Sky Sports’ short-lived TikTok account, Halo, which was marketed as “Sky Sports’ lil sis,” lasted mere days before the company quietly pulled the plug due to intense backlash. Originally designed to “create a space alongside Sky’s existing social channels for new, young, female fans,” the initiative instead sparked immediate criticism. But the backlash did not come from sexist sports fans who disagreed with increased representation for women. Instead, the criticism came almost entirely from the audience that Sky Sports claimed it was trying to welcome—and for good reason.

Two early highlight videos quickly showcased the sexism at hand. One clip Sky Sports posted on Halo showed soccer forward Erling Haaland scoring a goal, with the caption, “how the matcha + hot girl walk combo hits.” Another featured a clip of New York City mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani with the caption, “Thinking about Zohran Mamdani rizzing us and Arsenal up.” 

Rather than offering meaningful sports analysis, the account relied on a caricatured and stereotyped idea of what young women supposedly like: Matcha, ‘hot girl walks,’ and ‘rizz.’ The buzzwords were used regardless of whether they had anything to do with the sport that was being featured. The campaign failed so spectacularly because it treated women not as fans, but as demeaning, superficial stereotypes. 

At the root of Halo’s embarrassing attempt at feminism is a longstanding problem within a sports media landscape that still cannot view women as serious fans. Media coverage surrounding women athletes and women’s sports, or directed to audiences of women, is softened and aestheticized by networks—or, in this case, decorated in sparkles. Instead of recognizing women as authentic and knowledgeable sports fans, campaigns reduce them to an overplayed stereotype, one that executives assume must be reached through pink, girly, and ‘cutesy’ graphics.

Halo’s tone was not youthful or inclusive: It was patronizing. It presented sports as something that women needed to have translated into ‘girl content.’ What Halo completely ignored is that women already exist in sports spaces as analysts, athletes, journalists, and fans—with the same intensity as men. Women care about sport, not because it aligns with trends, but because they love the game.

So when Sky Sports launched its Halo account built on the idea that women need a separate, softer version of sport to enjoy, it reinforced the stereotypes that women are constantly fighting against. 

As Emily Trees, a critic of Halo, said while speaking to BBC Newsbeat, “We’ve spent the last 50 years trying to come away from the stereotypes around women’s sport, and trying to make women’s sport seen as an entity in itself rather than just as an extension of what men can do. We deserve our own space, something that’s ours. We don’t need to be the ‘little sister’ to anyone.” 

Instead of inclusion, treating women fans as sports fans first, Halo offered segregation and infantilization.

Moreover, meaningful inclusion means putting women in the room in decision-making, leadership roles. If Halo’s planning team had been composed of women, the account would not have even considered including such content. Women should not just be the target audience; they should shape and create the very narratives and campaigns that are aimed at them.

The demise of Sky Sports’ Halo is not a sign that women do not want sports content tailored to them. It is a sign that they want it to be authentic, respectful, and true to their views around sports. Sky Sports attempted to build a space alongside its main channels, but women do not need a separate space—they need to be at the forefront of the media they care about.