Community vs Commercialism

• Around the world, political tensions and affordability issues have dampened Gen Z supporters’ enthusiasm for this summer’s tournament
  
  
• But those challenges are inspiring young people to create their own community spaces, outside stadiums and officially-sanctioned fan zones
  
  
• For young fans - and brands looking to connect with them - grassroots connection can reframe (if not always solve) wider ethical concerns

Is there anything greater than singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ in a pub you’ve queued 3 hours to get into, while a watery sun-warmed pint sprays above your head? Almost certainly not. Even if you only really watch football once every four years, the World Cup is all about coming together: a time when conversations with strangers are considered normal, and TVs are lugged outside to share a game with neighbours.

And yet this summer’s tournament has felt different. Beset by political controversy and muted expectations, it felt like the opening game crept up on us without warning. “Before the last World Cup, I was in school and I couldn't wait for the day to arrive. And when it did, it was massive. But this time the first game just popped up out of nowhere. I completely forgot what date it was going to start,” football content creator Junior (23) tells me over the phone in London.

While there have been some positive stories – Curaçao making history as the smallest nation ever to take part in a World Cup, Cape Verde’s heroics in the group stage, the Tartan Army taking over Boston, or Mexican and South Korean fans partying together – the atmosphere has inarguably been affected by the fraught political climate of Trump’s America.

It certainly feels that way for life-long Arsenal fan Varun, who is “deeply ashamed” by his government’s treatment of players and officials. “I was just reading about how a Somalian referee was denied entry to the country. And that was particularly frustrating because, of course, the European or white-presenting people who are present for this World Cup are mostly able to get in no problem. I think that definitely clouds the experience.”

You can feel the disappointment through the phone when speaking to Varun: a tournament that should have been a dream come true has been soured by “prestige, corruption, and class-divide”, he explains. “Perhaps the World Cup would have been better off just happening in Mexico.”

Varun’s perspective contrasts with that of Sofia (25) in Mexico City. Although she says that opinion is divided on whether the money spent on the World Cup could have been better used elsewhere, there’s a real sense of pride in the nation’s warmth and friendliness in comparison to its co-host. 

“I love seeing Mexicans welcome every team that plays or stays here, in the best possible way,” she tells me in a WhatsApp message. “The Iranians weren't welcomed in the United States, but the people of Tijuana made sure to make them feel at home.” This spirit of trans-national unity is continuously referenced as one of the most important attributes of the World Cup in almost all the conversations I have with fans across the globe; a breaking down of linguistic and cultural barriers to find common ground in that most universal game. 

And yet, this year’s tournament feels inseparable from the systems of privilege and access that plague our lives elsewhere – something Junior has felt first-hand. “I got invited to go to America through my job, but I couldn't because of my Brazilian passport. I've been denied entry twice now,” he says, arguing that America’s unwillingness to let certain people into their country is antithetical to what the World Cup is supposed to be about.

“With the World Cup, I feel like every country should be just free to be themselves and show their nation. That's the best bit about the World Cup, watching every single nation bring their culture into one place. But this year, for instance, most of the Senegalese fans weren't allowed to go into the country. So now you won’t see their flags in the stadium.”

These debates are nothing new: from Argentina in 1978 to Qatar in 2022, the World Cup has regularly dealt with allegations of corruption, over-commercialisation and human rights violations. And yet, within a few weeks of the group stage kicking off, those concerns always seem to dissipate. Even if the United States government’s blatant racism has marked a new low, football fans are used to working within these ethically compromised structures.

“There's always those stories where we get reminded of how beautiful the World Cup is and how it brings people together,” admits Varun. “I work in a bar in New York and it's been great to see people coming in wearing different jerseys. It's sparking all these really wonderful conversations between people from different communities."

However depressing the Trump administration's actions have been, fans are still finding meaning in those smaller moments of solidarity amongst everyday people. For 27-year-old Pak in South Korea for example, “it’s the community and culture of football that brings the whole country together,” while 20-year-old Kimberely in Manchester is looking forward to “watching the game with all of [her] fellow supporters, hoping and praying for England to win, as strangers talk to you, and laugh and joke with you, even though you’ve never met.”

And it’s through tapping into this communal spirit that certain brands are effectively showing up for the World Cup this year, by turning their attention away from the competition itself and celebrating, instead, the fan-to-fan unity and wider cultural moments that make the sport so special. Levi’s, for example, hosted a watch-party in collaboration with both Versus and femme-led radio station Foundation FM. But ‘The Denim Terrace’ was much more than just a watch-party. With DJ sets, creative workshops, and art installations, the evening set out to spotlight the “energy that surrounds football beyond the pitch”. Social content showed organic moments between strangers, as well as platforming the music, fashion and creativity that trickles out of the game. 

But can these small pockets of joy ever fully overcome wider structural issues? For Varun in New York, the vibes remain off. “We’re trying our best to create ways of making the World Cup feel good,” he says, “but it seems like such a failure to me that most people I know can't afford tickets… It's just like a hopeless feeling, you know?” 

Even aside from Trumpian politics and immigration rules, the cost of attending games means that even within the US huge numbers of fans remain excluded. “I’m certainly not in a position right now where I could be putting down hundreds or thousands of dollars on World Cup tickets. And these games are happening less than 45 minutes from where I live,” Varun explains. “I’m less of a spectator to this World Cup than people who have flown across the world for it. I resent that.”

Across the board, the tension between fans’ love for the sport and the sense of community it can offer, and the reality of its existence in a wider political structure, is tangible. Simple answers to those frictions feel elusive, but the response of young fans might offer us some starting points.

Because for them, connection comes first from acknowledging that tangibility and not being afraid to address it. Don’t underestimate your audience; they are acutely aware of the moral issues plaguing this World Cup, and brands bold enough to address that are more likely to cut through in a world that tries to ignore it. 

It is only from there, that brands can truly speak to the game on the ground. There are many ways of doing this, but all must come from a place of humanity and mutual understanding. Shine a light on everyday stories of fandom, family and friendship, over exceptional talent and success. Collaborate with hyper-local communities and give them the resources to do what they do best and follow their lead. Show how football collides with different areas of culture to create a beautiful melting pot of ideas, customs and materials. Find the places that mean something to people at a level beyond the ball, the net and the trophy. 

In essence, it’s about approaching the World Cup like an underdog, rather than a Messi or Ronaldo: embodying the success of unfancied nations like Paraguay, the emotional story of the Cape Verde goal-keeper, and the intimate moments of unity that will be held between strangers across the next couple months. It’s these aspects, rather than big brand tie-ins or even the name that ends up etched on the trophy in a few weeks, that really matter.