How Women’s Sports Uniforms Became So Controversial, Long Before The Paris Olympics (2024)

At least once every four years, a controversy erupts over female athletes’ sports apparel. And following Nike’s reveal of one 2024 Team USA Olympic track and field kit, athletes and fans have been questioning yet again what a uniform says about women’s place in elite sports.

The one-piece bodysuit in question, modeled on a mannequin in April and released by Citius Mag in a photo, is one of a dozen uniforms that U.S. track and field Olympians can choose for the Paris Games. But one of the one-piece’s high hip cut and seemingly minuscule crotch coverage was met with a flurry of questions, a little bit of humor, and a lot of disapproval on the Internet. Some female athletes voiced outrage, pointing out the personal grooming necessary to pull off the look, while others suggested that it shouldn’t have been presented as an option at all.

Lauren Fleshman, a former pro runner and author of the Good for a Girl: A Woman Running in a Man’s World, had a pretty blunt take: “This is a costume born of patriarchal forces that are no longer welcome or needed to get eyes on women’s sports,” she wrote on Instagram.

Others, like Colleen Quigley, a 2016 Olympian, were initially taken aback. “I know there are other uniform options to choose from,” Quigley says, “so it felt like, Why is this the shot that you’re excited to share with the world?”

Meeting female athletes’ gear needs today, especially in our technology-driven world, seems as if it should be easy enough. But the history behind women’s participation in sports—and what they wear while competing—has never been simple. Whether it’s beach handball players lobbying for shorts instead of bikini bottoms, gymnasts opting for full-length unitards over traditional leotards, or female boxers and badminton players demanding shorts instead of skirts, the conversations about dress codes make it clear that women’s uniforms have never been about only basic comfort and performance.

The truth is, many factors play into what women wear during competition: fashion, politics, money, power, and yes, the patriarchy too. Sport, after all, is a microcosm of our still-sexist society. But feminism is rooted in freedom of choice—and female athletes of every generation have fought for the right to wear more…or less, and for the autonomy to make those decisions for themselves.

“I see women’s Olympic participation and clothing as going hand in hand since the very beginning,” says Jaime Schultz, PhD, a professor of kinesiology at Penn State University and the author of Regulating Bodies: Elite Sport Policies and Their Unintended Consequences.

Women were first allowed to participate in the modern Olympic Games in 1900, but only in a limited number of events.

These included tennis, croquet, golf, and equestrian. These sports were deemed “appropriate,” Schultz explains, in large part because female athletes could dress modestly while competing. Back then, corsets, long skirts or dresses, and blouses that fully covered their bodies from the neck down were the norm.

The modest outfits, it was felt, ensured they wouldn’t distract the “real” (i.e., male) athletes, while also maintaining their femininity by masking overt displays of athleticism. “A long skirt would restrict their mobility and keep them in gender-appropriate roles,” Schultz says.

It wasn’t until 1919 that Suzanne Lenglen, a French tennis player, rebelled. She refused to wear a corset and instead donned a short-sleeve top along with a light, loose skirt hemmed to calf length. With much more freedom of movement, Lenglen could run across the court with ease and hit the ball with greater force. In 1920, she won three Olympic medals. But her outfit was still called “indecent” by the British press.

By 1928, women started competing in track and field, and their uniforms looked a lot like the men’s, with loose-fitting shorts and short-sleeved tops. Over time, women started wearing shorts and tank tops that were more form-fitting, but it wasn’t until 1984 that drastic change took hold.

Florence Griffith Joyner (the world record–setting American sprinter known as “Flo-Jo”) revolutionized standard attire for female track and field athletes by competing in spandex and showing up with elaborately manicured nails. She even sported one-piece (sometimes one-legged) tracksuits in competition.

“Dress good to look good. Look good to feel good. And feel good to run fast,” Griffith Joyner famously said.

Fast-forward to the 1992 Olympic Games, and the first glimpses of midriffs appeared on the track. Female athletes started wearing what are now known as “buns” (which look like bathing suit bottoms) and crop tops or sports bras. The uniform has remained a popular choice to this day. Some athletes say the kit makes them feel fast, while others say they feel pressured to wear it because it’s what is expected of the most talented competitors out there.

Anna co*ckrell, a Nike-sponsored athlete who competed in the 400-meter hurdles at the 2020 Olympics (which took place in 2021) and qualified for Paris in the same event, says she used to opt for spandex shorts until she ran her first sub-13-second race in buns. After that, she was hooked.

“I just want to feel as light and as free and as unrestricted as possible when I compete,” co*ckrell says. “Lately I’ve seen a real difference in the sprint brief having more coverage, and I appreciate that because even though I’ve been running in briefs for years, my dad watches these meets, and they love to do that camera shot from behind the starting blocks. And it’s like, ‘Can we not?’”

It’s hard to ignore the fact that in the 80s and 90s, female athletes began to get more overtly sexualized based on what they were wearing, which coincided with the Games becoming more commercialized, Schultz says. (In the early 80s, the International Olympic Committee decided to ramp up the fees for corporate sponsorships and the cost for Summer Games broadcast rights nearly tripled from 1980 to 1984.) The logic: Sexualizing female athletes could attract a bigger viewership, putting more eyes on all the advertisem*nts and logos. The male segment of the audience might not have been ready to appreciate women’s athletic abilities or achievements (and in many cases, still isn’t), but it might have been willing to see their bodies on display in skimpier kits.

