The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader conundrum
How Netflix turned an NFL dance team into a cultural firestorm
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A meteorologist, a boot salesman, and a wellness “thought leader” walk into a football stadium. What are they there to do? Judge the skills of professional dancers, of course! Thus begins the surreal first episode of Netflix’s addictive new docuseries, America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders—a show I binged in a weekend and haven’t stopped thinking about since.
Filmed across the 2023-2024 season, the seven-part series follows the most recent “DCC” squad from auditions to playoffs, as hundreds of cheerleading hopefuls are whittled down to 44 finalists and eventually the 36 women who are part of the official roster. (Both newcomers and returning vets have to audition for their spots each year.) And I’m not alone in finding the show gripping and harrowing in equal measure. It’s been in Netflix’s Top 10 for weeks, and my social media feeds have been filled with people recreating the team’s iconic “Thunderstruck” routine or raving against how poorly the women are paid by the $9 billion dollar NFL team that employs them. (“Like a Chick-fil-A worker that works full-time,” is how one former cheerleader describes her salary.)
Though I knew virtually nothing about the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders going in, the dynamics of the job quickly become clear: It’s part prestigious performance gig (think the Rockettes), part Miss America-style pageantry (the women must maintain Barbie-esque looks while being bubbly “global ambassadors”), and part Southern-style sorority (the goal is to stay for five years of God-infused “sisterhood,” then leave engaged to your boyfriend). And though the show doesn’t really get into this aspect, it’s also a chance to build up a major social media following and be on TV. Though the Netflix show only debuted last month, CMT has been airing a reality show called Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team since 2006—documenting 16 years of DCC squads in a more Dance Mom-esque format.
CMT cancelled the series back in 2022, which is when Netflix swooped in to fill the void—swapping out the garish cable reality TV aesthetic for a prestige sheen courtesy of Cheer creator Greg Whiteley. And while the Netflix iteration downplays the impact of the long-running CMT series (you have to imagine most of the current 20-something hopefuls grew up watching it), a lot of the beats of the series (a makeover session, a focus on training camp cuts, those random judges) make a lot more sense when you realize they come from a mid-aughts era reality TV format. In fact, I think a big part of the way people are responding to the Netflix series comes from how strange it is to watch a retro reality show aimed at conservative audiences repackaged into something more high-brow. As if Keeping Up With The Kardashians suddenly got The Queen of Versailles treatment.
To be clear, America’s Sweethearts is still very obviously a series made with approval and input from the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, and Whiteley does nearly nothing to probe the obvious racism and questionable labor practices of the organization. But there’s no sugarcoating moments where DCC director Kelli Finglass and choreographer Judy Trammell discuss which returnees have gained weight in their faces or immediately write off women who don’t fit the Cowboys “look.” One of the most harrowing details is that dancers are sized for a uniform once and expected to fit into it for the rest of their DCC careers with no alterations.
And yet, in a way, there’s something refreshing about how openly DCC admits to its biases. In my progressive corner of the internet, I’m used to diversity and body positivity being praised, even if they aren’t actually prioritized. And I’m used to nearly every aspect of traditional femininity being rebranded as a form of self-empowerment, even when it feels like living inside the satirical Crazy Ex-Girlfriend song “Put Yourself First (In A Sexy Way).” (“Push them boobs up, just for yourself / Wear six-inch heels, just for yourself!”)
America’s Sweethearts drops that double speak and just says what it means: DCC wants cheerleaders who are hot, thin, big-breasted, and predominately white; who sell a male gaze sex appeal fantasy on the field while acting like Christian Disney princesses off it; and who dance at the highest professional level while getting paid like amateurs (and often holding down a second job). To be honest, I suspect that a lot of professional performance and dance companies across the country still operate with this regressive mindset. The Dallas Cowboys are just brazen enough to say the quiet part out loud.
It's easy enough to hate-watch the series for all the hypocrisies it contains, like chief brand officer/nepo baby Charlotte Jones praising what the cheerleaders have brought as a “profit center” for the Dallas Cowboys brand while explaining why the dancers themselves don’t need to be paid fairly. (“They actually don’t come here for the money,” Jones smiles. “They come here for something that’s actually bigger than that to them.”) The way women of color are so casually cut from the team is appalling. And I was also pretty off-put by Jesus-loving rookie Reece, who uses her breathy “fundie baby voice” to clarify that she’s not becoming a cheerleader to shine a spotlight on herself, she simply wants to be a “vessel” to shine a spotlight on the Lord. (I couldn’t stop thinking about how many women on the team did or will vote for Trump.)
And yet, for all those frustrations, there’s something genuinely compelling about the series too. The athletic talent on display is stunning, and while Finglass’ talk of finding an “x-factor” in her dancers sounds vague at first, you can absolutely see it as soft-spoken personalities like Reece and team captain Kelcey suddenly snap into sultry performance mode. The sisterhood between the dancers is more than just a talking point as well, as the women rally around each other during various low points throughout the season—including incidents of sexual harassment and family tragedy. And while Finglass may be a hardass to her dancers, there’s a fierce tenderness to her as well. I was particularly touched by how attentively she cares for the team’s bus driver after he has a stroke, which reminded me of the kind of subtle communal caretaking I’ve so often seen from women throughout my life.
Indeed, while anyone who’s dedicated their career to the performing arts or played high-profile college sports can probably relate to the mix of personal passion and professional indignity that comes with being a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, the team also feels like a broader reflection of the dualities that have long defined womanhood as well: Do something incredibly difficult while making it look effortless. Be sexy without being “slutty.” Accept that even when you’re at the top of your field, that field is less inherently worthwhile than a male-dominated one. Make others happy even when you’re suffering yourself. And be grateful for what you’re given, rather than demanding what you’re worth. In other words, America’s Sweethearts is the sort of show that makes you realize that America Ferrera’s Barbie monologue maybe wasn’t too on-the-nose after all.
I don’t know if Netflix set out to capture the contradictions of modern-day womanhood in a show about cheerleading; nor do I think the Cowboys expected the level of pushback they’ve received over the squad’s pay. But in pointing a largely uncritical camera at a long-running NFL institution, Netflix proved that America’s Sweethearts are far from just simple girls next door.
A quick thank you! This week marks the one-year anniversary of Girl Culture, and I wanted to thank everyone who’s subscribed and supported this little Substack in its first year! I’ve really loved having my own corner of the internet to explore what interests me, and in months like this one—where I’m between freelance gigs—it’s really reassuring to have at least a little bit of income to fall back on. If you like what I do here and are able to support it financially, I would hugely appreciate it. (The more support I get, the more I’ll be able to write!) But either way, thank you for reading and here’s to exploring even more corners of Girl Culture in year two.