Despite being an expert on cheerleaders, I wasn’t sure I needed to watch “America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders,” the Netflix documentary that offers a glimpse into the lives of the 2023-2024 squad. The seven-episode series charts the entire season, from the grueling tryouts (and heartbreaking losses) to the intense training sessions and even a Thanksgiving spectacle starring Dolly Parton.
My educated guess is that your reaction to the documentary will depend on your age. These young women seem like children to me now, but if I’d been 22, the age that DCC was when they first took to the Cowboys field 50 years ago, I would not have been a sympathetic witness. I would not have cared to watch a football game, much less put up with a gaggle of scantily clad cheerleaders. It’s an anachronistic insult to the generation of recently emancipated young women of which I was a part.
But I ended up binge-watching “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” (incredibly), “Barbie,” “Legally Blonde,” and Tammy Faye Bakker’s counterculture hybrid with family elements, “PTL Club.” NiceExcept for my favorite characters, of course: the women who run the show.
Since we’re talking about grown-up cheerleaders, it’s fair to call these two tough ladies. Director Kelly Finglass and choreographer Judy Trammell are both former cheerleaders, mature beauties who guide the cheerleaders to perfection. They have the passion, the humor, the giant curlers, the grace under pressure, the uncompromising commitment to excellence, and the occasional cruel words to say to girls who don’t have enough kick, or enough energy, or the wrong mascara.
The documentary reveals that most of the cheerleaders are dancers and all are good athletes. Ten are newcomers, the rest are veterans who re-audition each season. Two are the daughters of former Dallas cheerleaders. Only a few were not from the South, and one from California had a really hard time with the makeup (Southern girls must have been wearing makeup since they were toddlers).
They can’t pretend otherwise. Their job is to titillate the crowd by using their bodies to maximum sexual effect, wearing the iconic shorts, white boots and midriff-baring blouses. But they feel like they’re just acting, like little girls prance around in front of the mirror pretending to be Taylor Swift. When a photographer touches one of them “inappropriately,” they’re shocked. As if there’s any other way. The team has a strict “no touch” policy; any male fan who wants to take a photo with them is handed the sole of his foot to place between his legs.
In addition to performing at games, the cheerleaders also visit nursing homes and children’s hospitals to “bring hope and happiness to people.” Cheerleading is a multimillion-dollar business for the football team, and one former cheerleader said their salary is comparable to that of a full-time employee at Chick-fil-A.
The pay disparity has infuriated some online commenters, urging the cheerleaders to unionize. Others are incensed by the apparent exploitation of women in tiny swimsuits to entertain audiences in America’s most macho sport. But the cheerleaders say putting on the uniform is a privilege. Some say they’re in Dallas by God’s grace.
I was struck by the wide-eyed innocence of the cheerleaders featured, most of whom are in their early 20s. One standout is Reese, who is engaged to her college sweetheart, Will, a man who is clearly not her match. Reese admits she has no big dreams other than to “chase this girl,” and gets a job at a pressure-washing company.
The couple is shown cooking “venison burgers” that Reese hunted in Blount County, Alabama. (It was Reese’s second deer, but his first stag.) As they discuss their upcoming wedding, Will asks if Home Depot has a registry. “Yes, they do. It’s convenient, right?” she asks, as he spots a heavy-duty shovel on her laptop screen.
We need to realize that these women, though momentarily superheroes, are grounded in fundamental American values. They may not be what most young women aspire to be, or what many parents would want for their daughters, but the choice is valid in every respect. A cheerleader’s life is short, and leaving the team is understandably a difficult change. Following in her mother’s footsteps, Veronica is a four-year veteran who has decided to retire.
“It feels like I’m being stripped naked and it’s really scary,” she said.
As the ending soundtrack, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” plays, the camera zooms in on a close-up of a cheerleader’s face as she removes her makeup. In the next frame, another girl peels off her false eyelashes. Her face becomes cleaner and less adorned, and begins to look like a Walker Evans portrait. You get it. That’s why the roses bloom.
But God’s grace is limitless, and as Reese says, “I know that in every season the Lord will bring forth fruit,” and I’m sure executive producer and director Greg Whiteley would agree. I’m betting on a season two, but I pray that the cast (some of the best athletes in the world) are paid handsomely.
