This fall, the Minnesota Vikings made headlines by adding two male cheerleaders, Blaize Shiek and Louie Conn, to a squad that has historically been all-female. The decision drew a mixed response: support from many in the cheer and dance community, but also backlash from some fans and commentators who claim it breaks “tradition.” The controversy has since become part of a larger cultural conversation about gender, representation, and what cheerleading should look like in 2025.
Cheerleading’s image as an all-girl activity is actually more modern than people think. In the late 1800s, the University of Minnesota pioneered “yell leading” with all-male squads. Over the decades, the sport evolved into a dance-and poms-focused performance on NFL sidelines, while competitive cheerleading (with stunts, tumbling, and pyramids) developed as a separate, athletic discipline. The Vikings’ move is part of a broader shift: from the Baltimore Ravens’ inclusion of male stuntmen in the ’90s, to the Rams introducing male dancers in 2018, to more NFL teams quietly broadening their squads since.
Critics, including former players and even politicians, called the Vikings’ decision “sickening” and claimed it would turn fans away. Despite the backlash, the team reported that no season-ticket holders have followed through on canceling. Shiek and Conn themselves responded to the criticism with humor, posting a lighthearted “Wait…did someone say our name?” on Instagram. Their resilience echoes a broader point: cheerleading, whether on the sidelines or the mat, has always demanded toughness, skill, and commitment, no matter who wears the uniform.
The controversy also raises questions when compared to a common high school tradition. At many schools, including Lockport Township High School, pep rallies feature a “boys poms” routine: male students don female uniforms and perform exaggerated dance moves for comic relief. The crowd laughs, teachers cheer, and it’s all treated as harmless fun.
But the contrast is striking: when boys parody cheerleading for laughs, it’s celebrated. When they join for real, it’s met with outrage. That double standard exposes how people are comfortable with gender stereotypes as long as they’re framed as a joke, but uncomfortable when they challenge those norms seriously.
As someone who has cheered for three years on an all-girl high school team, I’ve seen how stereotypes affect athletes firsthand. Cheerleading is often dismissed as “not a real sport” or reduced to how it looks instead of the athleticism it requires. Facing those assumptions hasn’t been easy, but it’s pushed me to prove myself and embrace my passion. That’s why the backlash against the Vikings’ male cheerleaders feels familiar: it’s another example of judging who belongs based on tradition rather than talent.
The Vikings’ choice may feel new, but it’s part of a larger pattern of change in cheerleading’s history. From its all-male roots to today’s evolving NFL sidelines, the sport has constantly redefined itself. Whether fans like it or not, adding men isn’t a betrayal of tradition; it’s a continuation of it.
And maybe that’s the lesson for all of us. If boys can get a standing ovation for imitating cheerleaders as a pep rally joke, then real male cheerleaders deserve respect for putting in the work, earning their spot, and representing their teams. Cheer, after all, has always been about spirit, unity, and passion: and those don’t belong to one gender.
