In recent years, the gaming industry has seen a surge in conversations surrounding inclusivity and representation, and the sports gaming genre is no exception. Electronic Arts (EA) has always been at the forefront of sports video games. With the launch of FIFA 23, the developer has aimed to break new ground by fully integrating women’s football into the game. However, this move has sparked considerable debate, with critics labeling the game as “woke” for its efforts to promote inclusivity. Let’s delve into the implications of this change and what it means for the future of gaming.

Critics of the developer’s decision to incorporate women’s football often use the term “woke” to describe what they perceive as a forced attempt to cater to contemporary societal trends. For some, the idea of inclusivity feels like an unwelcome shift from the traditional formats they grew up with. They argue that gaming should remain a representation of traditional norms and that introducing female athletes dilutes the authenticity of sports games.

However, this critique overlooks a critical point: the essence of gaming is rooted in evolution and adaptation. Just as the real-world sports landscape has changed to become more inclusive, video games should reflect these shifts, too. The backlash can be viewed as resistance against broader societal changes that embrace diversity and equality.

The introduction of women into FIFA 23 is more than just a marketing gimmick; it serves to inspire a new generation of gamers and athletes. By showcasing women’s leagues and players, EA is empowering young girls to see themselves in roles that were previously reserved for men. This visibility can be pivotal in fostering interest in women’s sports, encouraging participation, and promoting gender equality in athletics. Moreover, sports games have historically been a platform for players to connect with their favorite teams and players.

I believe that as we move forward, it is essential for developers to continue prioritizing inclusivity. Embracing diversity not only enriches the gaming experience but also sends a powerful message: everyone deserves a place in the world of sports, whether in reality or in the virtual realm. In embracing this change, perhaps we can pave the way for a more inclusive future in gaming for everyone.

I began to grow breasts at age 10. Ever since the peripherals of puberty were on my horizon, my body (and my body is me) was not treated the same. I hardly recall a time that (how did Young put it?) my motility was not governed by the social laws of femininity. Laws, not constructs; it took me 15 years to begin to grasp the echoes of possibility that the rules I lived by were not fundamental, that I was not born into a natural hierarchy where my sex, my race, my disability, and my sexuality governed my worth and my right to take up space. I am re-learning a concept I was socialized away from as a young child- that I get to take up space, because I exist. Feminine motility // the movement of a feminine being born into a female body. Ever since my body hinted at a slender waist, since my breasts came into existence, the world I have lived in has not been the same. Unlike some female philosophers, I blame this not on the experience of womanhood itself, but on the experience of my womanhood which is experienced by others through their truths, their beliefs, their internal “laws”- which is in return projected onto me.

When I was 11, I wanted to swim with the other kids in the pool. They were kicking in the water, laughing, splashing, shrieking in delight. I wanted to join them. Most of the girls had not yet grown breasts, most possessed the lanky build that children often do. I stepped to jump in, still clad in a shirt; I’d forgotten my swimsuit at home. But I heard the mothers of the other girls talking about me. “Oh, is she going to swim in a white shirt? That’s kind of inappropriate, people will see her chest! She’s so irresponsible. Her shirt will cling to her [chest] and the men will see!”
I heard my own mother agree with them that I should stay out of the water, that it was the proper thing to do. They didn’t know I could hear them, they were going to wait and watch to see if I had enough “self-awareness” (shame about inhabiting a curvaceous body) to stay out of the pool. And I did, after hearing those words; my heart was a paper with “self-love” written on it that was crumpled and brought to a flame; a dark cloud called shame took over.

Mother thought she was protecting me, you see? Every shirt she asked me to change out of, every time she said my breasts were too big, my butt was too pronounced; every time she told me my friendliness (not flirtiness) with the opposite sex should be inhibited out of propriety was out of her urge to protect me from being perceived as “impure”, as “sexual”. And that says so much, doesn’t it? Mothers pass on these restrictive “laws” and tear away at the self-worth of the person they hold so dearly- their own daughters. Teaching them that to be a good woman is to not love yourself, not take up space, to be demure, never “ask for it”, never cause a scene. They suffocate their daughters, freedom is the air that some women have died for because they were tired of feeling throttled by untrue “laws” their entire lives. But hey, it’s out of love, isn’t it?

**This post contains the usage of the f-slur as it’s a term I’ve found encompasses me to a certain capacity. If this offends you, please feel free to keep scrolling**

I think there’s a point when people give up on you. And that sounds more melodramatic than I intend, but there’s truth to it. So often we talk about trans people from a place of unlearning and relearning gendered roles in society, but what about those that were never taught at all? An argument can be made that most gendered thoughts and behaviors come from the unconscious – what is reproduced in the world around us – and I don’t discredit that. But how does the world teach gender to a child whose gender is unintelligible, a lost cause? A father can only teach his “son” so much. The most formal gender schooling I received was years of sports, before he realized I was a lost cause. An incredibly awkward sex talk, before he realized I was a lost cause. Scoldings for playing my mother’s heels, before he realized I was a lost cause. Treated like a fag and lived as a closeted transsexual: the gift of visibility is one I would not force on anyone. 

