This month alone, a foul between Sophie Cunningham and DiJonai Carrington became a national conversation about race after Carrington was ejected and subsequently posted “WHITE PRIVILEGE.”

Former NBA players Enes Kanter Freedom and Royce White turned the conversation around transgender athletes into a spectacle by announcing their intentions to enter the WNBA Draft. And on The Pivot, Ryan Clark and Channing Crowder argued that the WNBA has a messaging problem — one where controversy and personalities are increasingly overshadowing the product on the court.

It made me wonder:

Does the WNBA actually have a branding problem?

I don’t think it does.

I think a whole lot of people are getting acquainted with the WNBA for the first time.

And there’s a difference.

The WNBA Didn’t Suddenly Become Political

One of the strangest things about the current discourse is the suggestion that the WNBA needs to become less political, less outspoken, or less divisive now that more people are watching.

But that would require the league to become something it has never been.

WNBA players have been at the forefront of conversations about racial justice, LGBTQ+ rights, voting rights, gender equity and pay equity for years. Players wore shirts supporting Black Lives Matter long before the movement became part of mainstream corporate messaging. They helped draw national attention to the police killing of Breonna Taylor. Atlanta Dream players famously organized in support of Raphael Warnock when their team’s then-owner, Sen. Kelly Loeffler, publicly opposed the league’s racial-justice efforts.

That’s not a deviation from the WNBA’s identity.

It is part of the WNBA’s identity.

And historically, why wouldn’t it be?

Women — and particularly Black women — have been central to some of America’s most consequential movements for civil rights and social change. Now put a league full of women, many of them Black and queer, into the middle of American culture and expect them to suddenly have nothing to say?

That was never realistic.

More Eyes Don’t Require a New Identity

This is where I think the conversation becomes a branding lesson.

Growth creates an interesting temptation for brands.

You’ve spent years developing a core audience. People understand who you are, what you value, and how you communicate. Then suddenly, your audience gets much bigger.

And the instinct can be:

Should we change so these new people like us?

My answer is: Not necessarily. Sometimes the new audience needs time to understand you. That’s where the WNBA is right now.

The league is experiencing unprecedented attention, which means people are encountering its culture without the context longtime fans already have. They’re learning the personalities. They’re learning the rivalries. They’re learning the history. And yes, they’re learning that WNBA players tend to be more willing than athletes in some other leagues to tell you exactly what they think.

That doesn’t mean every statement is good. It doesn’t mean every player handles every situation perfectly. And it certainly doesn’t mean the league shouldn’t think critically about its communications strategy.

But brand consistency isn’t the same thing as universal approval.

You can be yourself and still be intentional about how you’re perceived. That’s branding.

But There Is a Messaging Opportunity

Where I agree with some of The Pivot’s criticism is that there’s a strange imbalance happening around the WNBA.

Some of the biggest conversations about the league aren’t about basketball at all.

A controversial social post can generate more conversation than an incredible performance. People who don’t watch the league can dominate the conversation surrounding it. Former NBA players can announce a stunt involving the WNBA Draft and immediately become part of the WNBA news cycle.

Meanwhile, some of the best basketball players in the world are...playing basketball.

That’s not entirely a WNBA problem. It’s also a media problem.

Controversy drives clicks. Conflict creates engagement. And the massive influx of attention around women’s basketball has created an entire ecosystem of people who have discovered that talking about the WNBA — particularly its most polarizing personalities — can be very profitable.

The league can’t control all of that. But it can continue getting better at giving audiences something stronger to talk about.

Tell us why these games matter. Build the rivalries. Introduce casual fans to the personalities beyond the handful they already know. Give us history and context. Make stars out of great players. And let the basketball create storylines, too.

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Maybe the WNBA Is the Example

Here’s where I depart from the idea that the WNBA needs to look more like other professional sports leagues.

Maybe other leagues should be looking at the W.

Sports organizations spend millions trying to manufacture “authenticity.” They create campaigns about athletes using their voices. They talk endlessly about building community and creating cultural relevance.

The WNBA already has those things.

Its players have personalities. They disagree. They advocate. They challenge institutions — including their own league. They care about things beyond basketball.

And sometimes that gets messy. But culturally relevant brands usually are.

The lesson shouldn’t be that the WNBA needs to become quieter as it becomes more popular. The lesson is that visibility doesn’t require conformity.

Growth doesn’t mean abandoning the people who built your brand or the values that made your community distinctive in the first place.

There is absolutely an opportunity for the WNBA to sharpen its messaging, amplify its basketball product and make sure controversy doesn’t become the primary entry point into the league. But that’s different from changing what the WNBA fundamentally is.

After 30 years, perhaps the question isn’t whether the WNBA knows who it is.

Maybe the rest of the world is finally being introduced to it.

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In two seasons in Baton Rouge, he went from transfer quarterback to Heisman Trophy winner and one of the biggest names in college football. His No. 5 became synonymous with that run.

Now, someone else is wearing it.

LSU cornerback DJ Pickett will wear No. 5 this season, a number he was reportedly promised during his recruitment. That decision didn’t sit well with Daniels’ camp. His representatives subsequently sent LSU a cease-and-desist letter informing the university that it was no longer authorized to use his name, image or likeness.

And just like that, a disagreement over a jersey number became an NIL story.

But I don’t think the most interesting question is whether Jayden Daniels deserves to have his number retired. And it’s not whether LSU should have given No. 5 to another player.

I’m more interested in what happened next.

Because this situation illustrates something athletes are going to have to navigate more and more in the NIL era:

Having the right to protect your brand doesn’t automatically make every brand decision the right one.

NIL Is Bigger Than the Deal

When we talk about NIL, the conversation is usually about money.

How much is an athlete making? What brands are they working with? Which collective has the biggest budget? What did a school offer a player to transfer?

But NIL literally means name, image and likeness.

Those are pieces of an athlete’s identity, and their value doesn’t disappear when an athlete leaves campus.

According to reporting on the cease-and-desist, LSU’s contractual right to use Daniels’ NIL extended 180 days beyond his final game. His representatives are now asserting his right to determine how the university can use his identity going forward.

I don’t have a problem with that.

Athletes spent decades watching universities, conferences, broadcasters and brands build enormously valuable products around their performances while having very little control over the commercial use of their own identities.

NIL changed that.

Athletes should know what they own. They should understand their contracts. And they should absolutely be willing to protect their rights.

But knowing your rights is only one part of managing a brand.

Knowing how and when to exercise them is another.

The Story Changed

This is where the Daniels situation gets complicated for me.

The cease-and-desist wasn’t sent in a vacuum. His representatives connected the decision to LSU allowing Pickett to wear No. 5, saying the family felt “profoundly disrespected” by the university’s decision.

And that’s where a legitimate NIL issue became a reputation issue.

Because the public conversation wasn’t:

Jayden Daniels wants control over the commercial use of his NIL.

It became:

Jayden Daniels is mad someone else is wearing his number.

Those are two very different stories.

The first positions Daniels as an athlete protecting a valuable asset. The second opens him up to accusations of entitlement, pettiness and believing LSU owes him something. We’ve already seen that framing in coverage and commentary surrounding the dispute. Is all of it fair? Maybe not. But that’s also the reality of personal branding.

Your brand isn’t just what you say about yourself. It’s what people come to associate with you.

You can influence those associations. You can’t completely control them.

So when you’re making decisions around your personal brand, the question can’t only be: Do I have the right to do this?

It also has to be: What will doing this communicate?

And maybe most importantly: Is this something I’m willing to spend reputational capital on?

Then Jayden Said Something Himself

After the controversy took off, Daniels posted a statement to his Instagram Story. He didn’t defend the cease-and-desist. He didn’t criticize LSU. And he didn’t spend time arguing about No. 5.

Instead, he said he had been focused on training camp, expressed gratitude for his time at LSU and said he was proud of what he and his teammates accomplished there.

Then came a very intentional distinction: There are issues to be worked out “between my team and LSU.”

Not my issues with LSU. My team and LSU.

That’s subtle, but it matters. Daniels isn’t disavowing the actions of his representatives, and we shouldn’t assume they acted without his approval. But the language does create some distance between Jayden Daniels the person and the business dispute happening around Jayden Daniels the brand.

Then he goes one step further.

He says he hopes the issue will be handled privately, reiterates that his personal focus is Commanders football, and closes the statement with a tiger emoji and LSU’s “Raise Hail” imagery.

After an entire news cycle suggesting a fractured relationship with LSU, Daniels is still publicly repping LSU. That’s not insignificant.

The message essentially says: There’s a business issue to resolve. That doesn’t mean I don’t have love for LSU.

And from a communications standpoint, I think that was smart. Because the original story allowed everyone else to define his position. His statement started taking some of that narrative back.

That’s another part of brand management we don’t talk about enough. Sometimes you don’t need to win the argument, you need to make sure people understand where you actually stand.

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LSU Has a Brand to Manage, Too

There’s another side of this that shouldn’t be ignored.

Universities spend years telling athletes they’re “family.” They sell recruits on tradition. They celebrate former players. They produce highlight packages, sell merchandise and use legendary performances to reinforce the value of their programs.

Legacy is part of the product.

So schools can’t build an emotional relationship with athletes when it’s useful and then pretend that relationship is purely transactional when disagreements arise.

Daniels clearly places value on what No. 5 represents from his time at LSU. LSU clearly doesn’t believe honoring that legacy requires preventing another player from wearing it. That disagreement exposes something NIL has made increasingly difficult for college athletics to ignore:

The relationship between an athlete and a university is both emotional and commercial.

And sometimes those two things are going to collide.

NIL Literacy Isn’t Brand Literacy

That’s ultimately what I keep coming back to with this story. The first phase of NIL was about access. Could athletes finally make money from their own identities? Now we’re moving into a much more complicated phase.

Athletes need to understand contracts, licensing, intellectual property and what happens to their NIL rights after they leave school.

But they also need to understand communication, relationships, perception and reputation, because NIL literacy and brand literacy aren’t the same thing.

NIL literacy is understanding what you own. Brand literacy is understanding what exercising that ownership communicates.

I don’t think Jayden Daniels is wrong for wanting control over his name, image and likeness. I also don’t think LSU allowing another player to wear No. 5 erases what Daniels accomplished there.

What I do think is that tying those two issues together created a public narrative that Daniels and his team then had to manage. And his response suggests they understood that. Athletes fought for the right to own their name, image and likeness.

Now comes the next challenge:

Learning how to manage everything that comes with that ownership.

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The WNBA expansion franchise, which will begin play in 2028, unveiled its name, colors, logo and overall identity after a 13-month process that included fan surveys, focus groups and conversations throughout the Cleveland community.

And as far as brand launches go, I think they got a lot right.

The first thing that stood out to me was how intentionally the Sirens separated themselves from the Cleveland Cavaliers. The two franchises will share Rocket Arena, but Sirens leadership didn’t want to create a women’s version of the Cavs. Instead, they built an identity around Lake Erie and the mythology of the Siren — powerful, fearless and impossible to ignore.

That thinking carries through the visual identity. The Siren’s hair forms five waves, representing the five Great Lakes and five players on a basketball court. The colors feel entirely separate from the Cavs’ wine and gold. And “Hear the Call” gives the franchise language that can eventually live far beyond a launch campaign.

For a team that won’t play a basketball game for another two years, the Sirens already feel like their own brand.

But the launch film is where it really came together for me.

Former Cleveland Rockers player Janice Braxton provides the voiceover, connecting Cleveland’s WNBA past to its future. Billie Eilish’s You Should See Me in a Crown provides the soundtrack. And one small detail immediately caught my attention: Taliyah Pollard, a high school basketball player, appears wearing A’ja Wilson’s Nike A’Twos.

That’s the kind of detail I love in branding.

