Zanny Merullo Steffgen
I've been golfing for about as long as I can remember. As a young girl, I'd accompany my father (an author and golf writer) onto the course, where he'd let me tee up from the 100-yard marker.
During the summer, my family didn't go to Disney World or buy the latest gadgets and trendy clothing — we joined a nine-hole course and played golf a couple of times a week.
Soon enough I was entering local golf tournaments, and by my senior year, I was captain of my high school's golf team. I was never even close to good enough to play professionally, but I did win a tournament here and there.
For much of my life, golf was an activity that brought me a lot of joy and a sense of accomplishment. This started to change as I got older.
In my mid-20s, I began teaching my husband how to golf.
We were often matched up with strangers on the first tee, and I discovered pretty quickly that the other people we played with (mostly men — they make up the vast majority of golfers) seemed to assume that my husband was teaching me the game and not the other way around … until they saw us hit.
One time, I approached the white (middle) tees on the first hole. Before I could put my tee in the ground, one of the men we were playing with pointed to the red tees meant for beginners and called: "Wait! The ladies' tees are up there."
Rather than respond directly (a few choice words came to mind), I teed up my ball and smashed it straight down the fairway.
There were a few times during my early years in golf when I felt looked down upon for being a woman in the sport — like when guys complained about being "beaten by a girl" in high-school matches — but I generally felt like I belonged.
That changed when I started playing golf as part of a couple. Often, I feel relegated to the role of "wife," as if I only exist in relation to the man by my side.
It's common to see men teaching their significant others the game, so I understand the assumption, but that doesn't mean it feels good.
Courtesy of Zanny Merullo Steffgen
Some men single me out when I'm practicing and offer unsolicited advice or respond with calls of "good shot!" whenever I make contact with the ball or act surprised once they see I know the game.
Even though they often mean well, it feels condescending.
I wish I could let these interactions roll off my back, but they make me self-conscious, a feeling that then seeps into my game and messes up my swing. It's gotten so bad that I now go to great lengths to avoid playing with strangers.
Some of the kindest, most respectful people I've played with have been men — but I do believe golf is still very much a "boys' club."
Until that changes, I won't feel completely comfortable playing the sport I used to love.
Still, I'm hopeful change could be on the horizon. Since the pandemic, the number of female golfers has increased far more rapidly than the number of male golfers — and the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) had its best-ever TV ratings last year.
Maybe now's the time for golf to tap into the growing momentum of women's sports, in the hopes that the next generation of female golfers will feel more respected on the course than I ever did.
