I Was Fired for a Sexy Instagram Photo
On March 23, 2018, Bailey Davis filed a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission against her former employer, the New Orleans Saints. She has accused the franchise of gender discrimination due to their separate behavioral regulations for football players vs. cheerleaders. Cosmopolitan.com has reviewed the complaint as well as the Saints’ cheerleader handbook, text messages, and other communications, and has requested a statement from the Saints, but has not received a response as of this publication.
I didn’t think of it as a sexy photo. I had it taken for my portfolio, to show at future dance auditions. It was a full-body shot because I wanted to show off my physique, my athleticism. I liked that you could see a little bit of bicep. As far as baring skin, it wasn’t any different from our Saintsation uniforms. When I was fired, the human resources director told me I had a dirty face in the photo.
I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a Saintsation one day, a cheerleader for the New Orleans Saints. My mom was the team’s field director and choreographer for 18 years. I grew up in Ellisville, Mississippi, and my family went to every single home game, and would throw parties at our house for away games. I’d hang out at the Saintsations practices.
That dream has dominated my life. I was a competitive dancer throughout high school and into junior college, always staying fit and active. I was 19 when I made the team. What I couldn’t have prepared for was the sisterhood. I was really young compared to the other women, and they all took me in and taught me so much in terms of performing and presenting myself to the public. We were all best friends, truly.
Even though I’d grown up so close to the Saintsations, I didn’t know the specific rules governing their behavior until orientation. They gave us a handbook and our contract, and then ran through the rules over a projector. There was the beauty stuff: I always had to have my nails painted nude or with a French tip. I always had to have a spray tan. I had to pay for those things, and hair and makeup, on my own.
Then there were all the rules about the players. "No fraternization," so I couldn’t ever be in the same place as a player. If I were eating in a restaurant and a player walks in, I had to leave. We couldn’t follow them on Instagram, or like their pictures. If an official photo from the Saints account was a photo of a player alone, we couldn’t “like” the photo. If they tried to follow me on Instagram or liked my photos, I was to block them and report it to HR. If a player spoke to me in person, I could only use two phrases: “hello” or “good game.” Anything past that was fraternizing. I was supposed to end the conversation and walk away from them.
It wasn’t until I was fired that I learned only cheerleaders had those rules. I assumed the Saints players were following them, too. But no, it was up to the women to keep up that separation. They told us, “We have these rules in place to protect you from ‘the predators,’” which is how they describe the players. “You’re pretty girls. If they see you, they’re going to want to talk to you.”
Still, I cared about my job. It was so glamorous, and parts of it were a lot of fun. We were a sisterhood. My second year on the team, I was promoted to a leadership role, as a line leader. I thought I represented the team well. That’s why it hurt so much when they said I was giving the Saints a bad reputation—I had given them so much for the last three years.
It started with a rumor from the staff. My coach said that they were aware that a girl had been seen out with a player in New Orleans, and they were investigating the issue. I called her to ask for more details, and she told me it was me. They had reports of a blonde girl from Mississippi popping up at a party where a football player was present — that was it. There was no proof, and no one had used my name. I wasn’t even in the state at the time of the alleged party; I had been in Orlando with my family.
Human resources brought me in for a meeting and questioned me about the party. I asked for more details, if they had any proof at all beyond a “blonde girl from Mississippi.” They said no, but then took the opportunity to ask, “Okay, but has a player ever messaged you on Instagram?”
Sometimes the playerswouldmessage me on Instagram. But it wasn’t like they were hitting on me, or even trying to start a conversation. Like, I’d post a pic of the field and say “Happy Sunday” on my Instagram story, and one would respond with the heart-eyes emoji. Or if we won, and I posted about the win, one might comment with the prayer-hands emoji. I’d ignore it — all the cheerleaders did.
HR wanted to know how the players were even finding me on Instagram. What I thought was, “Why is this my problem?” What I said was, “My page is public and the players know me.” Their solution to this meeting was that every Saintsation had to make her Instagram private from then on, so the players couldn’t find us, so I did that.
That meeting was in early January. A few days later, I posted the Instagram pic from my portfolio. Within 15 minutes, a teammate texted me and said, “They’re going to say something about that photo. You should just delete it.” We look out for each other like that. So I deleted it then, only a few minutes after posting. But it was too late.
My coach texted me and said, “Very poor judgement to post a picture like that especially considering our recent conversations about the rumors going around about u. This does not help your case. I’d expect you to know better.” I told her I had deleted it. At this point, all of the Saints players were blocked and the account was private.
The coach notified my mother, who was still employed as our choreographer, that I had to resign immediately or be terminated. I wouldn’t quit, so I asked for a meeting with HR and the Saintsation leadership. The meeting was humiliating. A Saints executive said the photo made me look guilty of hanging out with the players; he said that I had a “dirty face” and that he’d never let his granddaughters post something like that. “Perception is reality, perception is reality,” he kept repeating. What perception? That I’m trash, I guess. That I wanted attention from the players.
Having them question my character was so unbelievably hurtful. I tried to keep it together in the meeting, but I walked out and cried in my car. My career with the Saintsations was over.[Editor's note: While the Saints have not yet responded to Cosmopolitan.com’s request for comment, a lawyer for the New Orleans Saints told theNew York Times, “At the appropriate time and in the appropriate forum, the Saints will defend the organization’s policies and workplace rules. For now, it is sufficient to say that Ms. Davis was not subjected to discrimination because of her gender.”]
Coincidentally, I had met an employment lawyer at an events a few weeks before, so I called her to ask a few questions about my termination. She asked me for copies of the handbook, and to get the players’ handbook; that’s how I learned that they don’t have the same restrictions as we do. I didn’t really want to file a lawsuit, but I felt like I could be a real advocate for equal rights. It would be worth it to make things equal between football players and cheerleaders.
Two months after my termination, I filed a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. If the Saints want to keep their no fraternization rules, then it must be on the football players, too. The cheerleaders shouldn’t have to protect themselves like that. Our jobs shouldn’t be at stake because we say something other than "hello" to a male colleague.
In my time as a Saintsation, I lived in Hattiesburg, Mississippi and commuted the two hours each way to New Orleans. Since this happened, I went to stay with an uncle in Sarasota, Florida, and I think I’d like to stay here. I have no reason to be near New Orleans anymore. I’ve been auditioning for new dancing jobs. I have to start a new life—one without the Saints.
