Callie Maddox, Miami University For most baseball fans, hope springs eternal on Opening Day. Many of those fans – more than you might think – are women. A 2024 survey found that women made up 39% of those who attended or watched Major League Baseball games, and franchises have taken notice. The Philadelphia Phillies offer behind-the-scenes tours and clinics for their female fans, while the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees offer fantasy camps that are geared to women. The number of women working professionally in baseball has also grown. Kim Ng made history in 2020 when she became the first woman general manager of an MLB team, the Miami Marlins. As of 2023, women made up 30% of central office professional staff and 27% of team senior administration jobs. In addition, 43 women held coaching and managerial jobs across the major and minor league levels – a 95% increase in just two years. As a fan and scholar of the game, I’m happy to see more women watching baseball and working in the industry. But it still nags at me that the girls and women who play baseball don’t get much recognition, particularly in the U.S.

Women take the field

In the U.S., baseball is seen as a sport for boys and men. Girls and women, on the other hand, are supposed to play softball, which uses a bigger ball and has a smaller field. It wasn’t always this way. Women have been playing baseball in the U.S. since at least the 1860s. At women’s colleges such as Smith and Vassar, students organized baseball teams as early as 1866. The first professional women’s baseball team was known as the Dolly Vardens, a team of Black players formed in Philadelphia in 1867. Barnstorming teams, known as Bloomer Girls, traveled across the country to play against men’s teams from the 1890s to the 1930s, providing the players with independence and the means to make a living.

The All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, founded by Philip K. Wrigley in 1943, also offered women the chance to play professionally. The league, which inspired the 1992 film “A League of Their Own,” enforced rigid norms of femininity expected at the time. Players were required to wear skirts and makeup while playing and were fined if they engaged in any behavior deemed “unladylike.” Teams were open only to white women and light-skinned Latinas. Black women were not allowed to play, a policy that reflected the segregation of the Jim Crow era. Three Black women – Connie Morgan, Mamie “Peanut” Johnson and Toni Stone – did play in the otherwise male Negro Leagues in the early 1950s. However, their skills were often downplayed by claims that they’d been signed to generate ticket sales and boost interest in the struggling league. The All-American Girls Professional Baseball League folded in 1954, and by the late-1950s women’s participation in baseball had dwindled.

Girls funneled into softball

Softball was invented in Chicago in 1887 as an indoor alternative to baseball. Originally aimed at both men and women, it eventually became the accepted sport for girls and women due to its smaller field, larger ball and underhand pitching style – aspects deemed suitable for the supposedly weaker and more delicate female body. The passage of Title IX in 1972 further pushed the popularization of fast-pitch softball, as participation in high school and college increased markedly. In 1974, the National Organization for Women filed a lawsuit against Little League Baseball because the league’s charter excluded girls from playing. The lawsuit was successful, and girls were permitted to join teams. In response, Little League created Little League Softball as a way to funnel girls into softball instead of baseball. As political scientist Jennifer Ring has pointed out, this decision reinforced the gendered division of each sport and “cemented the post-Title IX segregated masculinity of baseball.” Girls can still play baseball, but most are encouraged to eventually switch to softball if they want to pursue college scholarships. If they want to keep playing baseball, they have to constantly confront stubborn cultural beliefs and assumptions that they should be playing softball instead.

A global game

You might be surprised to learn that the U.S. fields a national women’s baseball team that competes in the Women’s Baseball World Cup. But they receive scant media attention and remain unknown to most baseball fans. In a 2019 article published in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues, I argued that the U.S. has experienced inconsistent success on the global stage because of a lack of infrastructure, limited resources and persistent gendered assumptions that hamper the development of women’s baseball. Other countries such as Japan, Canada and Australia have established solid pathways that allow girls and women to pursue baseball from the youth level through high school and beyond. That being said, opportunities for girls to play baseball are increasing in the U.S. thanks to the efforts of organizations such as Baseball for All and DC Girls Baseball. Approximately 1,300 girls play high school baseball, and a handful of young women play on men’s college baseball teams each year. In recent years, numerous women’s collegiate club baseball teams have been established; there’s even an annual tournament to crown a national champion.

