Being the wife or girlfriend (WAG) of a famous footballer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me.
We met in a dark, dingy nightclub. It was back when you could still smoke indoors and I spotted him through a grey cloud. He was surrounded by lots of people behind a velvet rope. My 18-year-old self couldn’t possibly think of anything cooler than a guy with a posse behind a rope. HOT.
We chatted, he got my number and informed me that we’d be going out to dinner the very next evening.
I knew that the mysterious man was a Someone (the rope and the posse gave it away) but it wasn’t until I casually mentioned his name in front of my family the next day, that I realised he was a Pretty Big Deal Someone in the sporting world. The football (as in soccer, not NRL) world, in particular.
My brother, a soccer lover, was very, very impressed.
The Footballer and I did go on our first date that evening. He picked me up in his fancy car, wearing fancy clothes. We had a fancy dinner, and then went back for a drink at his fancy-pants house. It was all very cliché.
I fell in love hard and fast. We were “official” after a couple of weeks of knowing each other, and that was it: I was the girlfriend of a famous sportsman.
A WAG. Life was suddenly looking pretty damn fancy.
Lesson One in How To Be A Good WAG: Even if you think you’re not the kind of person that’s into showy things… you may surprise yourself because being truly wined and dined is alluring. (Caveat: It truly wasn’t The Footballer’s “things” that attracted me to him, I was in love with him as a person. The “things” were a nice cherry on top, though.)
Only a few months after knowing each other, my footballer got a call that would change both of our lives.
His agent called to say that he’d been offered a multi-million dollar deal with a club in the UK, a.k.a. the Promised Land for Aussie soccer players. He had to move there in a week and the contract was for a few years. His bags basically packed themselves.
If I wanted to be with him, I would need to follow him. Quit my job, leave my family and hop on an aeroplane.
Lesson Two in How To Be A Good WAG: You must be able (and willing) to pick up your whole life at a moment’s notice and move to whichever city your partner requires. Most contracts are no longer than a few years and players move quickly and often.
Inside the life of a WAG. By Zoe Foster. Who never wants to be one again.
So, that’s exactly what I did.
He left a couple of months before me because the new season was about to start and the club required him ASAP. We had a tearful goodbye at the airport, with TV cameras looking on. This was my first taste of what was coming: Footballers don’t get privacy.
The lack of privacy is a little easier to swallow when you consider some of the perks. The Footballer was able to fly me first class to the UK to start our new life. I felt like an imposter putting on those silky aeroplane PJs, handed out to the select few sitting at the very front of the plane.
Lesson Three in How To Be A Good WAG: One never, ever, ever flies economy, dah-ling.
Victoria Beckham, eat your heart out.
I arrived in our new home in the dead of English winter, and damn was it cold. So cold, that the last thing you’d want to do is go and sit on the sidelines of a big, windy soccer field. But I learnt quickly that missing a game was just not on. WAGs are required at every match, and with a smile, thank you very much. Lesson Four.
The club had provided him with a beautiful home and car, so we were very comfortable, wanting for nothing. But we had both moved away from all of our friends and families. Neither of us knew a soul in this city, and while he had all the lads that he played and trained with every day, I didn’t have anyone.
Lesson Five: Being a WAG is so very lonely at times. When you’re living in a foreign city, your life revolves around your footballer, their training and their games. Training is every day and it takes up most of it, and there’s a match every weekend. If you’re not working, your only contact with other human beings is at the football club.
The other WAGs have usually come from all over the world and there are language barriers, different levels of WAG-ness, and a myriad of other factors that stand in the way of forging meaningful friendships. Think Mean Girls, but older and with loads more money.
Competition is rife: Who has the latest Balenciaga bag, whose house is best, who has the cutest children. There is a Queen WAG at most clubs and what she does sets the tone, everyone else must live up to her expectations.
God Bless WAGS and their fashion choices.
I was a poor, early twentysomething, unemployed Aussie girl and I felt like I had to keep up. My Footballer loved nice things, but he didn’t give a shit if I was wearing designer or Zara. It was the other WAGs whom I felt judged by: My High Street jeans were not a hit in the family box on game days.
Once I caved and bought a Miu Miu blazer for a sickening amount of money. I still have it and every time I look at it, I think of how much I was swept up in that world – I got caught up in thinking that I was only as good as my last purchase.
Experiencing the attention that sports stars and their partners received firsthand, did make me understand why so many people in this world care about appearances.
Think about how much media attention Aussie NRL players get, times that by approximately a bazillion, and that’s how much attention these guys have on them at all times, particularly in the UK. They are like Gods in these towns, and there are cameras, many cameras, all of the time.
The one time I got papped with The Footballer I was picking my nose. And the local newspaper published said pic.
Lesson Six in How To Be A Good WAG: In public you must be ON, all the time, or risk someone publishing a picture of you with your unladylike finger up your undignified nose.
The hard-core attention has other downsides…
You can’t get anything, like supermarket shopping, done quickly because every person in the street wants to stop and chat to your footballer. You will also get pushed aside so that they can get photographs with just him.