Could she have worn any pair of basketball shoes? Sure. But putting the signature shoe of one of the defining players of this era on the feet of an athlete representing the future of Cleveland women’s basketball shows an understanding of the culture this franchise is entering.

This wasn’t just a Cleveland sports commercial. It felt like a women’s basketball commercial.

And then I started reading the comments.

“Is this AI?”

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Apparently, Everything Is AI Now

Some of the more stylized moments in the film use animation and CGI, but the reaction made me realize how quickly we’ve started labeling anything that looks slightly unnatural, surreal or unfamiliar as generative AI.

Hyperrealistic image? AI.

Unusual lighting? AI.

A person or environment that looks a little too polished? AI.

And that’s where I think we have a problem.

AI is starting to become an aesthetic in our minds rather than a description of how something was actually made.

One discussion I found about the Sirens film captured this perfectly. Someone questioning whether it was AI acknowledged that they couldn’t point to the typical giveaways. It was the lighting, saturation and almost “plasticky” appearance that made it feel like AI to them. Other commenters suggested they were simply seeing CGI.

That distinction matters.

CGI, animation, digital compositing and retouching aren’t new. We’ve been using them to create things that don’t exist in the physical world for decades. Generative AI is another creative technology, but it isn’t interchangeable with everything digitally produced.

What’s fascinating is that AI may actually be changing how we interpret all of those older forms of creative work.

We’ve spent the last few years training ourselves to look for AI. Count the fingers. Read the background text. Look at the skin. Watch for strange movements. Question whether what you’re seeing is real.

That skepticism is useful. The problem comes when suspicion turns into certainty without verification.

And there’s some irony here. Generative AI systems learned from enormous amounts of human-created work. Now we’re starting to look at human-created work and say it looks like AI.

Technology trained on human creativity is beginning to change what we believe human creativity looks like.

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That’s a Branding Problem

There are plenty of legitimate concerns about generative AI: creative jobs, intellectual property, disclosure, compensation and what authorship even means when generative tools become part of the process.

That’s precisely why I think we need to be more careful about how we talk about it.

Calling something “AI-generated” isn’t the same as saying you don’t like the creative. It’s a claim about how the creative was produced. And increasingly, it’s also a claim that carries assumptions about the values of the brand that produced it.

For marketers and communicators, that introduces an interesting challenge. It may no longer be enough for audiences to understand our creative. They may also want to understand — and trust — how we made it.

The video above is another example of a piece of human-generated content that got hit with unfounded AI allegations.

That could make behind-the-scenes content, production credits and transparency about creative processes more important. Not because brands should have to prove that a human touched every frame, but because the process itself is increasingly becoming part of how audiences evaluate the final product.

The Cleveland Sirens launch is a good example.

You don’t have to like the film. You don’t have to like the logo, colors, CGI or any other part of the creative. That’s the nature of putting creative work into the world.

But critiquing the creative and making a claim about how it was created are two different things.

AI has changed what brands can create.

Now, it may also be changing what audiences believe humans are capable of creating.

And that’s a shift every creative and communicator should be paying attention to.

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This week I’m popping in a bit early to share something a little different.

Rather than breaking down a single story from the world of sports and branding, I wanted to take you behind the scenes of my experience at WNBA All-Star Weekend 2026.

While All-Star Weekend is known for the games, celebrity appearances, and fan experiences, that wasn’t why I went.

I went because the people shaping the future of women’s sports were all in one place.

Agents. Brand marketers. Investors. League executives. Founders. Creators. The people deciding where money flows, which athletes get opportunities, and what women’s sports will look like five or ten years from now.

As someone building a business at the intersection of sports, branding, and athlete development, being in those rooms was just as valuable as being inside the arena.

Here are a few of the biggest takeaways I brought home.

Women Athletes Are Expected to Be More Than Great

I kicked off the weekend at the Intersport Hoop House, presented in partnership with The GIST, where conversations centered on the business of women’s sports.

The first panel focused on athlete branding and featured agents, managers, and brand leaders, including Des Dickerson, manager to Flau’Jae Johnson.

One idea continued to surface throughout the discussion:

For women athletes, being elite at your sport is often just the starting point.

To maximize opportunities, many are expected to also be exceptional storytellers, content creators, entrepreneurs, advocates, or community builders.

That’s a standard we rarely place on male athletes.

Whether that’s fair is another conversation entirely, but it is the reality of today’s marketplace.

Another theme was the importance of building the right team around an athlete. For women especially, having the right representation, advisors, and brand partners can dramatically change the trajectory of a career.

The panel also reinforced something I’ve been saying for a while: NIL has changed everything.

Recruiting relationships with agents can begin as early as 12 to 14 years old, which means conversations about personal branding can’t wait until college anymore. Parents, coaches, educators, and athletes themselves all need to understand how brand reputation, social media, and storytelling influence future opportunities long before an NIL deal is ever signed.

It’s exactly why I believe athlete education matters as much as athlete performance, and why I’m building the athlete education arm of The Gifted Collective.

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The Business Case for Women’s Sports Has Never Been Stronger

The second panel explored investment and innovation across women’s sports.

One statistic immediately stood out.

The WNBA is valued at only a fraction of the NHL, despite generating more than twice its television viewership.

That disconnect says less about audience demand and more about how women’s sports have historically been valued.

The encouraging part is that investors recognize the opportunity.

One conversation centered around League One Volleyball (LOVB) as an example of how investing across the entire athlete pipeline—from youth participation through the professional level—creates long-term value.

Youth sports aren’t simply community investments anymore.

They’re business investments.

Another point that challenged conventional thinking was audience demographics.

Brands often assume women’s sports are watched primarily by women.

The data says otherwise.

One of the fastest-growing audiences for the WNBA is young boys.

That reinforces something I’ve believed for years:

Women’s sports aren’t niche anymore. They’re simply sports.

Everyone is watching.

Growth Requires More Than Great Players

Later in the weekend, I attended WNBA Live, where Nike hosted a panel featuring current stars, legends, and future faces of the game, including Paige Bueckers, Jonquel Jones, Natasha Howard, Lisa Leslie, Dawn Staley, Sheryl Swoopes, JuJu Watkins, Madison Booker, and Aaliyah Chavez.

While fans were excited simply to see these athletes together, what struck me most was how consistently the conversation returned to growth.

Not just growing the league.

Growing the ecosystem.

Growing investment.

Growing opportunities for athletes.

Growing the next generation of fans.

That theme echoed throughout nearly every event I attended. The people making decisions aren’t asking whether women’s sports will continue to grow.

They’re asking how quickly they can help accelerate that growth.

My Biggest Takeaway

The basketball was incredible.

The fan experience was unforgettable.

But the most valuable part of the weekend happened between the events.

It happened in conversations with founders, marketers, agents, creators, executives, and investors who are actively building the future of women’s sports.

Those rooms reminded me that while we’ve made tremendous progress, we’re still early.

There is still enormous opportunity to build businesses, tell better stories, create stronger athlete brands, and develop the infrastructure women’s sports deserve.

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I asked whether the Indiana Fever were more marketable—or simply more marketed.

I argued that visibility isn’t always earned. Sometimes it’s manufactured through broadcast windows, media repetition, institutional investment, and the stories organizations choose to tell over and over again.

At the time, I was talking about media strategy.

This week, I realized I was really talking about something much bigger.

Over the past several days, three seemingly unrelated stories dominated the conversation around the WNBA.

A’ja Wilson won two ESPYs, further cementing her place as the most accomplished player in the league today.

Paige Bueckers used her platform to call attention to the absence of Black women head coaches in a league built by Black women.

Meanwhile, a confrontation involving Caitlin Clark and game officials became one of the biggest stories in sports media.

Three different stories.

Three different conversations.

Or so it seemed.

Because underneath all three is the same question:

Who decides what deserves our attention?

The WNBA doesn’t have a talent problem.

It doesn’t have an audience problem.

It has a filter problem.

Not the kind of filter you can see, but the kind that quietly shapes which stories get amplified, which voices carry the most weight, which accomplishments become cultural moments, and which ones fade into the background.

This week didn’t reveal that filter.

It simply made it impossible to ignore.

The Coaching Conversation—And the Filter We Keep Missing

There are currently no Black women serving as head coaches in the WNBA.

That isn’t just a statistic. It’s the first example of the filter I’m talking about.

Last November, after her departure from the Seattle Storm, Noelle Quinn addressed the lack of Black women in coaching.

She didn’t hedge.

“It’s not by accident. I believe it’s intentional. Representation is possible when leadership chooses to make it possible.”

The story received some coverage. Then, like so many conversations that happen during the offseason, it faded.

Fast forward to this week.

After a game, Paige Bueckers made a similar point, saying Black women deserve equal opportunities to lead in a league they helped build. She didn’t have to say it. She chose to. That’s what allyship looks like.

Her comments quickly became a national conversation.

Timing absolutely played a role. Quinn spoke during the offseason, when attention around the league is at its lowest. Bueckers spoke in the middle of the season, after a nationally discussed game.

Both of those things are true.

But timing alone doesn’t explain why the issue itself didn’t become a sustained conversation until it was voiced by someone who wasn’t directly experiencing it.

That’s the filter.

Not whose perspective is right. Whose perspective institutions decide to amplify.

Predictably, the conversation quickly shifted away from opportunity and toward politics. Suddenly, the discussion became another debate about DEI, with critics arguing that Black women shouldn’t receive coaching jobs simply because they’re Black.

That was never the argument.

The conversation has always been about equitable access to opportunity—not lowering standards.

If you need proof, look no further than Lisa Leslie.

Three-time WNBA MVP. Two-time champion. Two-time Finals MVP. Four Olympic gold medals.

One of the most accomplished athletes the sport has ever produced.

Last offseason, Leslie interviewed for head coaching positions with two WNBA franchises. She wasn’t hired. Speaking later on Angel Reese’s podcast, she said, “You’ve got to be ten times as great as a Black woman in this industry.” She also shared that she has no interest in pursuing another WNBA coaching job.

Lisa Leslie wasn’t asking for a favor.

She was presenting one of the strongest résumés imaginable.

The fact that her qualifications could still be overlooked tells us this conversation has never been about lowering the bar.

It’s about asking who gets evaluated through the same bar in the first place.

And once you recognize that filter in coaching, you start seeing it everywhere else.

Merit Stopped Being the Only Filter

The filter also shows up in the stories we choose to tell.

This week, A’ja Wilson won both Best WNBA Player and Best Athlete: Women’s Sports at the ESPYs—adding two more honors to a résumé that already places her among the greatest players in league history.

That should have been one of the defining sports stories of the week.

Instead, much of the conversation centered on a confrontation between Caitlin Clark and game officials. The story dominated sports television, social media, and debate shows. Around the same time, NBA Commissioner Adam Silver publicly addressed Clark’s treatment in the media, calling her a “political football.”

Before I go any further, I want to be clear about what I’m arguing. This isn’t a criticism of Caitlin Clark.

She’s an good, possibly great, player whose arrival has introduced millions of new fans to the WNBA. That’s good for the league. The question isn’t whether she deserves attention.

The question is why our institutions have become so heavily invested in one narrative while other forms of excellence struggle to generate the same sustained attention.

Because media coverage isn’t just reporting what’s popular.

It’s telling audiences what matters.

Every headline. Every nationally televised game. Every panel discussion. Every promotional campaign. Every push notification.

They’re all signals. And over time, those signals become perception.

When I wrote earlier this year about the difference between being marketable and being marketed, this is exactly what I meant.

Markets don’t simply discover value. They help create it.

That doesn’t mean the value is fake. It means visibility compounds.

The more often audiences see someone, the more familiar they become. The more familiar they become, the more commercially attractive they appear. And eventually, familiarity starts getting mistaken for merit.

