The Sparks tunnel walk is an exhilarating act of ownership — and perfect ab showcase

May 13, 2026

“It’s so intimidating to walk through here,” says an arena staffer as she scurries under the sight line of a video camera on a tall tripod. It’s a couple of hours before the Sparks’ home opener against the Las Vegas Aces on Mother’s Day. None of the photographers or videographers or security guards respond. She says it again. Still they don’t react, but they’re not being rude. They’re just all laser-focused on a 6-foot-4 blond wearing a stunning white Alaïa runway set that happens to be both a perfect ab showcase and an unmistakable style gauntlet thrown.

As every WNBA fashion watcher already knows, the blond can only be Sparks forward Cameron Brink, a Vogue favorite and a staple on LeagueFits, the Instagram account that has amassed a million followers since 2018 with a curated stream of tunnel fits. How do they differ from regular off-court attire? These are highly stylized, high-stakes pregame outfits that many professional athletes wear when arriving at the stadium or arena, capitalizing on the opportunity to get seen on their own terms.

Cameron Brink wears an Alaïa top and skirt and Louboutin shoes.

The popular images share a common visual language: The players show up in outfits so expressive they raise an exhilarating middle finger to the very idea of quiet luxury. The backdrops are always drab; concrete floors and metal doors. The stark contrast between the two, and the suggestion of backstage access, make the photos irresistible to fans.

No one skips the tunnel walk. The Sparks rookies are here early, Ta’Niya Latson first, followed by Ji-Hyun Park and then Chance Gray, all arriving while the last section of sparkly black carpet is still being laid down on the literal tunnel, which is finally emblazoned with the team logo. That’s the one they’ll all walk in uniform to get onto the court. We are in the proverbial tunnel, it is the bustling back-of-house that players must traverse on their way to the locker room, which means that all around us the enormous task of staging a pro ballgame is unfolding in a practiced frenzy.

Less than a month ago, Latson went classic Hollywood at the WNBA draft with a glamour girl dress, meticulously laid spit curl and elbow gloves, but today she comes in sporty and fun, in a Puma top and jeans with a folded-down waistband. It’s her very first league game, and the moment is surreal, joyful. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m here, but I am,” she says.

A team staffer pulls a forgotten wad of blue painter’s tape off the floor. A photographer checks her light levels. Three gaffers rush by with heavy coils of electric cord slung over their shoulders. Park is next to arrive. A basketball star in Korea, she’s new to L.A. but already wearing a sweatshirt from a local brand, Madhappy, and does not seem at all intimidated by the cameras, giving them a playful pose, head cocked and leg kicked out. Not long after, Gray, in a plaid mini, is also posing at the photographers’ request, switching effortlessly between signature Gen Z stances, chin resting atop a bent hand. She, too, showed up at the draft in a flawless gown, but today all three rookies seem to have wisely cast themselves in a sort of spirited younger sibling role.

Ta'Niya Latson wears a Puma top and Louis Vuitton bag.

Jihyun Park arrives for her tunnel walk in a Madhappy sweatshirt and Nike sneakers.

Chance Gray wears a Revolve top and shoes, I.am.Gia. skirt and Ganni bag.

Word spreads that Sparks starter Kelsey Plum will be there soon and everyone straightens up. More team staffers rush by. To play basketball you need only a ball and a basket. To magic a WNBA production into existence, you need so much more. A man bearing a dozen brand new jerseys, designed as a callback to the original 1997 uniform, weaves past a line of people going the other way, carrying orange Gatorade coolers and stacks of branded blankets wrapped in thin plastic. An assistant speeds back and forth, loaded down with pallets of snacks, her long hair streaming behind her.

And then Nneka Ogwumike steps into view. After two seasons in Seattle, her return to L.A. is triumphant. As president of the Women’s National Basketball Players Assn., she helped secure a historic new agreement, signed March 24, with salary numbers that mean real money across the board. And in case there were any lingering doubts about her loyalty, she’s made a pointed clothing choice: a pair of custom tapestry pants constructed from a Lakers logo blanket, created by KA Originals designer and former player Kristine Anigwe. The message is simple. “L.A. for life,” says Ogwumike.

Nneka Ogwumike wears custom KA Originals tapestry pants constructed from a Lakers blanket.

Now the rush begins. As we’re talking to Ogwumike, Sania Feagin slips by in a multicolored knit beanie, smile unmissable, holding a bouquet of Mother’s Day flowers from one of the league’s social media managers. Then Emma Cannon embraces the holiday by pulling her son and twin daughters behind her in a wagon. As the family is photographed, several Aces members come in and pause for a brief hug and coo before ducking quickly out of frame. The energy could not be more different from a boxing weigh-in. No spotlight stealing. No antagonistic peacocking.

It is, indisputably, the home team’s turf. And Plum, next to arrive, treats it like her runway. Willy Chavarria sunglasses on, textured Ferragamo trousers glittering with each camera flash, she strides through without pausing. The look has her signature rebel edge, but the guard is working with a new stylist, Karla Welch, who’s known for transforming actors into fashion darlings — her client Greta Lee (“Past Lives”) is the face of Dior’s latest campaign.

Soon after, we get another speed strut from guard Erica Wheeler, whose giant “EW” initial chain from the GLD Shop is the iced out topper to an outfit that’s a master class in artful layering, composed with the assistance of stylist Miguel Moss. Wheeler dipped into Willy Chavarria’s Adidas collab with both her shorts and a pair of black sneakers with a metal-tooled toe in a floral pattern that the designer named after the Compton Cowboys.

Kelsey Plum wears Ferragamo top and pants, Willy Chavarria sunglasses and Jude boots.

The entire time players are walking through, music has been booming through the hallways. Gradually, it becomes clear that the game DJ and host are also getting ready, running through their playlists and patter. When Rae Burrell enters, the game announcer is rehearsing, exhorting the not-yet-arrived crowd to cheer for their team. Burrell may have worked with a shopper to procure options, but she styled herself in this cheer-worthy outfit — a gray minidress that satisfyingly contrasts with a pair of bright white Moon Boots, all pulled together the night before.

Star stylist Brittany Hampton, who has worked with Brink and Plum, says, “historically, [the players] were told to kind of put themselves in a box … to shrink themselves.” The league had very narrow standards for how women were expected to look. But now, according to Hampton, their fashion choices are a projection of power: “It’s an act of their own ownership.”

Before she headed to the locker room, Burrell thanked everyone and called out a cheerful invocation, “Successful first game!” That’s the appeal of the tunnel walk. You cannot stay suspended in pure potential. There is always a ticking clock. A game will be played. Someone will win and someone will lose. None of us know yet that the Sparks are about to get trounced by the Aces, losing by 27 points. It might seem like it would be more sensible for this ritual to take place after the game, for the victors to stage a triumphant, high-style parade and for everyone else to slink out, unnoticed. But where’s the glory in that? To be an athlete is to prove yourself constantly, to always be risking your ego and your body. Without these stakes, without the backdrop of the tunnel and the promise of the competition, it would just be a runway.

In the third quarter, as the Aces’ points keep piling up, the Jumbotron lingers on a fan wearing a simple white T-shirt, probably self-made, emblazoned with an iconic 2024 image of Kelsey Plum in black sunglasses and head-to-toe black leather. Plum is braless, her vest open to reveal a shimmery pile of silver chains, her abs on defiant display. It is a potent, and lasting, assertion of self. The fan in the T-shirt smiles as their image, and Plum’s, looms over the arena.