Pro league in the works

Momentum continues to build. MLB recently appointed Veronica Alvarez as its first girls baseball ambassador, who will oversee development programs such as the Trailblazers Series and the Elite Development Invitational. A new documentary film, “See Her Be Her,” is touring the country to celebrate the growth of women’s baseball and raise awareness of the challenges these athletes face. Perhaps most significantly, the Women’s Pro Baseball League announced that it is planning to start play in summer 2026 with six teams located in the northeastern U.S. Over 500 players from 11 countries have registered with the league, with a scouting camp and player draft scheduled for later this year. Should the league have success, it will mark a revitalization of women’s professional baseball in the U.S., a nod to the rich history of the women’s game and a commitment to securing opportunities for the girls and women who continue to defy cultural norms to play the game they love. Callie Maddox, Associate Professor of Sport Leadership and Management, Miami University This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Jessica Maddox, University of Alabama and Jess Rauchberg, Seton Hall University Since 2020, content creator Remi Bader had accumulated millions of TikTok followers by offering her opinions on the fits of popular clothing brands as a plus-size woman. In 2023, however, Bader appeared noticeably thinner. When some fans asked her whether she’d undergone a procedure, she blocked them. Later that year, she announced that she would no longer be posting about her body. Enter snark subreddits. On Reddit, these forums exist for the sole purpose of calling out internet celebrities, whether they’re devoted to dinging the late-night antics of self-described “hot mess” Alix Earle or venting over Savannah and Cole LaBrant, a family vlogging couple who misleadingly implied that their daughter had cancer. While the internet is synonymous with fan culture, snark subreddits aren’t for enthusiasts. Instead, snarkers are anti-fans who hone the art of hating.

After Bader’s refusal to talk about her weight loss, the Remi Bader snark subreddit blew up. Posters weren’t upset that Bader had lost weight or had stopped posting about her body size. Instead, they believed Bader the influencer, who’d built her brand on plus-size inclusion in fashion, wasn’t being straight with her fans and needed to be taken to account. It worked. During a March 2025 appearance on Khloe Kardashian’s podcast, Bader finally revealed that she had, in fact, had weight-loss surgery. Some critics see snarkers as a big problem and understandably denounce their tendency to harass, body shame and try to cancel influencers. But completely dismissing snark glosses over the fact that it can serve a purpose. In our work as social media researchers, we’ve written about how snark can actually be thought of as a way to call out bad actors in the largely unregulated world of influencing and content creation.

Grassroots policing

Before there were influencers, there were bloggers. While bloggers covered topics that ranged from entertainment to politics to travel, parenting and fashion bloggers probably have the closest connection to today’s influencers. After Google introduced AdSense in 2003, bloggers were easily able to run advertising on their websites. Then brands saw an opportunity. Parenting and fashion bloggers had large, loyal followings. Many readers felt an intimate connection to their favorite bloggers, who seemed more like friends than out-of-touch celebrity spokespersons. Brands realized they could send bloggers their products in exchange for a write-up or a feature. Furthermore, advertisers understood that parenting and fashion bloggers didn’t have to adhere to the same industry regulations or code of ethics as most news media outlets, such as disclosing payments or conflicts of interest. This changed the dynamic between bloggers and their fans, who wondered whether bloggers could be trusted if they were sometimes being paid to promote certain products. In response, websites emerged in 2009 to critique bloggers. “Get Off My Internets,” for example, fashioned itself as a “quality control watchdog” to provide constructive criticism and call out deceptive practices. As Instagram and YouTube became more popular, the subreddit “r/Blogsnark” launched in 2015 to critique early influencers, in addition to bloggers.

Few guardrails in place

Today the influencer industry has a valuation of over US$250 billion in the U.S. alone, and it’s on track to be worth over $500 billion by 2027. Yet there are few regulations in place for influencers. A few laws have emerged to protect child influencers, and the U.S. Federal Trade Commission has established legal guidelines for sponsored content. That said, the influencing industry remains rife with exploitation. It goes both ways: Corporations can exploit influencers. For example, a 2021 study found that Black influencers receive below-market offers compared with white influencers.