The demographic data tells an important part of that story.

When Caitlin Clark entered the league, WNBA viewership grew across nearly every audience segment. Black viewership on ESPN increased by 67 percent year over year. Hispanic viewership nearly doubled. Non-Hispanic white viewership increased by more than 300 percent.

That’s incredible growth. Growth isn’t the problem. In fact, it’s exactly what the league should want.

But here’s what often gets left out of the conversation. Black audiences didn’t disappear. They grew, too.

Black viewers still account for roughly one-third of ESPN’s WNBA audience and nearly half of Ion’s WNBA viewership. The 2026 WNBA Draft attracted significantly more Black viewers than the previous year.

The foundation didn’t shrink. The house simply got bigger.

The mistake is assuming that because one audience experienced the fastest growth, it’s the only audience worth prioritizing. That’s where the filter becomes visible.

Not because anyone says it out loud. But because investment begins to follow an assumption—that some audiences are inherently more commercially valuable than others.

Whether that’s reflected in broadcast windows, sponsorship dollars, editorial coverage, or promotional campaigns, the result is the same.

The stories attached to those audiences receive more oxygen. The athletes attached to those stories become more recognizable. And recognition, over time, starts looking a lot like merit.

Except they aren’t the same thing.

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The Brand Lesson Most People Are Missing

This is where I want to step out of sports for a moment and put my marketing hat back on. One of the biggest mistakes brands make is confusing attention with equity.

They’re not the same thing.

Attention can be manufactured. Equity has to be earned.

Attention is often driven by novelty, controversy, algorithms, or the story dominating this week’s news cycle. Brand equity is built through consistency.

Trust. Performance. Relationships. Time.

The best marketers know the difference. They don’t simply ask, “Who’s getting the most attention right now?”

They ask a much better question:

“What creates lasting value?”

That’s an important distinction because attention is borrowed. Equity is owned.

When a brand ties itself too closely to headlines, it’s renting someone else’s narrative. That narrative can change overnight because of an injury, a controversy, a losing streak, or the next viral moment.

That’s not an asset. That’s volatility. The strongest brands don’t chase the loudest conversation. They invest in enduring excellence.

That’s why the greatest athlete partnerships rarely begin after everyone agrees an athlete is a superstar.

Nike didn’t wait for Serena Williams to become a cultural icon. They invested in what she represented long before the market fully appreciated her impact. The same was true of LeBron James.

The smartest brands weren’t following attention. They were recognizing value before attention caught up.

That’s the difference between trend-following and brand building. It’s also why I think this moment matters so much for the WNBA.

If your investment strategy is driven primarily by whichever player dominates this week’s news cycle, you’re building your brand on momentum you don’t control.

But if you invest in athletes whose value is rooted in sustained excellence, authentic community, and audience trust, you’re building something far more durable.

That’s what long-term brand equity looks like.

And here’s where the business opportunity becomes impossible to ignore.

The Black audiences that have supported the WNBA for decades aren’t just passionate fans. They’re highly engaged consumers.

Research consistently shows they’re more likely to support brands that authentically invest in the athletes, communities, and values they care about. That’s not cultural goodwill. That’s consumer behavior.

The brands that understand this won’t simply sponsor women’s basketball. They’ll help shape its future. Because the biggest opportunities rarely exist where everyone is already looking. They exist where others have underestimated the value.

Why This Matters

It’s easy to read all of this and conclude that the solution is simply to give different athletes more attention.

I don’t think that’s enough. The real challenge is learning to recognize the filter before it tells us what to value.

Because filters don’t just shape headlines.

They shape investment. They shape hiring. They shape sponsorships. They shape public memory. And eventually, they shape history.

When enough institutions point in the same direction, we begin to mistake visibility for importance.

Recognition for merit. Familiarity for excellence. That’s why this conversation extends far beyond the WNBA.

Every industry has filters. They determine which founders get funded.

Which creators get platformed. Which companies receive coverage. Which ideas become mainstream. The people making those decisions rarely believe they’re overlooking excellence.

They’re responding to the signals they’ve been given.

The problem is that institutions are often responsible for creating those signals in the first place. That’s why media literacy matters. It’s not enough to know that coverage is curated. We have to ask who benefits from the way it’s curated. It’s not enough to recognize that marketing influences perception. We have to ask whose perception is being reinforced—and whose is being overlooked.

That’s true whether we’re talking about sports, business, entertainment, or politics.

For brands, this should be a moment of reflection. The greatest opportunities rarely come from following the loudest conversation. They come from recognizing value before everyone else does.

That’s what great scouting looks like. It’s what great investing looks like. And it’s what great marketing looks like.

Over the last several months, I’ve written about the difference between being marketable and being marketed. I’ve argued that there is no longer one singular face of the league because we no longer live in a monoculture. I’ve challenged all of us to become more media literate—to think critically about the stories we’re consuming instead of accepting them at face value.

This week reminded me that those weren’t separate conversations. They were all pointing to the same idea. Markets don’t simply discover value.

Institutions help determine where they look for it.

The talent has always been here. The audience has always been here. The stories have always been here.

The question is whether we’re finally willing to see them through a different lens.

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Not because she signed anything this week. But because her name is written into a contract that has nothing to do with her directly — and everything to do with what she’s built.

South Carolina officially entered the Nike era on July 1, ending a 19-year partnership with Under Armour. And tucked inside that 10-year deal is something called an “A’ja Wilson Integration” clause. The Gamecocks are getting custom A’Twos — Wilson’s signature sneaker, now in its second season — and will appear in advertisements alongside her.

Dawn Staley said it plainly: “I don’t think any other school is going to get what we’re going to get when it comes to A’ja and her legacy. All the things that make her special will make our program special.”

Sit with that for a second.

A college program’s apparel contract now has a clause built around a WNBA superstar’s signature shoe line. In women’s basketball. That has never existed before. Not like this.

What That Actually Means

A’ja Wilson’s first signature shoe, the A’One, launched in May 2025 and sold out in multiple colorways. The A’Two dropped this spring. She is one of the rare women athletes who has broken through not just as a player but as a full brand — and Nike has made her legacy a structural feature of her alma mater’s deal. Not a marketing campaign. Not a one-off collab. A contract clause.

Think about what that means for a 17-year-old deciding where to play college basketball.

You’re not just choosing a coach, a system, a campus. You’re choosing to lace up A’ja Wilson’s shoes before you ever get a deal of your own. You’re choosing to step into a lineage. That’s identity. That’s what it feels like when someone decides a Black woman’s impact is worth building an entire pipeline around — not just celebrating at the awards show, but writing into the infrastructure of the sport.

Nike also named five Gamecock athletes to its Blue Ribbon Elite NIL program on day one: women’s basketball standouts Joyce Edwards and Chloe Kitts, plus football players LaNorris Sellers, Nyck Harbor, and Dylan Stewart. Blue Ribbon Elite goes beyond slapping a logo on a jersey. These athletes help shape campaigns, contribute to product innovation, and get individualized support across content, media, and styling. When you sign with Blue Ribbon Elite, you don’t just rep the Swoosh — you help shape it.

And then there’s Jerzy Robinson — a South Carolina freshman who signed a Nike endorsement deal at 16, as a junior in high school. She wore player-edition A’Ones at the McDonald’s All-American Game. Nike brought her to Columbia to help launch the A’Twos. The pipeline isn’t theoretical. It’s already running.

The Part That Hits Different

I want to stay here for a minute because this is bigger than a business story.

For most of the history of women’s basketball, the athletes who built programs — who won championships, filled arenas, changed what the sport looked like — graduated and largely disappeared from the brand conversation. Their likeness was used. Their wins were celebrated. But the equity they created lived somewhere else. Usually, in a room they were never invited into.

What’s happening at South Carolina right now is a different model. A’ja Wilson’s commercial power is being looped back into the program that built her. Future Gamecocks will step into a brand ecosystem she helped create. Her name, her shoe, her story — they’re not just assets. They’re part of how the next generation of players gets introduced to the world.

Women athletes have rarely been given the infrastructure to build that kind of legacy. And the fact that it’s happening here — at a program led by Dawn Staley, who was one of Nike’s original female athletes as a player, and who is only now being formally reunited with Nike at the team level after decades of coaching — that’s not a footnote. That’s the headline.

Tennessee x Adidas: Every Athlete Matters. Apparently, That’s Still Radical.

Now let’s talk about what Tennessee just did — because it’s a different kind of statement, and it deserves the same attention.

Tennessee left Nike after 12 years and returned to Adidas on a 10-year deal. And the part that matters most isn’t the uniforms or the football jerseys or Peyton Manning showing up in the launch video — though he did, very Tennessee of them.

It’s this: every Tennessee athlete, across all 20 varsity sports, is eligible for Adidas’ NIL Ambassador Network.

Not just football. Not just men’s basketball. The swimmer. The softball pitcher. The women’s soccer goalkeeper. The track athlete who went viral in March and still has that audience in July. More than 40 athletes showed up in the launch activation this week alone.

Adidas looked at the University of Tennessee and said: every athlete here has value. Not just the ones on SportsCenter. All of them.

If you’re a fan of women’s sports — of any sport that doesn’t get the flowers it deserves — you know how rare it is to hear a brand say that and actually mean it. Most brands say they believe in the power of athlete storytelling and then spend 90% of their budget on the same five football players everyone else is chasing.

Adidas built a structure that makes the belief real. That matters.

The Question Worth Asking

Here’s what sits underneath both of these deals, and what I think is the most honest thing I can say about where sports marketing is right now:

If every athlete has brand value — and they do — why are most brands still acting like only some of them count?

The women’s basketball player building her audience in real time. The swimmer who just broke a conference record. The volleyball player with a following that is loyal in a way most brand accounts would kill for. These athletes exist. Their audiences exist. Their stories are worth telling.

Nike built a pipeline for the elite few and made A’ja Wilson’s legacy part of the infrastructure. Adidas built a network for everyone and made access the point. Both are saying something the industry has been slow to accept: the old model — show up at the top, ignore everyone else — is leaving the best stories on the table.

The brands that figure this out won’t just win partnerships. They’ll win the trust of athletes and fans who have been waiting a long time to feel like someone was actually paying attention.

The uniform deal is dead. What replaces it isn’t just a jersey with an NIL clause.

It’s a relationship. Built early. Built with intention. Built around the idea that the athlete’s story was always worth telling — we just finally have the tools to do it right.

On My Radar: Quick Hits

Three things worth watching as this plays out.

The Dawn Staley reunion — Staley was one of Nike’s original female athletes as a player. Nike never had her at the team level during her entire coaching career at South Carolina. This partnership officially reunites them. For a coach with that kind of cultural weight, that’s not just a brand moment — it’s a long time coming.

Oliviyah Edwards — A South Carolina freshman who signed an NIL deal with Adidas before her school switched to Nike. She’s now playing for a Nike school on an Adidas deal. This is the new complexity of college sports in the NIL era, and it won’t be the last time we see it. The era of clean, tidy brand allegiances in college sports is over.

What Tennessee does with women’s sports specifically — The all-20-sports model is a promise right now. The proof will be in whether the volleyball player and the women’s basketball player get the same creative investment as the football players when the content actually gets made. I’ll be watching.

Unwrapped is where sports, culture, and marketing strategy meet. If this gave you something to think about — forward it to someone who needs to read it.

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🏀 500 NBA players just became a brand — and they announced it at Cannes
👀 On My Radar: two campaigns doing athlete storytelling right

There’s a lot to unpack. Let’s get into it.

Something happened at Cannes Lions this week that didn’t get nearly enough attention in sports media.

