Eni Aluko’s recent comments hit hardest those women who are already fighting to be heard. Her argument that male pundits are occupying spaces that should belong to women, and that she and other former players with many caps “deserve” those roles, has ignited a backlash not because the subject is off-limits, but because the way she framed it reinforces the very narratives that hold women back.
Women in sport should be able to disagree, debate, and critique without being painted as disloyal. But when
someone with her platform speaks in ways that echo the language traditionally used to undermine women’s sport, the impact is not neutral. It reverberates. It gives ammunition to those who already believe women’s football is fragile, unserious, or undeserving of investment. And it shifts the conversation away from the structural issues that actually need attention.
Her intentions may well be good. She may genuinely believe she is protecting the women’s game. But intention does not erase impact, and the impact here is harmful, especially for players, staff, journalists, and fans who are working relentlessly to build credibility in a landscape that still treats women’s sport as an afterthought. When someone with her influence speaks in ways that mirror the criticisms women already face, it adds weight to the wrong side of the scale. The frustration many women feel is not about disagreement. It’s about the way her comments feed into a wider culture that already demands perfection from women while excusing mediocrity in men. Women in sport are constantly told they must be grateful, quiet, and flawless. They must not complain, must not challenge, must not show vulnerability. They must work twice as hard to be taken half as seriously. And when someone from within the game reinforces those pressures, it becomes even harder to push back against them.
This is where the damage lies. Not in the existence of critique, but in the way it is delivered, framed, and absorbed by an audience already predisposed to doubt women’s sport. Women’s football is still in a precarious position. It is growing, yes, but growth does not equal stability. Every misstep is magnified. Every controversy is weaponised. Every internal disagreement is treated as evidence that the sport is not ready for investment or attention. When Aluko speaks, she speaks as someone who has been a trailblazer, a former England international, a sporting director, a media figure. Her words carry authority. They shape narratives. They influence how the public, the press, and even decision-makers perceive the women’s game.
Her comments about male pundits occupying space that she believes should belong to women deepen this harm. She argued that men, particularly high-profile ex-players, are taking roles in women’s football coverage that should be reserved for women with lived experience of the game. She went further by suggesting that her own international caps, and those of other retired female players, should entitle them to priority in punditry selection. This framing is flawed. It treats punditry as a zero-sum game rather than a growing space. It implies that men’s presence is inherently harmful, when in reality some of the most impactful advocacy for women’s football has come from male allies whose voices reach audiences women cannot yet reach.
Ian Wright is the clearest example. His support for the women’s game has been consistent, vocal, and deeply influential. He has used his platform to amplify women’s football at times when broadcasters barely acknowledged it. He has challenged misogyny within men’s football culture. He has championed female players and pundits. To publicly chastise him, as Aluko did, is not only unfair but strategically counterproductive. Allies matter. They matter because men listen to men. They matter because male fans are more receptive to male voices. They matter because the women’s game does not yet have the cultural power to stand alone without support from the wider football ecosystem.
Alienating those allies does not empower women. It isolates them. And it hands misogynists exactly what they want: evidence, however flimsy, that women are ungrateful, divisive, or incapable of working collaboratively. Her comments have already been seized upon by individuals who were looking for a stick to beat women’s football with. They have been used to argue that women are entitled, that they want special treatment, that they cannot handle competition, that they resent male involvement. These narratives are not new. They are the same tired tropes that have been used to undermine women’s sport for decades. But when someone from within the game reinforces them, even unintentionally, they gain new life.
The emotional exhaustion of constantly having to defend women’s football from people who claim to support it is disheartening. It is draining to watch the same narratives resurface again and again. It is draining to see women blamed for structural problems they did not create. It is draining to see progress overshadowed by commentary that focuses on shortcomings rather than solutions. Women in sport are already doing the work. They are already pushing for better standards, better governance, better investment. They are already fighting for visibility and respect. They are already carrying the burden of proving themselves in a world that still doubts them.