Likewise, influencers can deceive or exploit their followers. They might use unrealistic body filters to appear thinner than they are. They could hide who’s paying them. They may promote health misinformation such as the controversial ParaGuard cleanse, a fake treatment pushed by wellness influencers that claimed to rid its users of parasites. Or, in the case of Remi Bader, they might gain a huge following by promoting body positivity, only to conceal a weight-loss procedure from their fans. For disappointed fans or followers who feel burned, snark can seem like the only regulatory guardrail in an industry that has gone largely unchecked. Think of snark as a Better Business Bureau for the untamable world of influencing – a form of accountability that brings attention to the scammers and hustlers.

Keeping it real

Todays’s snark exists at the intersection of gossip and cancel culture. Though cancel culture certainly has its faults, we approach cancel culture in our writing as a worthy tool that allows audiences to hold the powerful accountable. For example, communities of color have joined forces to call out racists, as they did in 2024 when they exposed lifestyle influencer Brooke Schofield’s anti-Black tweets. Influencers build trust with their audiences based on being “real” and relatable. But there’s nothing preventing them from breaking that trust, and snarkers can swoop in to point out bad behavior or hypocrisy. Within the competitive world of family vlogging, snarkers see themselves as doing more than stirring the pot. They’re truth-tellers who bring injustices to light, such as abuse and child labor exploitation. Some of this exposure is paying off, with more and more states introducing and passing family vlogger laws that require children to one day receive a portion of their parents’ earnings or restrict how often children can appear in their parents’ videos. Yes, snark can veer into cyberbullying. But that shouldn’t discount its value as a tool for transparency. Influencers are ultimately brands. They sell audiences ideas, lifestyles and products. When people feel as if they’ve been misled, we think they have every right to call it out. Jessica Maddox, Assistant Professor of Journalism and Creative Media, University of Alabama and Jess Rauchberg, Assistant Professor of Communication Technologies, Seton Hall University This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Cora Fox, Arizona State University

What is “happiness” – and who gets to be happy?

Since 2012, the World Happiness Report has measured and compared data from 167 countries. The United States currently ranks 24th, between the U.K. and Belize – its lowest position since the report was first issued. But the 2025 edition – released on March 20, the United Nations’ annual “International Day of Happiness” – starts off not with numbers, but with Shakespeare.

“In this year’s issue, we focus on the impact of caring and sharing on people’s happiness,” the authors explain. “Like ‘mercy’ in Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant of Venice,’ caring is ‘twice-blessed’ – it blesses those who give and those who receive.”

Shakespeare’s plays offer many reflections on happiness itself. They are a record of how people in early modern England experienced and thought about joy and satisfaction, and they offer a complex look at just how happiness, like mercy, lives in relationships and the caring exchanges between people.

Contrary to how we might think about happiness in our everyday lives, it is more than the surge of positive feelings after a great meal, or a workout, or even a great date. The experience of emotions is grounded in both the body and the mind, influenced by human physiology and culture in ways that change depending on time and place. What makes a person happy, therefore, depends on who that person is, as well as where and when they belong – or don’t belong.

Happiness has a history. I study emotions and early modern literature, so I spend a lot of my time thinking about what Shakespeare has to say about what makes people happy, in his own time and in our own. And also, of course, what makes people unhappy.

From fortune to joy

“Happiness” derives from the Old Norse word “hap,” which meant “fortune” or “luck,” as historians Phil Withington and Darrin McMahon explain. This earlier sense is found throughout Shakespeare’s works. Today, it survives in the modern word “happenstance” and the expression that something is a “happy accident.”

But in modern English usage, “happy” as “fortunate” has been almost entirely replaced by a notion of happiness as “joy,” or the more long-term sense of life satisfaction called “well-being.” The term “well-being,” in fact, was introduced into English from the Italian “benessere” around the time of Shakespeare’s birth.

The word and the concept of happiness were transforming during Shakespeare’s lifetime, and his use of the word in his plays mingles both senses: “fortunate” and “joyful.” That transitional ambiguity emphasizes happiness’ origins in ideas about luck and fate, and it reminds readers and playgoers that happiness is a contingent, fragile thing – something not just individuals, but societies need to carefully cultivate and support.