PLYRS UNTD — the National Basketball Players Association’s new consumer-facing brand managing the collective NIL rights of over 500 NBA players — made its debut at Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity. Not at a press conference. Not on SportsCenter. At Cannes.

If you work in marketing or brand strategy, you already know why that matters. Cannes Lions is where the global creative and brand industry decides what culture looks like for the next year. It’s where CMOs, agency leads, and creative directors gather to debate what’s working, what’s next, and who belongs at the table.

This year, sports has a bigger seat at that table than ever before. Cannes Lions just launched LIONS Sport — a brand new two-day program dedicated to the intersection of sport, culture, and commerce. Sport Beach returned for its fourth year with a roster that included Shaq, Naomi Osaka, Lando Norris, and Jaylen Brown, who was on the ground specifically to talk about PLYRS UNTD.

The players didn’t show up at a sports conference. They showed up where brand decisions get made.

What PLYRS UNTD Actually Is

For years, the NBPA operated a business-to-business arm called THINK450. Its job was to broker player access — package up player talent and sell it to brands looking for partnerships. The players were the product. THINK450 was the middleman.

PLYRS UNTD replaces that entirely.

This is a business-to-consumer brand — managing group licensing, merchandise, content, and brand collaborations under a unified player-owned identity. NBPA incoming Executive Director David Kelly was direct about the shift: “Instead of just renting out player talent to the league and teams, we’re operating as the enterprise itself.”

NBPA President Fred VanVleet was even plainer: the players wanted to own a piece of the ecosystem they built. Now they do.

I’ve Watched Brands Spend Years Trying to Borrow Player Culture. PLYRS UNTD Is What Happens When the Players Decide to Stop Lending.

Here’s the thing about the traditional endorsement model nobody in sports marketing loves to say out loud: for decades, it was extractive.

Brands held the equity. Players provided the reach. A deal got signed, a campaign ran, and when the contract expired, the brand kept the equity it had built on the back of that player’s name, face, and cultural credibility. The player got a check.

That model made sense when individual athletes needed the infrastructure that brands and leagues could provide. But that world has been quietly dissolving. Athletes are now media companies. Their cultural influence doesn’t flow through brands anymore — if anything, it flows the other direction.

What PLYRS UNTD does is take that individual awareness and scale it collectively. The new logo literally makes the argument: it replaces the traditional basketball with a geometric equation representing the idea that collective ownership multiplies individual power.

As a marketer, this is the part that excites me most. Because when players own the infrastructure, they also own the content. And player-controlled content has the potential to be genuinely different from what brands and leagues have produced on their behalf. It can be more specific. More honest. More culturally grounded.

The “Own the Game” campaign film they debuted at Cannes — brooding, minimalist, narrated by Kyrie and produced by Kendrick Lamar & Dave Free’s creative agency pgLang — already feels like a signal of what that can look like when athletes are the architects, not just the subjects.

That content will serve as a blueprint. Watch how brands start to rethink what athlete storytelling can look like when the athlete is actually driving.

The Part That Hits Different

As a Black woman who has spent the majority of her career as sports fan in comms & marketing, I want to sit with something for a moment.

The majority of NBA players are Black men. And for most of the league’s history, their stories have been told by people who don’t look like them, don’t come from where they come from, and don’t always understand the full context of who they are — on the court or off it.

The narratives have been shaped by media companies, brand partners, and league offices whose priorities weren’t always aligned with the players’ own. The result has been a version of these athletes that was often flattened — amplified when marketable, managed when complicated, and filtered through a lens that prioritized palatability over truth.

PLYRS UNTD changes that structure. Not just commercially — narratively.

When players own the content, they own the framing. They decide which stories get told, how they’re told, and who tells them. That matters in ways that go beyond marketing strategy. It matters because these are human beings whose public identities have been constructed largely without their creative control.

Ownership of the story is not a small thing. It never has been.

But Let’s Be Real — Taking Back Power Isn’t Always Well Received

I’d be doing you a disservice if I only wrote the celebration.

History tells us that when athletes organize, build equity, and assert collective power, the reaction from league leadership and existing brand partners isn’t always applause. Sometimes it’s resistance. Sometimes it’s restructuring. Sometimes it’s a quietly renegotiated agreement that walks things back.

The NBA and its franchise owners have strong opinions about how players are positioned — and a collective player brand that operates independently, builds its own audience, and develops its own content relationships is a new variable in that dynamic. PLYRS UNTD isn’t operating against the league, but it is operating alongside it in ways that haven’t existed before. That line will get tested.

There are also real questions about execution. Collective power is only as strong as collective alignment — and managing 500 players with 500 different brands, audiences, and interests is genuinely hard. Individual players may find the collective model in tension with their own personal brand strategies. Sponsors who have existing individual deals will need to navigate new territory.

None of that makes PLYRS UNTD less significant. It just means the most important chapter of this story hasn’t been written yet.

What I’m watching for: how the league responds, which brand partners move first, and whether the content lives up to the promise. If PLYRS UNTD can deliver storytelling that feels as original as its launch, it won’t just be a player association initiative. It’ll be one of the most important brand stories in sports this decade.

On My Radar: Campaigns Worth Watching

Because strategy is only as good as the examples we’re paying attention to.

Olivia Miles x GlassesUSA.com — “Trust Your Vision”

This one landed for me because it’s a masterclass in authentic partnership. Miles has worn glasses her whole life — on the court, off it, since she was a baby. The goggles are part of her identity. GlassesUSA.com didn’t borrow her image and slap it on a product. They built a campaign around something that was already true.

That’s the difference between a sponsorship and a story. In a moment when women’s sports partnerships are booming, but brand execution is still hit or miss, this is what getting it right looks like.

Under Armour x Dodge — “Classic Americana Reimagined”

When I first read about this collab I’ll be honest — on paper, it sounded like a stretch. A sportswear brand and a muscle car company? But the execution earns it.

The collection draws from the Charger SRT Hellcat and Challenger SRT Demon — machines that crossed from automotive into cultural artifact a long time ago. Oxblood reds, carbon black finishes, burnout textures. The football cleats especially make sense: the UA Blur Pro x Dodge carries the same energy as a player who hits the field like they’re launching off a line.

What’s strategically smart here is the shared audience logic. Dodge’s most passionate fans and Under Armour’s core athletes occupy the same cultural space — people who believe in power, performance, and showing up loud. The collab doesn’t try to explain that overlap. It just builds for it. And activating at the UA NEXT SEVENS tournament this summer — where the top high school football underclassmen compete — puts it exactly where that audience lives.

Unwrapped is where sports, culture, and marketing strategy meet. If this gave you something to think about, forward it to someone who needs to read it.

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The ticker-tape parade drew hundreds of thousands of people. Social media was flooded with videos of fans crying, hugging strangers, and climbing light poles. For a few days, New York became one giant block party.

And while the championship itself was historic, what fascinated me most wasn’t the game.

It was the people.

Because what we witnessed wasn’t just a fan base celebrating a title. It was a community celebrating decades of emotional investment finally paying off.

Sports fandom is one of the few forms of brand loyalty that people willingly pass down through generations. Knicks fans didn’t stick around because the product was consistently good. In fact, for much of the last two decades, it wasn’t. They stayed because being a Knicks fan became part of who they were.

That’s a level of connection most brands spend billions trying to create.

The Most Valuable Brand Assets Don’t Work for the Brand

One of the most fascinating aspects of the Knicks’ championship run was watching familiar faces celebrate alongside everyone else.

You had celebrities like Mariska Hargitay and Christopher Meloni embracing the moment. But no celebrity is more closely tied to the Knicks than Spike Lee.

For decades, Spike has occupied the same courtside seat at Madison Square Garden. He’s been there through playoff runs, lottery seasons, coaching changes, front-office drama, and years when the Knicks were more punchline than contender.

At some point, he stopped being just a fan.

He became part of the Knicks brand.

That’s why ESPN immediately featured him in social content after the championship. Not because he played a role in winning the title, but because he represented something deeper: continuity. Spike embodied the emotional journey that millions of Knicks fans experienced.

The smartest brands understand that their most powerful ambassadors aren’t always employees, athletes, or influencers. Sometimes they’re the people who authentically love the brand in public for decades.

You can’t manufacture that kind of credibility.

You can only earn it.

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Sports Are One of the Last Great Cultural Connectors

We talk a lot about the death of monoculture. Everyone has different streaming services, different social feeds, and different algorithms shaping their experiences.

Sports remain one of the few places where large groups of people still gather around the same story.

For months, New Yorkers from different neighborhoods, backgrounds, and generations shared a common emotional experience. They watched the same games. Had the same arguments. Celebrated the same wins. Felt the same anxiety.

That’s what made the parade so powerful.

The championship wasn’t just a sporting achievement. It became a cultural event.

And brands like Nike and ESPN understood that immediately.

Neither company focused solely on basketball. Their content focused on the emotion, the fans, the city, and the significance of the moment. They weren’t marketing a championship. They were amplifying a feeling.

The best sports marketing rarely centers on the product itself.

It centers on what the product means to people.

The Real Product Isn’t Basketball

This is the lesson I keep coming back to.

The Knicks don’t just sell basketball.

They sell belonging.

The NBA doesn’t just sell games. It sells emotional investment.

And the brands that successfully connect themselves to sports understand that what they’re really attaching themselves to isn’t an athlete or a team. It’s identity.

For 53 years, Knicks fans carried hope, disappointment, frustration, loyalty, and pride. The championship didn’t create those emotions. It simply rewarded them.

That’s why the celebration felt so powerful.

The trophy mattered.

But what people were really celebrating was the fact that, after all these years, their belief had finally been validated.

And that’s something far bigger than sports.

From me to you… Happy Juneteenth.

Learn more about the history and celebration here, and remember - none of us are free until we’re all free. ✊🏿

But here’s the thing:

This comeback isn’t happening because Serena’s legacy is incomplete.

It’s happening because she gets to define what legacy means.

We Have a Very Limited Definition of Greatness

Sports fans are used to clean endings.

Win the championship.
Take the victory lap.
Ride off into the sunset.

We love retirement speeches because they give us closure.

But Serena has never been particularly interested in making other people comfortable.

When she left the sport in 2022, she famously described it not as retirement but as an “evolution away” from tennis. Now, nearly four years later, she’s proving that evolution doesn’t have to be permanent.

Athletes are often told that greatness means knowing when to leave.

Serena’s comeback asks a different question:

What if greatness is having the freedom to return?

The Legacy Is Already Written

Let’s be clear.

Nothing Serena does over the next few weeks changes her place in history.

Twenty-three Grand Slam singles titles. Seven Wimbledon championships. A career that transformed women’s tennis, athlete branding, and the economics of women’s sports.

If she loses in the first round of every tournament she enters, she’s still Serena Williams.

That’s what makes this comeback different from most.

There is no chase. No unfinished business. No desperate attempt to reclaim relevance.

In fact, Serena has repeatedly said she feels no pressure to win because she has nothing left to prove.

That’s a luxury very few athletes ever get.

The New Era of Athlete Longevity

Serena’s return also arrives at a fascinating moment in sports. Athletes are extending careers longer than ever before.

We’re watching players compete at elite levels well into ages that previous generations considered impossible.

But Serena’s comeback isn’t really about longevity. It’s about agency.

For decades, women athletes have often had their careers framed around expiration dates:

Too old.
Too slow.
Too distracted.
Too focused on family.

Serena became a mother, built businesses, expanded her investment portfolio, and stepped away from competition. Now she’s choosing to return on her own terms.

There’s something powerful about that. Especially because the decision appears rooted in joy rather than obligation.

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What This Means for Tennis

The sport benefits immediately. Tennis has spent years searching for the next global icon. The current generation is incredibly talented, but Serena remains one of the few athletes whose presence transcends tennis itself.

