After winning eight gold medals in Beijing, with a lifetime world record of 14 (so far), you'd think that Michael Phelps would be embraced as an unqualified All-American hero, but following the announcement of his sponsorship deals with Kellogg's Frosted Flakes and McDonald's, a media backlash began. Watchdog group Children's International Obesity Foundation published a press release denouncing Phelps' association with these brands. "CIOF believes that celebrities should think twice before choosing to endorse or encourage the consumption of any product which is inherently unhealthful to children," ran the statement. Media pundits seized on the deals as a chance to knock Phelps down a few pegs, holding up Dara Torres' (who recently sealed a $3 million two-book deal for a memoir and health and fitness book) taste for LivingFuel, which she plugged during an appearance on Late Night with Jay Leno, as a more admirable example of athletic endorsement. Scores of Olympic champions around the world are wrapping up negotiations courted with multinational companies, and the decisions and deals that they are making invite similar scrutiny. The Beijing games highlighted the intimate connections between sports and commerce, and the perceived value of using athletes as international spokespeople, but their aftermath has also revealed the disturbing extent to which the collective obsession with celebrity has displaced an emphasis on personal responsibility.
Star athletes are held to a different behavioral standard than other celebrities because they are seen as role models, and in the case of Olympians, as national ambassadors of sorts. Whereas for an actor or actress, even their bad behavior can sometimes result in a lucrative endorsement deal—Winona Ryder went to trial for shoplifting, and walked out a model for fashion designer Marc Jacobs' next campaign —an Olympian is expected to live up to an idealized image as a national treasure, and the decisions they make with regard to endorsements can have an impact on their public standing. Evan Morgenstein, President of Premier Management Group, whose clients include Amanda Beard and Dara Torres, points out that, "My clients view their responsibility [as] helping young kids and athletes on making the right choices in life, nutrition, education and sportsmanship. They primarily function as role models associated with health and fitness. If you take on the role of being a world-changer, then you need to make decisions that reflect those ideals. In my experience, there is no higher standard set for a celebrity than to be an Olympic athlete."
The Olympic athletic paradigm is increasingly intertwined with the pressures and promises of overt commercialism. The select few who enter the most hallowed ranks of sports history may be tempted to shill for well-paying products that might not meet the litmus test of promoting public health or setting an upstanding example. Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci, who catapulted to international fame after winning five gold medals in the 1976 Montreal games, has proven to be one of the few Olympians with a long-term earning potential, as evident in her recently-inked deal to promote the popular, injectable cosmetic-surgery alternative, Botox. The ads, which also feature Mark Spitz, began airing in the run-up to Beijing, and have prompted an outcry from consumer-advocacy groups like Public Citizen. "It is especially negligent for two accomplished Olympic-caliber athletes to redefine 'personal best' to include using Botox to make their faces look like they did when they were much younger," says director Dr. Sidney Wolfe. "By peddling a product that can seriously injure people, these athletes are tarnishing their past athletic achievements."
Some Olympians sign on to sell a sexualized image of themselves. Australian swimming gold-medalist, Stephanie Rice, appears in a steamy photo shoot in the August issue of the Aussie edition of lad mag, FHM, and has appeared in playfully provocative ads for underwear brand Davenport with her ex-boyfriend, fellow swimmer Eamon Sullivan. Amanda Beard bared all (almost) for Playboy last July, appearing on the cover and in a multi-page photo spread, topless and wearing a metal-mesh g-string. In an interview with the Associated Press, Beard acknowledged the flak she would receive, but defended her decision. "It's just a business decision, a career decision," she says. "I'm healthy. I work out like crazy. I'm not one of those people that's partying wee into the hours. This, I think, is a better role model than most."
Michael Phelps is the most recent recipient of critical bile, as the same media machine which built him up into a superhuman public figure (as opposed to the exceptionally talented 23 year old swimmer that he is) began criticizing his judgment and, by extension, questioning his character. Few allowances were made for the generally stellar example he sets for youth—his work ethic, his drive to succeed, his discipline, his strong relationship with his single mother; instead he was expected to uphold an unwritten code that demands that his every action work toward the greater public good.
In an age defined by cynicism, Olympians are some of the few heroic figures left for us to look up to. It's appropriate to hold them to a higher standard of conduct. The problems arise when they are elevated into glossy marketing tools (seemingly the end goal of modern celebrity), and the values they uphold as athletes sometimes come into conflict with the products they represent as spokespeople. Could these athletes have made better decisions about how to showcase their 'brand'? Undoubtedly, yes. Will their decisions have a detrimental effect on their young fans? Only time will tell. The core issues run deeper, however, than Michael Phelps appearing on a box of Frosted Flakes, or Nadia Comaneci being unable to manage an easy smile.
Ascribing so much importance to Phelps' apparent enthusiasm for a sugar-coated breakfast (and to be fair, given his 12,000 calorie-a-day diet, it seems, at the very least, like an authentic endorsement) disregards the issue of personal responsibility. After all, parents' buying habits have a much more direct effect on rates of childhood obesity. As for Botox, one would hope that an adult interested in injecting his face with botulism toxin would do some research of his own, as opposed to being convinced by Comaneci's well-preserved middle-aged face. A celebrity's marketing influence is only as important as we make it.
This isn't to say that an irresponsible endorsement is excusable, only that to rely on celebrities, even if they are Olympic champions, to safeguard society's well-being is foolhardy. These athletes form a nexus point between our holiest desires and the world's most profane rewards, and hopefully the controversy their decisions have generated will spark a larger conversation about the ways in which we use hero-worship to distract ourselves from life and death issues. Perhaps we can use it as a starting point to reassess our priorities and formulate real-life solutions, instead of looking for a scapegoat. This outcome might sound naïve or unrealistic, but then again, the greatest Olympic triumphs have all been rooted in impossible dreams.