For instance, early in “Othello,” the Venetian senator Brabantio describes his daughter Desdemona as “tender, fair, and happy / So opposite to marriage that she shunned / The wealthy, curled darlings of our nation.” Before she elopes with Othello she is “happy” in the sense of “fortunate,” due to her privileged position on the marriage market.

Later in the same play, though, Othello reunites with his new wife in Cyprus and describes his feelings of joy using this same term:

…If it were now to die,
‘Twere now to be most happy, for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

Desdemona responds,

The heavens forbid
But that our loves and comforts should increase
Even as our days do grow!

They both understand “happy” to mean not just lucky, but “content” and “comfortable,” a more modern understanding. But they also recognize that their comforts depend on “the heavens,” and that happiness is enabled by being fortunate.

“Othello” is a tragedy, so in the end, the couple will not prove “happy” in either sense. The foreign general is tricked into believing his young wife has been unfaithful. He murders her, then takes his own life.

The seeds of jealousy are planted and expertly exploited by Othello’s subordinate, Iago, who catalyzes the racial prejudice and misogyny underlying Venetian values to enact his sinister and cruel revenge.

Happy insiders and outsiders

“Othello” sheds light on happiness’s history – but also on its politics.

While happiness is often upheld as a common good, it is also dependent on cultural forces that make it harder for some individuals to experience. Shared cultural fantasies about happiness tend to create what theorist Sara Ahmed calls “affect aliens”: individuals who, by nature of who they are and how they are treated, experience a disconnect between what their culture conditions them to think should make them happy and their disappointment or exclusion from those positive feelings. Othello, for example, rightly worries that he is somehow foreign to the domestic happiness Desdemona describes, excluded from the joy of Venetian marriage. It turns out he is right.

Because Othello is foreign and Black and Desdemona is Venetian and white, their marriage does not conform to their society’s expectations for happiness, and that makes them vulnerable to Iago’s deceit.

Similarly, “The Merchant of Venice” examines the potential for happiness to include or exclude, to build or break communities. Take the quote about mercy that opens the World Happiness Report.

The phrase appears in a famous courtroom scene, as Portia attempts to persuade a Jewish lender, Shylock, to take pity on Antonio, a Christian man who cannot pay his debts. In their contract, Shylock has stipulated that if Antonio defaults on the loan, the fee will be a “pound of flesh.”

“The quality of mercy is not strained,” Portia lectures him; it is “twice-blessed,” benefiting both giver and receiver.

It’s a powerful attempt to save Antonio’s life. But it is also hypocritical: Those cultural norms of caring and mercy seem to apply only to other Christians in the play, and not the Jewish people living alongside them in Venice. In that same scene, Shylock reminds his audience that Antonio and the other Venetians in the room have spit on him and called him a dog. He famously asks why Jewish Venetians are not treated as equal human beings: “If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

Shakespeare’s plays repeatedly make the point that the unjust distribution of rights and care among various social groups – Christians and Jews, men and women, citizens and foreigners – challenges the happy effects of benevolence.

Those social factors are sometimes overlooked in cultures like the U.S., where contemporary notions of happiness are marketed by wellness gurus, influencers and cosmetic companies. Shakespeare’s plays reveal both how happiness is built through communities of care and how it can be weaponized to destroy individuals and the fabric of the community.

There are obvious victims of prejudice and abuse in Shakespeare’s plays, but he does not just emphasize their individual tragedies. Instead, the plays record how certain values that promote inequality poison relationships that could otherwise support happy networks of family and friends.

Systems of support

Pretty much all objective research points to the fact that long-term happiness depends on community, connections and social support: having systems in place to weather what life throws at us.

And according to both the World Happiness Report and Shakespeare, contentment isn’t just about the actual support you receive but your expectations about people’s willingness to help you. Societies with high levels of trust, like Finland and the Netherlands, tend to be happier – and to have more evenly distributed levels of happiness in their populations.

Shakespeare’s plays offer blueprints for trust in happy communities. They also offer warnings about the costs of cultural fantasies about happiness that make it more possible for some, but not for all.

Cora Fox, Associate Professor of English and Health Humanities, Arizona State University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.