Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders and the Disposability of Pretty Girls

What a Fitness Trainer Sees: The Hidden Cost of Perfect Bodies

I’m taking a little break from the Politics of Wellness series for a bit of summer fun provided by the Netflix series, “America’s Sweethearts: The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.”

During the historic heat wave in June, I devoured the second season of "America's Sweethearts: The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders" like candy. When the dire news wouldn't stop, I was ready to binge on this perfectly packaged, ultra-processed reality. But as a fitness trainer and feminist who's spent my career teaching folks how to exercise sustainably, I can't turn off my brain's habit of considering long-term effects on the cheerleaders' bodies and lives.

Like all reality stars, these gorgeous athletes are ready to be chewed up and spit out. These "girls" (never women) compete ruthlessly for their spot, then get tossed aside like countless bottles of makeup they use. I can't ignore what I'm really watching: the systematic disposal of women whose primary value is looking perfect. What remains after we binge this empty calorie entertainment and throw out all the pretty packaging?

First, the money.

The NYT headline appeared before I even started the show: a 400% pay increase after the last season!! Sounds like the faceless titans running the Dallas Cowboys empire buckled under the Netflix spotlight. The cheerleaders no longer paid like fast-food workers, so we're all supposed to feel empowered now, right? But if we are considering them professional athletes, this is still nowhere near equal pay. After they hang up the uniform, they're lucky to build a social media following or snag brand deals. No retirement or health benefits like the football players. The players are investments; the cheerleaders are consumables. After performing at their peak and being pivotal to the franchise's revenue, they're spit out. The assumption? They'll be taken care of by a husband.

Second, the physical toll.

While last season highlighted the common injuries, especially the notorious jump splits. After a grueling field routine, a series of impeccable high kicks, the cheerleaders jump into the air and land in a split. after the first season, this haunted me for days because as a fitness trainer, job is helping people move sustainably. To keep moving through the decades we often need to distinguish between pursuing a "perfect" body and a functional one.

This season downplayed the injuries and instead highlighted the girls eating "normally." Drive-through McDonald's and gathering around pizza, we are led to believe that they relax and indulge after a hard practice. But maintaining their impeccable physiques while navigating extremely unforgiving uniforms and relentless spotlight creates a perfect storm for disordered eating. These young bodies, thin but not too muscular, are pushed beyond their limits to achieve an unrealistic aesthetic. During my 20 years of working in wellness and fitness, I've seen the toll: former college athletes in their 40s with nagging injuries, the emerging connections between disordered eating and osteopenia. Long after the uniform is retired and the glory fades, the body keeps the score.

Plastic Perfection

The cheerleaders are trained to constantly respond with "Yes, ma'am" and it reveals everything. They're not just performing physically, but performing perfect compliance. But as women, we can never be perfect enough. There's constant competition among women to be thinner, have bigger lips, better hair. Even the coaches are keeping up with plastic surgeries.

As a woman, you can spend endless time, money, and energy achieving plastic perfection. Regardless, you will always be disposed of and replaced. You might have a moment of glory attracting the male gaze, but like plastic bottles, you'll be discarded. Even this "behind-the-scenes" show is a facade. We never see them without makeup, we never see them menstruate, and God forbid acknowledge their need for reproductive care in Texas.

We know this entertainment is ultra-processed, just like the junk food we crave when we're stressed. But recognizing the artificial ingredients—the impossible beauty standards, the disposable treatment of women—can teach us how to move and feed ourselves more sustainably. Let’s stop treating ourselves like Barbie dolls that eventually end up in the landfill.