So when someone with influence chooses to highlight problems in a way that lacks nuance or context, it feels like a betrayal, not because critique is unwelcome, but because it is delivered in a way that reinforces the very stereotypes women are trying to dismantle. There is a difference between constructive criticism and commentary that fuels existing biases. The former strengthens the game. The latter weakens it. Constructive criticism identifies problems while acknowledging context. It challenges systems rather than individuals. It recognises the structural barriers that shape outcomes. It pushes for improvement without undermining the legitimacy of the sport itself. Commentary that lacks this nuance does the opposite. It reinforces the idea that women’s sport is inherently flawed and women’s involvement in sport is tokenistic. It shifts responsibility away from institutions and onto individuals. It validates the scepticism of those who already doubt the women’s game. And it distracts from the real issues that need attention.
Aluko is not just another pundit. She is someone whose voice carries weight because of her history, her achievements, and her visibility. With that visibility comes responsibility. Not the responsibility to be silent, but the responsibility to be thoughtful. Women in sport do not need protection from criticism. They need protection from narratives that undermine their legitimacy. They need protection from commentary that reinforces the idea that they are the problem. They need protection from the same tired tropes that have been used to diminish them for decades. When Aluko speaks without acknowledging the structural context, she inadvertently strengthens those tropes. She shifts the focus away from the institutions that have failed women’s football and onto the women themselves. And that is where the harm lies.
Her intentions may be rooted in wanting the game to improve. But improvement does not come from echoing the language of those who want the sport to fail. It does not come from demanding women be involved in men’s sports, but that the reverse cannot happen. It comes from challenging the systems that hold it back. It comes from amplifying the voices of those who are working tirelessly to build something better. It comes from recognising that women in sport are not the problem; they are the ones driving the solution.
One of the most insidious aspects of sexism in sport is the way it becomes internalised. Women are taught to be grateful for scraps. They are taught to accept criticism as the price of visibility. They are taught to believe that if the game is struggling, it must be their fault. When someone like Aluko reinforces these narratives, even unintentionally, it legitimises them. It makes it harder for women to push back. It makes it harder for them to demand better. And it makes it harder for the sport to grow in a healthy, sustainable way.
Women in football broadcasting such as Laura Woods, Alex Scott, Jules Breach, Emma Hayes, Eilidh Barbour, Reshmin Chowdhury, and Kate Abdo demonstrate exactly what excellence in punditry and presenting looks like. They are respected not because they are women, but because they bring authority, intelligence, and genuine football expertise to every broadcast. Their analysis is sharp, their delivery polished, and their understanding of the game deep and instinctive. Audiences value them because they elevate coverage through insight and professionalism, proving that women earn their place in football media through talent, credibility, and hard work, not entitlement. Their contributions enrich the sport and show what true representation looks like when it is built on merit.
The real barriers to women’s representation in punditry are not male allies. They are underinvestment in women’s broadcasting pathways, limited training and development opportunities, a lack of long-term career structures for female pundits, editorial decisions driven by audience metrics rather than equity, and institutional biases within media organisations. These are the issues that deserve attention. These are the issues that require advocacy. These are the issues that need to be challenged. But Aluko’s comments shift the focus away from these systemic problems and onto individuals, specifically male allies, who are not the cause of the inequality. Her comments appear to stem from a place of privilege, expectation and entitlement.
This misdirection is harmful because it allows institutions to avoid accountability. It allows broadcasters to continue underinvesting in women. It allows structural barriers to remain unchallenged. And it places the burden of progress on individuals rather than systems. Women’s football is at a pivotal moment. The growth is real, the talent is undeniable, and the appetite from fans is stronger than ever. But the foundations are still fragile. The structures are still uneven. And the respect is still conditional. In this context, commentary that reinforces old stereotypes does not help the game move forward. It pulls it back.
The women’s game is at a crucial point in its development, and every voice with a platform has the power to shape its trajectory. Eni Aluko’s frustrations about representation may be rooted in a desire for progress, but progress cannot be built on narratives that divide, alienate, or reinforce the very prejudices women are fighting against. Real change comes from challenging systems, not scapegoating allies; from expanding opportunities, not gatekeeping them; from strengthening solidarity, not fracturing it. Women’s football needs critique, ambition, and accountability, but it also needs unity, nuance, and an understanding that the fight for equality is bigger than any one individual. When commentary fuels misogynistic narratives rather than dismantling them, it becomes part of the problem. The women’s game deserves better than that, and the women within it deserve advocates who lift them up, not voices that inadvertently make their struggle harder.
