The Formula 1 Fangirl’s Race for Respect
Last weekend, Marina Bay transformed, as it has every year of my life. Floodlights and grandstands took over the area as the Singapore Grand Prix roared to life. The circuit twists through the heart of the city, past landmarks I’ve walked by a hundred times. For one weekend a year, these familiar streets morph into a high-speed theater where 20 cars scream through 19 turns. It’s dazzling, chaotic, the epitome of precision engineering. And yet, for many female Formula 1 fans, there’s a shadow that lingers over the energy: the expectation that we prove our love for the sport is authentic.
I can’t count the number of times the same handful of questions are directed at us. “Who were three drivers on the 1983 grid?” “Let me guess, is Leclerc your favorite driver?” Of course, I can’t leave out the trivia go-to: “What’s DRS?” (At least that one will be updated in 2026, now that Manual Override Mode is set to take over the Drag Reduction System. “What’s MOM” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, though.)
No one throws these questions at men. No one assumes a male fan is there because he finds Lando Norris attractive, or that he only knows about the sport through the Netflix reality show Drive to Survive. But for women, our legitimacy of passion is immediately questioned. Our interests are not allowed to stand alone.
“PULLQUOTE”
Sports culture tolerates––even celebrates––the extremes of male fandom. In 2020, roughly six thousand ticketless, predominantly male English football fans stormed Wembley Stadium during the Euro finals. This violent behavior was largely brushed off as simply “disorderly.” Meanwhile, women are often ridiculed for expressing their interests, immediately labeled as obsessed fangirls. One is treated as an authentic dedication. The other, juvenile nonsense.
F1 is built upon a foundation of engineering excellence and data-driven strategy. As someone interested in engineering, I am drawn to the technical brilliance that makes the sport possible at its current level––how something as seemingly minuscule as the shape of the front wing end plates can influence vehicle downforce. I am not alone in this. Whether it’s the marketing tactics, tire strategies, race craft, or simply the unique environment F1 brings, each fan has a connection to the sport, gender aside. Instead of welcoming their passion, gatekeepers to the sport roll their eyes, eager to minimize women’s motives down to drama or romance.
This isn’t unique to motorsport. From Taylor Swift to The Summer I Turned Pretty to Pilates, women’s interests have repeatedly been delegitimized. When women rallied around boy bands like One Direction, their excitement was devalued, reduced to mere romantic obsession. “Fangirl” is treated as an insult, associated with blind infatuation, while “fanboy” has historically connoted deep knowledge of a subject.
The language itself reveals bias. The term “fangirl” isn’t just a playful label; it carries the weight of history. The word holds its foundation in the centuries-old stereotype of hysteria, where women’s emotions are pathologized as hormonally irrational. When excitement and creativity are shamed as “fangirling,” it suggests that women’s methods of engaging with culture are inherently less serious. It implies that our interests cannot stem from more than gossip and romance. By treating “fangirl” as an insult or punchline, we dismiss a powerful truth: women’s interests are not less authentic, nor is their fan expression more trivial.
The side of fandom distinct from mindless obsession has never belonged exclusively to men. The difference in women’s treatment within Formula 1 lies beyond just how we are spoken about. It’s in the very assumption that we must justify our presence, the belief that it’s acceptable to gatekeep an entire sport on the basis of gender. When the lights went out in Singapore last Sunday, I was captivated––not because I had anything to prove, but because women’s interests have always belonged under the floodlights.