“Once we accepted that women are going to be [Olympic] athletes, [sports federations and brands] wanted to try to make some money off of that, which is where the sexualization aspect comes in,” Schultz says.

Many things can be true at the same time, though.

For decades, women have been asking for more options that allow them to perform better—and that has sometimes resulted in apparel that is more revealing.

“It’s that tricky issue of teasing out freedom of choice versus whether our gender roles are still conscripted,” Schultz says. “Are we still restricted by social ideas about what’s acceptable for women or what we need to do to be attractive and marketable? It’s a tension that’s always been there in women’s sports.”

For Quigley, a Lululemon-sponsored athlete, the uniform isn’t just another piece of equipment. It’s a means of empowerment too.

“Function and fashion are both important to me,” she says.

The cut of the apparel, the fabric, color, and logo—all these variables play a part in helping an athlete like Quigley excel and feel confident. When she’s wearing something that requires picking and pulling, or if it’s rubbing or chafing, her focus shifts away from running. And that’s the last thing Quigley wants while attempting to make a national team or win a medal.

“It’s such a huge part of what we need to perform well,” Quigley says.

Jordie Katcher, Nike’s global vice president of women's sports apparel, says the design team relies heavily on athletes’ feedback to create options that include briefs, boy shorts, split shorts, tanks, crops, and singlets. In addition to the viral high-cut one-piece, Nike is also introducing a one-piece with boy shorts inspired by Sha’Carri Richardson, American world champion sprinter. (Richardson modeled the new kit at a Nike event in Paris where all the 2024 national and federation uniforms were revealed.)

That athlete input, which is collected after several months of prototype testing, is combined with sports research and technology to produce apparel with breathability and stretch. Katcher calls it “innovation and style, at no compromise to one another.” Distance-runner briefs, for example, sit lower on the abdomen because as athletes take in more fluid during their events, they need allowance for bloating. Sprinter briefs, on the other hand, have more coverage in their powerful, strong glute area.

So given the in-depth design process, were Katcher and her team surprised by the backlash against the kit?

“Obviously we fit [apparel] to real human athletes with a different set of proportions and a body type than that mannequin,” Katcher says. “I can assure you that every athlete who has tried this—as well as the non-USA version that is in competition already—is absolutely thrilled with the coverage, as well as the overall fit and feel.”

co*ckrell, who was involved in testing the one-piece along with other uniform options, agrees that the photo wasn’t a fair representation of how the suit actually looks on a person. But as someone who doesn’t like to wear one-piece kits, she appreciates that other options are provided.

“I get the concern, but I thought it was fine,” co*ckrell says. “The whole drama over all of it was so much.…I found the whole thing to be really frustrating.”

Undoubtedly, women’s Olympic uniforms will continue to evolve and get better.

Katcher says this generation of athletes is advancing conversation to include concerns, such as period leakage, fluctuations in breast size, and cameltoe (an issue that came up repeatedly during development of the one-piece suits, prompting Nike to reengineer the lining and the way the suits are sewn together). No matter what athletes choose to wear in Paris, young girls across the globe will be watching at home.

Tess Howard, a member of Great Britain’s field hockey team, published a study in Sport, Education and Society titled “Practical, Professional or Patriarchal?” which examines the role uniforms play in shaping female experiences in school sports. More than 75 percent of the 400 U.K.-based respondents said they have seen girls drop out of sport because of uniforms and body image concerns. A study sponsored by Dove and Nike found that 45 percent of girls quit sports by age 14 due to low body confidence and that 52 percent of girls who quit sports received negative comments about their appearance.

Keira D’Amato, former American-record holder in the marathon (2:19:12) and a Nike-sponsored athlete, says she hopes the uniform debate turns into a broader dialogue about how to keep young girls pursuing their athletic goals as they go through puberty, which is a key period during which many of them drop out.

“There is a positive to this whole [discussion]—we can apply it to how we better support younger girls in giving them more uniform options and talking to them about their cycles,” D’Amato says. “Then maybe they would feel better about continuing to play.”

D’Amato, who competed at the 2022 World Athletics Championships marathon, appreciates what it means to race with the USA logo across her chest. This year, she vied for a spot at the Paris Games in the 10,000 meters, ultimately coming in 10th place during time trials. The chance to put on that uniform and perform on the world’s biggest stage is often an athlete’s most coveted goal.

“It’s a really, really special opportunity,” D’Amato says. “It’s something I dreamed of and worked for and wanted my whole life. When you put on that uniform…you feel powerful.”

It’s not just a bodysuit, buns, or a crop top. It’s always been about much more—and for female athletes, especially, it always will be. The kit matters. On this, the athletes agree. And maybe that’s why women’s apparel at the Olympics consistently garners complicated perspectives, emotions, and reactions.

“When I put on a Team USA uniform, I am representing, to an extent, American ideals, whatever that means to whoever is watching,” co*ckrell says. “You have to think deeply about what your country represents and who you’re representing. How do I feel as the physical embodiment of our nation at this time?”