People who don’t watch tennis know Serena. People who don’t follow Wimbledon know Serena. People who have never held a racket know Serena.

Her return creates attention. Attention creates audiences. Audiences create opportunities for everyone else on the tour. That’s been true throughout her entire career.

The Bigger Lesson

The real story isn’t whether Serena wins Wimbledon. The real story is that she’s reminding us that legacy isn’t a museum. It’s a living thing.

Too often we talk about legacy as something that gets locked in place after a career ends. Serena is showing us that legacy can continue evolving. That greatness can be curious. That success doesn’t always have to look like domination.

Sometimes success looks like returning simply because you still love the game. And perhaps that’s the most Serena Williams thing imaginable.

Final Thought

We often think the highest level of success is proving everyone else wrong. But eventually, the highest level of success is no longer needing to prove anything at all.

That’s where Serena is now. And somehow, that may be her most powerful chapter yet.

Not because people are debating whether the Red Raiders are good. They clearly are.

It’s because so much of the conversation sounds less like softball analysis and more like discomfort with the reality of modern college sports.

When Texas won its second consecutive Women’s College World Series title this week, a familiar narrative emerged online:

“Texas built a team the right way.”

“Texas Tech bought theirs.”

The implication is obvious: one program earned success, while the other somehow shortcut its way there.

But that raises a question worth asking:

If NIL is legal, why are we still treating schools that use it effectively like they’re breaking the rules?

The Open Secret Everyone Suddenly Hates

For decades, college sports operated in a system where the best players often ended up at the biggest programs.

Fans weren’t naïve about how recruiting worked. Boosters existed. Benefits existed. Relationships existed.

Money influenced decisions long before NIL became legal. The difference is that now those dollars are moving in the open.

When Texas Tech signed NiJaree Canady after her standout career at Stanford, she became the first softball player to land a $1 million NIL deal. She later signed another seven-figure agreement to remain in Lubbock.

People celebrated NIL when it gave athletes more control.

But some seem uncomfortable when athletes actually exercise that control.

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Funny How This Conversation Changes By Sport

Here’s what I find most interesting:

We don’t have this conversation nearly as often when it comes to football or men’s basketball.

When a football program lands a five-star quarterback through a strong collective, fans call it aggressive recruiting.

When a basketball team rebuilds through the transfer portal, people call it roster construction.

When a softball program does it? Suddenly, we’re talking about whether the sport is being ruined.

Why?

Part of it may be because we’re still adjusting to the idea that women’s sports can be serious business.

The reality is that softball is experiencing many of the same market forces that have existed in football and men’s basketball for years:

• Player movement

• NIL collectives

• Transfer portal strategy

• Talent acquisition

• Roster building

That’s not corruption.

That’s the ecosystem college athletics created.

NIL Doesn’t Win Championships

This is where I think the conversation around Texas Tech misses the mark.

The criticism assumes that NIL is some magic cheat code. It isn’t.

NIL can help you acquire talent.

It cannot teach execution. It cannot develop chemistry. It cannot make adjustments in the seventh inning. It cannot replace coaching.

If money alone won championships, every well-funded program would win every year.

They don’t.

This is why the Red Raiders still had to build a culture, develop players, hire the right staff, and perform on the biggest stage. The program went from never reaching the Women’s College World Series to competing for national championships.

That’s not an accident. That’s program building.

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The Pressure We Put On NiJaree Canady

There’s another part of this conversation that makes me uncomfortable.

The amount of pressure being placed on Canady.

Because of the size of her NIL deal, it feels like some people have started evaluating her differently than every other college athlete.

As if every season that doesn’t end with a national championship is somehow a failure.

Let’s be clear:

Losing to Texas does not diminish her greatness.

Not in 2025.

Not in 2026.

Canady remains one of the most dominant pitchers college softball has ever seen. Since transferring from Stanford, she helped elevate Texas Tech into a national contender and one of the sport’s biggest stories.

We often say we want athletes in women’s sports to be paid what they’re worth.

But once they are, we sometimes hold them to impossible standards.

The logic becomes:

“If she makes a million dollars, she better win everything.”

That’s not how sports work.

Championships are team accomplishments.

Athletes can be extraordinary and still lose.

Just ask some of the greatest players in every sport.

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The Real Question

The debate shouldn’t be whether Texas Tech used NIL. Of course they did.

The better question is:

Why are we still uncomfortable when women’s sports operate like big business, while accepting those same realities everywhere else in college athletics?

NIL isn’t going away. The transfer portal isn’t going away. Collectives aren’t going away.

The schools that adapt will compete. The schools that don’t will fall behind.

That’s not a softball problem; that’s college sports in 2026.

And whether fans like it or not, Texas Tech isn’t the exception.

It’s the blueprint.

Today, we’re unwrapping the limits of self-expression and belonging in sports. Let’s dive in.

Naomi Osaka is at the French Open winning matches, wearing couture-inspired walk-ons, and once again reminding people that she was never interested in being a “traditional” tennis star.

Naturally, the internet is losing its mind.

Last week, Osaka found herself at the center of backlash after co-hosting a gathering for Black players and creatives during the tournament — what some online critics labeled a “Black-only party.”

At the same time, she’s also been criticized for her elaborate French Open fashion moments, with some questioning whether her focus on presentation is distracting from the sport itself.

But the real story here isn’t the outfits. And it isn’t the dinner.

It’s the fact that Naomi Osaka continues to challenge one of sports culture’s favorite contradictions:

We say we want athletes to “be themselves.”
But what we really want is a version of authenticity that still feels comfortable, accessible, and non-threatening to everybody else.

And Naomi has never really operated that way.

The Problem Isn’t Exclusivity. It’s Visibility.

There’s something fascinating about the reaction to this story because athlete affinity spaces exist all the time.

Golfers have circles. NFL players vacation together. NBA players train together every summer. Tennis itself has long operated through informal social hierarchies and country-based relationships.

But when Black athletes intentionally create community around shared identity and shared experience, people suddenly start asking whether it’s “divisive.”

That tells you the discomfort isn’t actually about exclusivity.

It’s about visibility.

The moment marginalized people publicly center themselves instead of performing accessibility for everyone else, it gets interpreted as rejection.

And sports fans — especially online — often struggle with the idea that not every cultural moment is designed for universal participation.

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Naomi Osaka Understands That Athletes Are Entertainers Now

What makes this even more interesting is that the backlash is happening alongside criticism of Osaka’s fashion at Roland Garros.

Some people want her to “just focus on tennis.”

But Naomi already understands something the sports world is still catching up to:

Modern athletes are no longer just athletes.

They are media properties. Fashion ambassadors. Cultural translators. Walking brand ecosystems.

And whether people like it or not, tennis itself benefits from athletes who understand presentation, storytelling, and image-making.

The same internet that criticizes athletes for being “brands” also rewards the athletes who know how to create memorable moments beyond the game.

You cannot ask sports to become more culturally relevant while simultaneously criticizing athletes for participating in culture.

That’s not how this works.

The Burden of Being “Palatable”

Naomi Osaka has spent most of her career navigating impossible expectations.

She’s expected to be outspoken, but not too political. Fashionable, but not distracting. Vulnerable, but still marketable. Black enough to represent diversity, but universal enough to avoid making people uncomfortable.

That balancing act especially exists for women athletes — and even more specifically for Black women athletes.

There’s often an invisible pressure to make everyone feel included in your identity expression, even when your experience itself is rooted in navigating exclusion.

And honestly, that’s exhausting.

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Sports Fans Keep Asking for Personality. Then Punish It.

Leagues constantly talk about wanting athletes to show more personality.

Brands say they want authenticity.

Media companies say they want storytelling.

But when athletes actually show fully realized identities — identities tied to race, culture, fashion, politics, or community — the conversation quickly becomes about whether they’re “doing too much.”

That’s the real contradiction.

People don’t just want personality.

They want personality that feels safe.

Naomi Osaka has never really been interested in that version of visibility. And that’s exactly why she remains one of the most culturally important athletes of her generation.

Naomi Osaka is set to face Aryna Sabalenka today, June 1st, at 2:15 pm ET / 1:15 pm CT in the French Open's fourth round at Roland Garros. You can watch the match on TNT.

Everybody keeps trying to force modern sports into a monoculture model that barely exists anymore.

The problem is, sports fans keep looking for the next Michael Jordan. They’re not going to find him.

Not because today’s athletes aren’t talented enough.
Not because there aren’t global superstars anymore.
But because the conditions that created Michael Jordan-level monoculture fame don’t really exist anymore.

Jordan emerged at a time when media was far more centralized. Fewer channels. Fewer platforms. Fewer competing entertainment ecosystems. If you were famous, everybody experienced your fame at the same time.

You watched the same commercials.
The same games.
The same interviews.
The same late-night appearances.
The same SportsCenter highlights.

Culture was concentrated.

Now it’s fragmented into thousands of algorithmically sorted subcultures.

The Internet Changed What Stardom Looks Like

Somebody can spend all day on TikTok and never encounter the same sports conversation as somebody on Reddit. A casual fan on Instagram experiences the NBA differently than a diehard League Pass watcher on YouTube. Women’s basketball Twitter isn’t the same ecosystem as NBA Twitter. And none of those spaces behave like traditional sports media did twenty years ago.

That changes what stardom looks like.

Because now the biggest athletes aren’t just competing for attention against other athletes. They’re competing against streamers, podcasters, influencers, musicians, Netflix shows, gaming, and every other niche internet interest fighting for people’s attention spans.

Which means modern sports stardom is less about universal dominance and more about depth of connection.

People don’t just connect to athletes because they’re the “best.” They connect because they see themselves in them.

The Debate Isn’t Really About Basketball

That’s part of why the “face of the league” debate gets so emotionally charged in both the NBA and WNBA. Fans aren’t just arguing statistics. They’re arguing identity. Taste. Culture. Representation. Aspiration.

Who feels relatable?
Who feels authentic?
Who feels aspirational?
Who feels marketable?
Who feels safe?
Who gets centered by media companies?
Who gets protected?
Who gets criticized differently?
Who gets humanized?

Those conversations are all happening underneath the surface, whether people admit it or not.

That’s why both LeBron James and Stephen Curry became faces of the NBA in completely different ways. One represented longevity, power, and cultural influence. The other represented relatability, skill evolution, and accessibility.

Different audiences.
Different emotional connections.
Same league.

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The NBA Has Already Been Living in a Multi-Face Era

And honestly, the NBA has already been living in a multi-face era for years now.

Even when people tried to frame LeBron as the singular face of the league, the reality was always more complicated than that. Kevin Durant had his own audience. Kobe Bryant still cast a massive cultural shadow during LeBron’s rise. Steph transformed basketball globally in ways that reshaped the sport itself.

The league was never truly belonging to one person anymore. We just kept talking about it like it did.

The WNBA conversation just makes that reality impossible to ignore.

Because if we’re being honest, Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese, A’ja Wilson, and Paige Bueckers are all faces of the league — just in different ways.

Caitlin represents one entry point into the sport.
Angel represents another.
A’ja represents another.
Paige represents another.

Different audiences.
Different forms of visibility.
Different forms of influence.
Different relationships with media and fandom.

“Face of the League” Has Never Just Meant “Best Player”

And importantly: being “the face” has never only meant being the best player.

If that were true, these conversations would be much simpler.

The face of a league is part athlete, part ambassador, part storyteller, part cultural bridge.

It’s the player who helps people emotionally locate themselves inside the sport.

That’s why these debates become so circular online. People are arguing different definitions without realizing it.

Some people mean “best.”
Some mean “most famous.”
Some mean “most marketable.”
Some mean “most culturally influential.”
Some mean “most important to business growth.”
Some mean “the player I personally connect to most.”

Those are not the same thing.