 Some people have the capability to be straight-passing, cis-passing, white-passing, but in truth I’ve never tasted that luxury. I wasn’t always an outcast, though there were times when it certainly felt like I was, but I was always visible. Like a lighthouse on the shore directing all eyes on me the moment I walked into a room. I do not have the luxury of blending into the shadows or disappearing into a crowd, so I learned to lean into it.

 Visibility is a blessing and a curse. It drives away those who would cast malice behind my back but encourages those who would to my face. But the pressures of constantly being seen take a toll. Eyes glued to you no matter where you go, the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you carry yourself cut open and dissected for the world to see. In my case, to be seen is to be known. You’re turned inside out with your most delicate vulnerabilities on display. But in that comes community. Whether it’s an innocuous smile across the room from someone just like you, or unknowingly giving a stranger the confidence to start living, to be seen is to exist outside of yourself. To be seen is to contain multitudes. To be seen is heavy, but it is never a burden one must shoulder alone.

In “Throwing Like a Girl,” Young conceptualizes the idea of “inhibited intentionality,” in which the capability and movement of bodies are limited based on gendered ideations. In other words, gendered notions teach us about how we are to move our bodies, with girls being told to not move so freely and boys being told the opposite. With this, I am reminded of a story from my mom’s childhood.

As she recalls this story, my mom once slapped one of her younger brothers in the face due to him making her overwhelmingly upset. Based on other stories that she has told, I figured that this was a common occurrence. My mom is the oldest of five, with two younger brothers and two younger sisters. She always laughed as she remembered the instances in which she got into physical fights with her younger sisters; yet, for some reason, this story with her brother was not as funny. 

“I felt bad because I had felt like I made him feel like less of a man.” 

“He was only a teenager, and I felt like I attacked his masculinity.”

As she recalls this instance, she expresses remorse and regret. She had no problem fighting her younger sisters, but when she physically slapped her brother, she thought she had crossed a line as a woman. Not because she was in the wrong, but because she felt she had taken up too much space. She moved in a way that should have been restricted because she now had committed the “crime” of stepping beyond the restraint of gendered movement. 

As Young states, “feminine bodily existence is an inhibited intentionality, which simultaneously reaches toward a projected end with an “I can” and withholds its full bodily commitment to that end in a self-imposed “I cannot.” In the case of my mom, she had stepped outside on these ideations and realized that she “could.” Yet, because of the expectations set for women and their bodies, my mom felt the self-inflicted reaction that she “shouldn’t.” In other words, once she realized that she “could,” her first thought afterward was that she “shouldn’t have.” And ever since, she still feels the same way. Instead of withholding her movement, resulting in a self-imposed “I can’t,” my mom fully committed and resulted in a self-imposed “I shouldn’t have.” In this sense, it becomes clear the ways in which we are socialized to not only police other bodies but also our own. Once we learn what we “can” or “can’t,” we try our best to maintain those limits. However, if we go beyond them, we do our best to compensate by replacing the ”I can’t” with an “I shouldn’t have.” 

I’ll admit it—I’ve heard “you throw like a girl” more times than I care to count. And every time I hear it, it hurts my pride at least. So it always made me want to prove them wrong. But then I came across “Throwing Like a Girl” by feminist philosopher Iris Marion Young, and it completely changed how I thought about that phrase. Young doesn’t just talk about throwing a ball; she dives deep into how society shapes the way women use their bodies. According to Young, the reason girls tend to throw without using their full bodies isn’t because they can’t—it’s because they’ve been conditioned to hold back. This social conditioning fosters self-doubt and a fear of judgment, leading to self-consciousness and unhealthy comparisons. In order to see this, we need to challenge these societal norms and encourage women to embrace their physicality and confidence. In defining this confidence it means embracing yourself, taking risks, and being bold about who you are. It’s about recognizing that your worth is not defined by how others see you, but by how you see yourself.”She writes, “Girls do not bring their whole bodies into motion… they tend to remain relatively immobile except for their arms” (p. 142). 

This really resonates with me. It’s not just about throwing; it’s evident in how we sit, walk, and carry ourselves. There’s this unspoken rule that women should take up less space, move carefully, and be less bold. We’re told not to be too smart or show too much emotion, and we constantly worry about our outfits being too revealing or not revealing enough. These expectations limit our authenticity and confidence. Recognizing these societal pressures is the first step toward embracing our true selves and challenging those constraints. Young argues that this isn’t about biology. It’s not that girls are naturally less powerful in their movements; it’s that society tells us, from a young age, that we should be. She states, “We reduce women’s condition simply to unintelligibility if we ‘explain’ it by appealing to some natural and ahistorical feminine essence” (p. 138). This highlights the danger of oversimplifying women’s experiences. It makes me reflect on how often society tries to define women through fixed, supposedly “natural” traits, ignoring the complex social and historical influences that shape our identities.

Reading this passage made me think about how I carry myself. I’ve always been told to sit neatly, cross my legs, and keep my arms tight. But why? Boys don’t get the same message. They’re taught to sprawl, take up space, and own their physical presence.  Young’s essay made me see that these differences are deeply rooted in the expectations placed on us. It’s not just about how we throw—it’s about how we’ve been taught to exist in the world. And maybe it’s time we start throwing like we mean it and being seen as we truly are and not what people see us as.