You need to get used to people hurling abuse at you because the fans from other teams can be vocal and nasty.
Women will throw themselves at him regularly. You can’t be jealous of this or you will drive yourself crazy.
Some of the guys (and WAGs) let fame go massively to their heads and they’re complete and utter douche bags. They demand things and expect people to lick poo off their shoes. You are forced to spend time with these vile people. Regularly.
No you’re not.
None of the above is particularly fun.
After reading this, you probably think I HATED being a WAG. Truth is, I didn’t. There were so many experiences that were fun and glamourous.
It was lovely seeing my partner have the means to buy houses (uh, houses) for his family. During the off-season we were able to take some pretty amazing holidays, and yes, there were some astonishing gifts.
I even met some famous people, and got access to clubs/restaurants/parties that commoners like me usually don’t.
I enjoyed being swept up in that unrealistic world for a little while. Only for a little while, though…
After a couple of years I knew that a WAG’s life wasn’t for me, I wanted to advance my career and live where I wanted to live. I wanted to be able to plan things without my whole life being dictated by someone else’s career. I wanted to be able to walk down the street in trackies and not care what I looked like.
These things aren’t possible when your boyfriend is a footballer playing in Europe. So, The Footballer and I split up. It was all very amicable and I still feel very proud of all that he has achieved. I moved to London by myself and had the time of my life. I was poor and my existence wasn’t even the slightest bit fancy, but that suited me just fine.
I’d had my little taste of “the other side” and realised that I liked normal and everyday much more. So the main lesson I learnt from my time as a WAG, is that all of the glitz of that world doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be happy: sometimes achieving your own goals and following your own dreams is much more rewarding.
Top Comments
My husband was a professional footy player for 10 years. He wasn't no Chris Judd or Billy Slater, although he was well known amongst footy fans, but not so much your general public who didn't really watch the game.
We met before he was drafted so my story is maybe a bit different. I did have to move states and I too was extremely lonely. I don't really fit in here, and have never fitted into the 'footy world', although I met some lovely friends through the footy club. I found the other women to be very friendly and inclusive although it just wasn't really my scene and we already had kids (and no babysitters), whereas none of the others did. I also put my career on hold, but that was more because it was impossible for me to hold the fort at home with the kids and support his career AND have my own career. His career set us up financially so I felt I had to put time and effort into that while he was young enough to do it, compared to my career which I am now beginning now that he's finished footy. I don't think this is a lot different to what a lot of women do though with young kids.
I did struggle with media scrutiny, there were a couple of 'incidents' he was reported as being a part of which were complete fabrications/ wires crossed. He is also a very private person, so would feel really stressed out in public with the kids, worried about what people were thinking about how we parent, how many kids we have etc... He didn't like me telling my closest friends about personal stuff in our lives because he worried people would gossip etc. I also struggled with the female attention. All the little football groupies who would hang around in clubs was appalling. So so rude and pushy and shameless! It was also hard making polite small talk with people at footy functions, I'm a very social person and can usually find a common interest with people, but geez, it was really hard sometimes! There was one time a man actually asked me who I 'belong' to... to which I answered 'myself, but I am x's partner, if thats what you mean'!
He was offered contracts in other states after we had left our hometown, and I simply said no, I couldn't move again. While his career was important to us all, I really didn't feel I could move states and start all over again. While this probably meant he missed out on playing in a premiership and may have ended his career prematurely, I believe me and the kids and having some stability in our lives was equally important, thankfully he agreed.
I can honestly say I have never got a 'taste' of the high life. He is not an international star so never made that sort of money. We live a simple life, we have a large extended family plus many children of our own and so don't have a lot of disposable income. We have been able to pay off our house in a nice area (not a flash area though, just nice average suburbia) and I am able to study now, so we live comfortably, but people are often surprised at our lack of anything fancy. I buy most of our clothes at the op shop or on ebay, and our home is simple but nice :)
I remember those days as really difficult days, but I am also thankful for them. It certainly was an experience but mostly I'm grateful we have a home that is ours, that my husband has seen another world outside of our town where we are from, and I used to love watching him play. At the time, I resented my weekends always being taken up by footy, having to always attend weddings on my own, every event we went to people would just talk footy to him and I was invisible... but seeing him play on such a big stage (a game that I still don't really understand properly) will always be a thrill. Its definitely not what people think its like though!
PS, I agree footy players are way overpaid, but they are still people with feelings, and most of them are not dumb. Its kinda nasty when people suggest they are all stupid.
You could not pay me enough money to date the average footballer. They completely fail my "nuclear bunker" test - people who would bring useful skills for after the war and people you want to spend time with. "What do you do for a living?" Footballer. "But do you have any useful skills?"
At 21 years old in a pub in Scotland a footballer chatted me up. I wasn't really interested, he didn't seem very bright, but what sealed the deal, or lack of deal, was when my friend told me he was a footballer when he went to the loo. I made sure to be nowhere in sight when he came back.
To be honest, if you date some bloke at any age because he is behind a rope, you pretty much deserve the horrible time you are almost definitely going to have.