And in a fragmented media era, they probably never will be again.

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The Future of Sports Culture Is Shared

The future of sports isn’t one universally beloved superstar standing above everyone else.

It’s multiple stars carrying different parts of the conversation at the same time.

Honestly? That’s not a weakness of modern sports culture.

It might actually be the thing that keeps leagues growing.

The WNBA kicks off its 30th season today. And for the first time, it feels like the rest of the world is finally paying attention.

That’s exciting. It’s also a little dangerous.

Not because growth is bad — but because growth without stewardship has a way of changing things you didn’t mean to change.

This season feels fundamentally different. The arenas are fuller. The media attention is louder. The celebrity sightings are more intentional. The debates are more visible. The discourse is faster, harsher, and more constant than it’s ever been.

And underneath all of that is a bigger reality:

The WNBA is no longer fighting for relevance. It’s now trying to manage scale.

That’s a completely different challenge.

I’ve been thinking about that while watching Never Fold, the new documentary centered around the Las Vegas Aces. One of the most striking parts wasn’t just the basketball — it was hearing players talk about the emotional weight of fan hostility, online attacks, and the intensity that now follows women’s basketball in ways it didn’t before.

Because visibility changes fandom.

And modern fandom doesn’t just cheer. It consumes. It defends. It attacks. It organizes. It performs.

Sometimes all at once.

The Moment

This season represents something the league has spent decades working toward.

The “Caitlin Clark effect” is real. Record attendance is real. Mainstream media attention is real. The celebrity courtside ecosystem is real. Brands that ignored women’s sports five years ago are suddenly desperate to participate.

The WNBA is having a cultural moment that it didn’t fully engineer — it arrived.

And that matters because there’s a difference between a brand benefiting from a moment and a brand being prepared for one.

For years, women’s basketball fans were told the audience wasn’t there. That people didn’t care. That the product wasn’t valuable enough for investment.

Now suddenly everyone cares.

But rapid growth creates pressure points.

The audience expands faster than the culture can stabilize around it. Expectations change. Media incentives change. Fan behavior changes. Coverage changes. The tone changes.

And once a league becomes content fuel for the internet, everything becomes amplified.

Not just the highlights. The conflict too.

The Tension

New fans enter through different doors.

Some come because they genuinely love basketball.
Some arrive through college rivalries.
Some come through celebrity culture.
Some come because the discourse itself has become unavoidable.
Some came because women’s sports finally became socially and culturally “safe” to publicly embrace.

And none of those entry points are inherently bad.

But they create very different kinds of fandom.

The core fanbase — the people who showed up when games weren’t trending and media coverage was inconsistent — is now watching closely to see whether the league still recognizes itself.

That tension exists in every brand that crosses from niche to mainstream.

The challenge is never just growth.

The challenge is maintaining identity while scaling attention.

Because when brands chase mass appeal too aggressively, they often flatten the very thing that made people care in the first place.

And sports leagues are brands, whether people like that framing or not.

The WNBA’s culture has always been distinct. Player-driven. Community-oriented. Progressive. Personality-heavy. Deeply connected to women, queer audiences, and Black culture in ways that made the league feel intimate and emotionally invested long before corporations saw commercial value in it.

Now the audience is bigger. Which is great.

But bigger audiences also bring entitlement, tribalism, outrage algorithms, and stan culture dynamics that women’s basketball hasn’t experienced at this scale before.

That doesn’t mean the growth is bad.

It means the stewardship matters.

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What Good Stewardship Looks Like

So what does managing this moment well actually look like?

First: protect the core while welcoming the new.

The worst thing the WNBA could do right now is overcorrect itself into a sanitized version designed entirely around mass-market comfort. The league’s identity is the reason this growth became possible in the first place.

You don’t abandon your foundation because more people have finally arrived at the party.

You let the mainstream come to you.

Second: be intentional about partnerships.

Every brand wants proximity to women’s sports right now. But not every brand deserves access to the culture. Audiences can tell when a company is investing because it genuinely understands the ecosystem, versus when it simply wants to capitalize on visibility.

Cultural stewardship requires selectivity.

Third — and maybe most importantly — keep the storytelling rooted in the players, not the spectacle.

Because the sport is still the story.

Not the discourse.
Not the fan wars.
Not the engagement bait.
Not the endless social media proxy battles.

The actual athletes built this moment.

Thirty years of players, many of whom played through underinvestment, invisibility, inequitable pay structures, limited coverage, and public disrespect, created the foundation that today’s explosion is sitting on top of.

That history deserves protection too.

Final Thoughts

The WNBA has earned this moment.

The question now is whether the league — and the brands surrounding it — are disciplined enough to steward it well.

Because attention alone doesn’t sustain a league. Culture does.

Thirty years in, the foundation is finally strong enough for the world to notice.

What happens next is a choice.

And maybe the better question is this:

What does healthy fandom actually look like in the modern sports era?

Or are we all still trying to figure that out in real time?

That’s not just a fun crossover moment between sports and fashion. It’s a signal about how the cultural role of athletes continues to expand.

Fashion is one of the clearest expansion lanes for athletes right now

For a long time, athletes entered fashion after their playing careers slowed down. They were invited once their legacy was already secure. Today, they’re stepping into those rooms while they’re still at the height of their competitive relevance—and increasingly, they’re stepping into them as collaborators, hosts, and decision-makers rather than guests.

That shift tells us something important about what influence looks like now.

Athletes are no longer just performers inside sports ecosystems. They are cultural participants shaping conversations far beyond them.

Unlike league-driven visibility, fashion moves across industries and audiences. Sports fandom can be regional. It can be league-specific. It can even be seasonal. Fashion travels differently.

A signature sneaker, a tunnel fit that becomes part of a player’s identity, or a Met Gala appearance introduces athletes to editors, designers, investors, stylists, creative directors, and collaborators who may never have encountered them through sport alone.

That kind of exposure expands both cultural reach and long-term opportunity.

Fashion doesn’t just build visibility.

It builds range.

And range is what allows athletes to extend their influence beyond their playing careers.

We’re seeing more athletes understand this in real time. Tunnel walks have become storytelling platforms. Signature footwear has become authorship. Partnerships with designers now signal creative alignment, not just endorsement.

Athletes aren’t just wearing fashion anymore.

They’re participating in it.

Venus Williams didn’t just get invited. She built her way into the room.

Venus Williams is one of the clearest examples of what intentional positioning inside fashion can look like over time.

Long before tunnel fits became a media ecosystem of their own, she launched EleVen and positioned herself not just as a collaborator but as a builder inside the fashion space. She understood early that style could function as both expression and infrastructure—a way to create something that lived beyond her playing career.

Her role as a Met Gala co-chair this year doesn’t come out of nowhere. It reflects decades of thoughtful brand development that placed her at the intersection of sport, business, and design.

That’s what legacy strategy looks like when it’s built alongside performance instead of after it.

A’ja Wilson represents the next phase of athlete influence

If Venus represents foundation, A’ja represents trajectory.

She is still firmly in her competitive prime, but her presence on the Met Gala host committee signals how the industry already understands her influence beyond basketball. Between her signature Nike A’One, her growing storytelling voice, and her visibility across media and culture, she’s part of a generation of athletes whose platforms naturally extend beyond the game.

This generation isn’t waiting for retirement to explore creative space.

They’re building second acts in real time.

And that changes what opportunity looks like—not just for established stars, but for the athletes coming behind them.

Fashion works because culture works

One of the reasons fashion has become such an important expansion lane for athletes is that it operates at the center of culture rather than at the edge of it.

Fashion sits in conversation with music. With film. With technology. With identity. With politics. With storytelling.

When athletes enter fashion spaces intentionally, they aren’t just increasing visibility. They’re increasing proximity to the people and industries that shape what comes next across culture.

Events like the Met Gala function as crossroads for those conversations. Designers, editors, musicians, executives, filmmakers, founders, and investors all move through that room. When athletes are included—not just as guests, but as hosts and collaborators—they’re expanding their networks in ways that compound over time.

Access like that creates opportunity.

And opportunity creates longevity.

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Not every athlete needs fashion—but athletes who want longevity need culture

It’s important to say this clearly.

Not every athlete needs to step into fashion or entertainment to have a meaningful career or lasting legacy. Many athletes build extraordinary impact through performance alone. Others through coaching, ownership, philanthropy, or community leadership.

There isn’t one blueprint.

But athletes who want opportunities beyond their league ecosystem benefit from building visibility in the places where culture is shaped—and fashion is one of those places.

Fashion is not the goal.

Positioning is.

What to watch on Monday night

As the Met Gala carpet unfolds this week, the outfits will get most of the attention.

But the more interesting story is how many athletes are no longer just attending moments like this. They’re collaborating. They’re hosting. They’re shaping the room.

And that shift tells us something important about what legacy looks like now.

It’s no longer something athletes build after they retire.

Increasingly, it’s something they build in real time.

What this means for the next generation of athletes

One of the biggest shifts happening in sports right now is that athletes are no longer waiting until retirement to think about what comes next. They’re building identity, relationships, and opportunities alongside their playing careers instead of after them.

That doesn’t mean every athlete needs to be at the Met Gala. But it does mean athletes who want longevity beyond their sport should be thinking intentionally about where their voice shows up and how their story travels outside the game.

Fashion is one pathway. Media is another. Community leadership is another. Ownership is another.

The point isn’t visibility for visibility’s sake.

The point is positioning.

Because the athletes who extend their influence the furthest are usually the ones who understand early that their platform isn’t just something they perform on—it’s something they build.

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But Are Other WNBA Teams Being Marketed Enough?

This week, the WNBA announced its national TV schedule. Fans will have a record 216 opportunities to see WNBA action on National TV. But one thing stood out to me within that announcement: All 44 Indiana Fever games will be nationally televised this season.

That’s not normal.

That’s not accidental.

And it raises a bigger question that brands—and leagues—should be asking right now:

Are the Fever more marketable?
Or are they simply more marketed?

Because those are not the same thing.

Demand doesn’t just happen. It gets built.

Let’s be clear about something upfront:

There is real demand around the Indiana Fever.

The Caitlin Clark effect is real.
The “Tres Leches crew” (Clark, Lexie Hull, Sophie Cunningham) has visibility.
Networks respond to ratings signals.
Brands respond to attention.

But attention is never purely organic.

Attention follows:

• broadcast exposure

• narrative investment

• sponsorship alignment

• media repetition

• highlight placement

• social amplification

• scheduling decisions

When one team gets 44 national windows, that’s not discovery.

That’s strategy.

And strategy creates marketability.

Here’s the opportunity brands are missing

This is where things get interesting.

Because while the Fever are being positioned as the league’s biggest commercial engine right now, the data tells us something else:

Black audiences are one of the most powerful consumer segments in sports.

According to Nielsen:

• Black buying power is projected to exceed $2 trillion by 2026

• 52% of Black audiences are more likely to purchase from brands connected to their fandoms

• 67% of Black fans of women’s sports have switched brands based on values alignment

And yet:

Only 11.7% of Black women sports fans say they feel completely seen by sports organizations (Diverse Representation / Wasserman)

That’s not a fandom gap.

That’s a marketing gap.

Important context here:

This conversation isn’t about whether the Indiana Fever should be getting attention.

They should.

And it’s also not about suggesting that Black audiences don’t support the Fever—because they absolutely do.

The WNBA has always had a deeply multiracial fan base, and Caitlin Clark’s popularity cuts across demographics in real and measurable ways.

But it is worth acknowledging something the league itself is navigating in real time:

In a league where the majority of players are Black—and where many players are also openly queer—there are long-standing sensitivities around which athletes receive the most visibility, and why.

For example:

The defending champion Las Vegas Aces, led by four-time MVP and co-Defensive Player of the Year A’ja Wilson, will appear in 36 nationally televised games this season.

