentially vulnerable to mental health problems relating to body image.
The recent death of Shane Warne reminds us how long this has been an issue. Described by teammates and the media as ‘tubby’ in his early days, Warne struggled with his weight even at the peak of his career. In 2003 he risked it all by taking a banned diuretic, which he claimed to have taken so he would look good on TV. Mere days before he was found dead of a suspected heart attack this weekend, Warne tweeted he was embarking on Operation Shred, which his manager has since described as one of many extreme weight loss programs Warne undertook.
Importantly, the dangers of body shaming extend beyond the individual being shamed, particularly when the subject is an admired elite sports star. It sends an unhelpful message to the broader community about what is valued by a sports organisation, and what success is supposed to look like.
At a time when women and teenage girls are dropping out of sport in alarming numbers, often citing discomfort with how they look and feel in their bodies, body shaming a beloved footballer like Sarah Perkins sends exactly the wrong message to anyone who has felt their bodies don’t fit narrow definitions of “fit” or “healthy”.
More relevant to critics such as Cornes, however, is that body shape does not always reflect body condition, nor does it necessarily impact on-field performance. Perhaps the game has changed too much to cite champions such as Tony Lockett, Jason Dunstall, or Robert Dipierdomenico who reached the pinnacles of the game despite bodies that would not pass today’s exacting measures, and barely did then.
A more recent example is former Port Adelaide and Hawthorn midfielder (now Gold Coast Suns coach) Stuart Dew who came back from a year out of the game in 2007 to play his best football and share in three premierships with Hawthorn, despite carrying more weight than ever.
How many potential stars have been lost from sport as a result of these rigid tests and body shape imperatives?
The biggest problem is the message it sends to girls and women. For six seasons, we have been celebrating the influence of the AFLW in empowering women and girls to use their bodies for strength, athleticism, and speed. We speak of how women’s football is a safe space for all people, regardless of appearance, background, disability, sexuality, gender. How it has provided girls with sporting heroes who look like them, and plenty who don’t. And how it has showcased women of all shapes and sizes kicking goals – literally and figuratively – and owning their physicality and their strength like never before.
How many girls or young people would have seen the trolling of Sarah Perkins and then checked their own appearance in the mirror? Or asked someone if their jumper is too tight? Their shorts too short? Or worse, stopped playing altogether, so they didn’t have to worry about any of that. I hope none, but I suspect at least some.
If so, it would mean the AFLW isn’t the safe space it was meant to be after all. And that would be an enormous loss to Australian sport, and, frankly, for all of us.