That’s substantial visibility.

But it’s still fewer than the Fever’s 44.

And moments like this naturally raise questions—not accusations, but questions—about how the powers that be decide which stories get scaled into national narratives.

Because historically, sports media has been more comfortable positioning white stars as universal entry points for new audiences.

Whether intentional or not, that pattern shapes how exposure—and eventually marketability—gets distributed.

And if leagues believe white audiences are more likely to connect with white players, that assumption itself becomes part of the strategy—even when the data increasingly shows that today’s sports fans are far more culturally fluid than that.

Representation drives attention. Attention drives revenue.

Another key insight from the Wasserman and Diverse Representation research:

Nearly 73% of Black women only occasionally follow sports, despite strong cultural connection to athletes and teams.

Translation:

This is not a disengaged audience.

This is an under-invited audience.

And the data tells us exactly what changes that:

Representation.

Black audiences are more than twice as likely to engage with content when they see authentic cultural alignment reflected back to them (Nielsen).

That means:

Coverage matters
Narratives matter
Access matters
Visibility matters

Marketing matters.

The WNBA doesn’t have a marketability problem. It has a distribution problem.

Let me be clear about something:

This is not an argument against Caitlin Clark.

It’s an argument for everyone else.

Because the question isn’t:

Should the league & its network partners market white stars?

Of course it should.

The question is:

Why isn’t the league & its network partners marketing all of its stars with the same intentionality?

The WNBA has:

• A’ja Wilson

• Angel Reese

• Arike Ogunbowale

• Napheesa Collier

• Chelsea Gray

• Jackie Young

• Kahleah Copper

and one of the most culturally influential fanbases in professional sports.

Especially Black women.

Black women are already driving sports culture

From the Nielsen Global Sports Report:

The top leagues Black women attend or watch include:

• NFL

• NBA

• WNBA

And their primary motivation?

Emotional loyalty to teams and athletes.

That’s not casual engagement.

That’s brand equity.

Even more important:

50% of Black women sports fans say their mood is directly affected by team outcomes.

That’s not viewership.

That’s identity-level connection.

The Fever aren’t the problem. They’re the blueprint.

Here’s the real takeaway.

The Fever show us what happens when a league & its media partners decide to fully invest in visibility:

• national broadcast exposure

• personality-driven storytelling

• consistent highlight placement

• sponsor alignment

• narrative continuity

Marketability follows investment.

Always.

So the smarter question for brands isn’t:

“Why are the Fever so marketable?”

It’s:

“Who else could be this marketable if we invested the same way?”

This isn’t either/or. It’s both/and.

Women’s sports are growing because new audiences are entering the ecosystem.

But they stay because existing audiences feel seen.

And right now?

Black women remain one of the most influential—and underleveraged—fan segments in the entire sports economy.

Representation doesn’t compete with expansion.

It powers it.

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If brands want long-term loyalty, the strategy is obvious

The data is clear:

Black audiences:

• spend more with culturally aligned brands

• engage more with representative storytelling

• respond strongly to athlete-driven narratives

• build deeper emotional team loyalty

Which means the real opportunity isn’t choosing between audiences.

It’s recognizing that the future of women’s sports growth depends on both.

The Fever didn’t become marketable by accident.

They became marketable because someone decided they should be.

The next question is:

Who’s next?

Paige announced last year on TikTok that y’all were a couple. I’m wondering if that’s still the case, and if so, whether you’ve talked with other couples in the league about how to navigate being professional teammates while in a relationship.

Before Azzi responded, the Wings’ media relations staff stepped in:

I understand why you have to ask that question, but we’re going to respectfully decline from commenting on players’ personal lives.

The internet immediately split into two camps:

Was the question inappropriate?

Or was the team avoiding something obvious?

After reading the reporter’s follow-up column defending the question, I’m even more convinced the Wings handled this correctly.

The Question Was Fair — Until It Required Confirmation

There were actually two questions embedded in one.

The second part was reasonable:

Have they talked with other WNBA couples about navigating being teammates while in a relationship?

That’s a legitimate basketball-adjacent question.

But the first part required Azzi to confirm whether the relationship still exists.

And that’s where the boundary shifts.

Because Azzi has never publicly defined the nature of their relationship with the media.

Once confirmation becomes the premise of the question, it stops being about team dynamics and becomes about personal disclosure.

That’s exactly when a media relations team steps in.

It’s Also Important to Say This Clearly

It is not a reporter’s job to protect the interview subject.

Reporters ask the questions their audience wants answers to.

That’s part of their responsibility to the public.

But just because people are curious about something does not mean they’re entitled to information about a player’s personal life.

Curiosity and access are not the same thing.

And media relations teams exist specifically to manage that boundary.

Especially Because the Context Was Already Known

In defending the question, the reporter pointed out:

• teammate relationships already exist across the WNBA

• NaLyssa Smith and DiJonai Carrington played together on The Wings last season

• Paige and Azzi already won a championship together at University of Connecticut

So we already know couples can be teammates.

And we already know Paige and Azzi can win together.

Which makes the confirmation question the only new information being requested.

And that’s exactly the part Azzi has never chosen to make public.

The More Interesting Question Was Already There

Personally, it’s not the question I would have asked.

We already know Paige and Azzi know how to play together.

The more interesting basketball story is what happens when you add Arike Ogunbowale to that backcourt.

Now we’re talking about:

• shot hierarchy

• spacing

• leadership dynamics

• offensive identity

That’s the conversation that produces insight instead of headlines.

Where the Reporter’s Follow-Up Argument Misses the Mark

In his column, Sherrington suggested that The Wings’ declining to answer the question makes the relationship seem like something to be ashamed of.

Refusing to acknowledge whether players are still in a relationship after one of them went public about it a year ago suggests they’ve done something wrong, feeding an ugly narrative. What are we afraid of here? What are we saying when we try to hide something already out in the open?

If anyone’s at fault here, it’s the Wings, who invited the obvious question by drafting Fudd when they had other options, then acted as if they were covering for something that didn’t need hiding. Bueckers and Fudd didn’t deserve this. No matter what their status from here on out, I wish them better luck.

I don’t think that’s what happened here, at all.

Introductory press conferences exist to establish basketball identity.

Roster fit.

Team direction.

Organizational priorities.

Not relationship status updates.

Declining a personal question in that setting isn’t avoidance.

It’s focus.

But Here’s the Strategic Reality the Wings Should Be Thinking About Now

Declining the question at the press conference was the right move.

Leaving the narrative undefined long-term isn’t.

Because unanswered questions don’t disappear.

They repeat.

Especially in a league growing as quickly as the WNBA.

If I Were Advising the Wings’ Communications Team

This is the moment to set the boundary once and move forward. And I know that they’ve got this under control - but if I were on the team, I’d be suggesting something like:

We understand there’s public interest in Paige and Azzi’s relationship.
They won’t be making public statements about their personal lives.
Their focus is on building chemistry with their teammates and competing for a championship in Dallas.

It would be even better if it came from Paige & Azzi verbally.

But this is clear.

Professional.

Complete.

And done.

The Bigger Lesson

The Wings handled the press conference correctly.

The reporter did what reporters are supposed to do.

But athletes still control what becomes public.

And as the WNBA continues growing faster than its shared media norms, moments like this are going to happen more often.

The organizations that manage them best won’t just protect their players.

They’ll decide what the story becomes next.

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But she didn’t just change teams. She changed markets.

And in women’s sports, market shifts create brand strategy windows whether people realize it or not.

@iamandreabrownAngel Reese to ATL is a brand win on both sides. Agree? #wnba #sportsmarketing #branding #angelreese

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Atlanta isn’t just another WNBA city.

• It’s a Black cultural capital.

• It’s a beauty industry hub.

• It’s an HBCU ecosystem.

• It’s a fashion city.

• It’s a fast-growing tech center.

And it’s home to some of the most influential consumer brands in the world.

Angel already has what most athletes are still trying to build:

• Coach

• Victoria’s Secret

• Reebok

• the Unapologetically Angel podcast

• the Angel Reese Foundation

• and one of the strongest Gen Z connections in the league

So the move now isn’t about adding random endorsements.

It’s about building Atlanta-specific alignment that expands her platform intentionally.

If I were sitting on Angel Reese’s brand team right now, here’s what I’d be pursuing immediately.

A Signature Partnership With The Doux

Atlanta is a Black haircare capital.

And The Doux is one of the most culturally aligned brands headquartered near Atlanta.

This is the kind of partnership that makes sense beyond marketing.

Angel’s visual identity already carries:

• confidence

• performance energy

• style fluency

• and authenticity with young Black women

The Doux sits at that exact intersection.

A collaboration here could look like:

• a game-day hair routine campaign built around athlete performance

• tunnel walk styling storytelling content

• a limited “Unapologetically Angel” edges or braid performance kit

• HBCU campus activations tied to confidence in sport and identity

• a joint initiative with the Angel Reese Foundation around self-expression through sport

The right hair partnership in Atlanta wouldn’t just be beauty.

It would be cultural positioning.

AUC + Angel Reese Foundation Programming That Builds a Legacy Footprint in Atlanta

The Atlanta University Center is one of the most powerful athlete storytelling ecosystems in the country.

Spelman.
Morehouse.
Clark Atlanta.

Minutes from where Angel now plays.

Angel already represents something meaningful to young Black women athletes. She wanted to attend an HBCU. Atlanta gives her the infrastructure to turn that connection into impact.

This is where I’d think bigger than appearances.

I’d explore:

• an Angel Reese Foundation leadership series for AUC women athletes

• NIL literacy programming hosted across campuses

• a live Unapologetically Angel podcast taping at Clark Atlanta

• a mentorship pipeline connecting AUC students with Dream game-day operations

• a scholarship or internship initiative tied to women working in sports media and marketing

That’s how athlete brands move from visibility to influence.

And Atlanta is one of the few cities where that shift can happen quickly.

A Google Pixel Campaign Built Around Athlete Style, Shopping, and Tunnel Culture

Atlanta is a major Google operations hub.

And Angel already exists at the intersection of:

• fashion

• sport

• confidence

• and digital-native storytelling

So instead of a traditional athlete tech partnership, I’d build something lifestyle-forward.

A Google Pixel collaboration could live inside a campaign like:

“Tunnel Fits, Shot on Pixel.”

The concept:

Angel documents her full game-day style pipeline using Pixel tools.

Not just outfit reveals.

Process.

Moodboards.
Fit checks.
styling decisions.
shopping inspiration.
camera features that support creators.

This becomes:

athlete-as-creative-director storytelling

Examples of what that campaign could include:

• Pixel-powered tunnel walk photography series

• styling boards created directly on-device

• “Get Ready With Me” creator collaborations with Atlanta stylists

• Google Lens fashion match integrations

• shoppable athlete-inspired looks built from Pixel-captured content

This positions Angel not just as a face of tech.

But as someone shaping how athletes create inside digital culture.

That’s future-facing brand alignment.

A Coca-Cola Ecosystem Partnership Already Sitting Inside the Dream’s Sponsorship Landscape

This one feels especially natural.

Coca-Cola is headquartered in Atlanta.

They already sponsor the Dream.

And they own both Smartwater and BodyArmor.

That creates multiple entry points.

Smartwater makes sense from a lifestyle positioning standpoint:

hydration
routine
recovery
confidence-forward wellness

BodyArmor makes sense from a performance standpoint:

training
strength
pre-game ritual
athlete preparation storytelling

A layered activation here could look like:

• a Dream season hydration campaign anchored around Angel’s routines

• BodyArmor training-day storytelling content

• Smartwater fashion-week crossover visibility moments

• community hydration campaigns through the Angel Reese Foundation

• a back-to-school confidence tour tied to sport and wellness access

This kind of partnership works because it connects:

performance
visibility
community
and city alignment

All at once.

Expanding Unapologetically Angel Into an Atlanta-Based Live Storytelling Platform

Angel already owns media.

Most athletes still borrow it.

Atlanta gives her the chance to scale what she already built.

I’d explore:

• live audience recordings during Dream home stretches

• creator conversations with Atlanta-based stylists and entrepreneurs

• HBCU campus tapings

• athlete-to-artist crossover episodes

• a Dream locker room storytelling mini-series

Atlanta is one of the best cities in the country for athlete-led narrative ecosystems.

And the athletes who control their storytelling pipelines control their brand longevity.

The Real Opportunity Atlanta Creates for Angel Reese

Angel Reese already has visibility.

Atlanta gives her proximity.

Proximity to:

creators
HBCU students
beauty founders
stylists
tech platforms
legacy brands
and young women who already see themselves in her story

That proximity changes what partnerships look like.

And the athletes who win long-term aren’t the ones chasing the most endorsements.

They’re the ones building ecosystems around the cities that amplify who they already are.

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This week, the internet got loud about a Nike campaign that didn’t exist.

An image started circulating showing the Nike logo branded into a Black man’s back. People reacted quickly. Some were angry. Some assumed Nike had crossed a line. Others believed the company had lifted imagery directly from an artist’s work without permission.

There was just one problem.

Nike didn’t make the ad.

And if you work in sports, communications, marketing, media, OR ANY INDUSTRY, what happened next is worth paying attention to — because this wasn’t just a misinformation moment.

It was a media literacy moment.

And it revealed something deeper about how people interpret brands right now.

Where the image actually came from

The image did not originate from Nike.

It came from Studio Sophie Hospes, which shared the visual as part of a conceptual exploration built using photography by CES XC, an Istanbul-based photographer known for altering his own images using generative AI tools.

This matters.

Because the internet didn’t react to a campaign.

It reacted to a spec concept.

Once the image started circulating without context, people began responding to something that was never commissioned, approved, or distributed by the brand it appeared to represent.

@iamandreabrowndon’t be a victim of misinformation. #sportsmarketing #nike #generativeai

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And that’s where the confusion started.

The difference between a campaign and something that just looks like one

One of the biggest gaps I see online right now is that people don’t actually understand how advertising works.

A campaign is commissioned by a brand, approved internally, and launched through coordinated channels.

A concept is an idea. A creative direction. A speculative exploration.

A spec piece is work made without the brand hiring the creator at all.

To most viewers, these things look identical.

To people who work in communications, they are not interchangeable.

Major global brands do not quietly release controversial campaigns through reposted screenshots. Campaigns appear on official channels, newsroom releases, athlete partnerships, and coordinated rollouts.

If the only place you’re seeing something is reaction content, that’s usually your signal to pause before forming an opinion.

Why the Hank Willis Thomas influence mattered

Part of why the reaction happened so quickly is that the visual language echoed the work of artist Hank Willis Thomas, particularly his Branded series.

That series explores how logos interact with Black identity, commerce, and history. It asks direct questions about power, ownership, and representation inside advertising culture.

Many people believed that Nike had borrowed (stolen) — or replicated — imagery grounded in that artistic tradition.

That matters because it shows the reaction wasn’t random outrage.

It was cultural interpretation. But it was still based on an incorrect assumption.

The part no one is talking about: why people believed it

Here’s what made this moment especially interesting.

People didn’t just react quickly.

They reacted credibly quickly.

Meaning the image felt believable as something a corporation might do.

And that tells us something important.

There is a growing baseline distrust of institutions right now — including brands.

Historically, companies have released campaigns that missed context. They have crossed lines.

They have borrowed from cultural work without attribution. Communities have had to respond before.

So when an image like this appears online, people don’t immediately assume it’s fake.

They assume it’s plausible.

That isn’t just misinformation.

That’s institutional memory shaping interpretation.

And if you work anywhere near brand storytelling, that context matters.

Where generative AI complicates everything

The imagery circulating online used photography created by CES XC, who alters his own work using generative AI tools to create speculative visual compositions.

That matters for another reason.

Generative AI doesn’t exist outside visual culture.

Even when artists are working from their own photography, these tools operate inside a visual ecosystem shaped by decades of work from photographers, designers, illustrators, and conceptual artists.

Including artists like Hank Willis Thomas.

This is one of the biggest emerging tensions in creative industries right now:

When AI-generated or AI-altered imagery references visual traditions built by working artists, where does influence end and authorship begin?

And what happens when those images move faster than their context?

Because that’s exactly what happened here.

Media literacy is brand literacy now

Ten years ago, misunderstanding how campaigns worked might have just meant confusion.

Today it means amplification.

Everyone online is now part of the distribution chain.

When people reshared the image and treated it like a Nike campaign, they weren’t just reacting.

They were extending the reach of misinformation.

Most of them didn’t do that intentionally.

They did it because they didn’t check the source.

And in the age of generative AI, that step matters more than ever.

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How to avoid embarrassing yourself online

Before reacting to a campaign — especially one that feels emotionally charged — do five things:

Identify the original source
Not who reposted it. Who created it?

Read the caption
Concept work is usually labeled somewhere.

Check the brand’s owned channels
Campaign launches don’t happen in secret.

Look for reporting, not reactions
Commentary is not confirmation.

Slow down before performing outrage publicly
Speed feels powerful online. Accuracy actually is.

The real lesson here

Generative AI is changing how images are made.

But it’s also changing how quickly people misunderstand what they’re seeing.

We are entering an era where campaign-looking images can exist without campaigns.

Where brand-looking visuals can exist without brands.

Where artistic references can exist without attribution.

And where assumptions travel faster than verification.

Media literacy used to be optional.

Now it’s professional infrastructure.

Because in communications, sports marketing, and digital culture, credibility increasingly belongs to the people who understand how messages are actually made.

Not just the people who react to them first.

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You played well. The media covered you. Brands noticed you. Then opportunities followed. That was the pipeline.

But somewhere along the way, that pipeline broke. Or more accurately, it got replaced. Because today? Athletes don’t just show up in the story. They control it.

And once you understand that shift, you start to see modern sports differently.

The Old Model: Coverage Was Power

For a long time, media exposure determined athlete visibility. If reporters told your story, you existed publicly. If they didn’t, you didn’t.

That meant:

• Leagues held power

• Networks held power

• Gatekeepers held power

Athletes controlled their performance. But not their narrative.

The New Model: Narrative Is Power

Now, athletes don’t need permission to be visible.

They have:

• Instagram

• YouTube

• TikTok

• podcasts

• livestreams

• production companies

They don’t wait for coverage. They publish. And that changes everything. Because once athletes control distribution, they control perception. And perception shapes opportunity.

At first, social media just looked like access. Fans getting closer to athletes. Behind-the-scenes content. Locker room moments. But it quietly became something bigger.

Athletes stopped being subjects of media and became owners of media.

That’s not a small shift. That’s a structural one.

NIL Didn’t Create This Shift. It Accelerated It.

Name, Image, and Likeness didn’t invent athlete branding.

It made it unavoidable.

Now high school and college athletes are entering the spotlight already thinking about:

• audience

• voice

• story

• partnerships

• positioning

Which means by the time they reach the pros, they’re not just players. They’re platforms.

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The Smartest Athletes Already Understand This

Look closely at what’s happening across sports right now.

Athletes are launching podcasts, building production companies, leading brand partnerships, shaping league narratives, and speaking directly to fans in ways they never have before.

They aren’t waiting for interviews. They’re creating media ecosystems around themselves. And that’s where leverage lives now.

But Here’s the Part Most People Still Miss

Visibility alone isn’t strategy.

Posting isn’t positioning.

And having an audience isn’t the same thing as building influence.

The athletes who benefit most from this shift are the ones who understand:

your story is an asset
your voice is infrastructure
your audience is leverage

Not decoration.

Leverage.

This Isn’t Just About Athletes

This shift applies to anyone building something publicly right now.

Creators
founders
leaders
educators
operators

We’re all living in a moment where the line between talent, media, brand, and platform is disappearing.

You are no longer just what you do. You are how people understand what you do.

And the people who shape that understanding shape their outcomes differently.

What This Means for Athletes Right Now

If I were advising athletes entering this era, I’d focus on three things immediately:

1️⃣ Know your story early

Don’t wait until the spotlight arrives.

Build the narrative before the attention shows up.

2️⃣ Build audience before you need leverage

Audience is optional early.

Essential later.

3️⃣ Treat communication like part of performance

Your voice is part of your career now.

Not separate from it.

Final Thoughts

Athletes used to rely on networks. Now they are networks. And the ones who understand that shift first? They don’t just extend their careers. They expand them.

If you’re building anything in public right now — as an athlete, creator, or founder — this is the question worth asking:

Are you waiting to be covered?

Or are you building something people can’t ignore?

Because in this era, the difference between visibility and influence isn’t talent.

It’s intention.

Not just because UConn is 34-0 and she’s averaging 17.9 points shooting 45% from three. I want to talk about what she’s doing off the court — because heading into March Madness, she quietly dropped a brand masterclass.

In the span of weeks: a new deal with Cava (the fast-casual Mediterranean brand that’s been eating Chipotle’s lunch), and then the big one — she signed with Jordan Brand, joining her teammate Sarah Strong under the Jumpman. The most culturally loaded logo in sports.

And she didn’t show up to the announcement in a stiff press photo holding a shoe. She showed up in a full Jordan fit, custom Jumpman nails, jewelry that matched — and the brand’s IG caption read: “Get buckets. Serve looks. Put the world on notice.”

That’s not a sponsorship. That’s a vibe alignment.

The Shift: From Endorser to Storyteller

NIL just turned five years old and the model has changed completely. The old version: brand pays athlete to hold up product, smile, say something generic. The athlete is a vehicle.

The new version: brand finds someone whose story and identity are already resonating — and steps into it. When it works, you can’t tell where the athlete ends and the brand begins.

Fudd is a perfect example because her story is compelling without any of her deals. She won Gatorade National Player of the Year as a sophomore. She tore her ACL — twice — and came back. She and Paige Bueckers have been best friends since competing for a U16 national team spot as teenagers. She’s named after Jennifer Azzi, a legend of the game.

Jordan Brand didn’t make her story interesting. They signed her because her story was already interesting. That’s the whole move.

Her portfolio — Jordan, Cava, GEICO, Celsius, CashApp, CoverGirl — isn’t random either. Active lifestyle. Beauty. Financial empowerment. Culture. She’s telling a coherent story across every deal, whether she’s consciously architecting it that way or not.

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What This Means For You

Cool, but Nike isn’t calling me — I hear you. Here’s what actually applies:

Your portfolio is your brand. The clients you take, the brands you partner with, the rooms you walk into — it’s all telling a story. Are you being intentional about it, or just saying yes to whatever shows up?

Alignment beats reach. Fudd could have signed more deals for more money. Instead she has a tight, coherent set of partnerships that all reinforce the same identity. A few well-aligned associations are worth more than a lot of scattered ones.

The announcement is part of the brand. The nails. The caption. The aesthetic. That was intentional — it said this is who she is and this is who we are and they’re the same thing. Your bio, your website, your pitch deck — the how matters as much as the what.

Timing is a brand decision. She signed with Jordan right before March Madness, when every camera is pointed at women’s college basketball. That’s not an accident. Are you making moves when the room is full, or waiting until everyone’s gone home?

Azzi Fudd knows she’s in a moment. And she’s building like it.

The rest of us should probably be doing the same.

If this landed, forward it to someone who needs to hear it. Whose brand portfolio are you watching right now — in sports or otherwise? Hit reply, I’m curious.