When Reebok inked Angel Reese to a high-profile endorsement deal earlier this year, executives believed they had landed one of the biggest stars in women’s basketball.

Dubbed the “Bayou Barbie” and fresh off her NCAA championship run, Reese was marketed as a fearless personality with crossover appeal. She was supposed to be the face of Reebok’s resurgence in the basketball market — bold, flashy, and unapologetic.

But only months into the contract, whispers are turning into roars: the partnership may be a disaster, with critics already calling it one of the worst endorsement deals in recent sports history.

The backlash didn’t come from Reese’s lack of talent. She’s a gifted forward with undeniable rebounding skills, a flair for the spotlight, and the charisma to turn heads. But the very traits that made her appealing to Reebok have turned into liabilities. The brand expected her to be a unifying star who would boost sales and attract younger fans. Instead, Reese has polarized audiences, sparking controversies that have overshadowed the sneakers on her feet. From feisty on-court clashes to social media spats, Reese has become a lightning rod — and not in the way Reebok hoped.

Sales figures tell a sobering story. Early projections suggested her signature Reebok collaboration would fly off shelves, driven by her popularity with Gen Z and the momentum of women’s basketball. Instead, sneaker drops tied to Reese have underperformed, with retailers reporting lukewarm demand and clearance markdowns appearing far earlier than anticipated. Sneaker culture insiders say the brand failed to connect Reese’s image to a clear product identity, leaving buyers confused about why her shoes stood out in a market dominated by Nike and Adidas. For a brand already struggling to regain relevance, this flop has only magnified its woes.

Part of the problem lies in timing. Reebok bet big on Reese during a moment when Caitlin Clark was dominating headlines, breaking records, and capturing the imagination of fans across the country. While Reese was busy cultivating her “villain” persona and leaning into trash talk, Clark was rewriting history and earning universal respect for her performance. Fans couldn’t help but compare the two, and the contrast worked against Reese. Where Clark looked like the embodiment of greatness, Reese appeared more interested in branding than results. That perception bled directly into the reception of her Reebok partnership.

Adding fuel to the fire, Reese’s recent struggles on the court have made the contract look even riskier. While she remains a strong rebounder and defensive presence, her inconsistency on offense has left critics questioning whether she can truly carry the mantle of a franchise player. For Reebok, which tied much of its marketing push to her star power, the timing has been disastrous. Sneakers don’t sell when the athlete wearing them is underperforming, and fans are quick to abandon a brand when hype doesn’t match reality.

Social media has amplified the fallout. Reese’s online persona, once considered an asset, has increasingly been painted as brash and divisive. Viral clips of heated exchanges, frustrated gestures, and pointed interviews have circulated far more widely than any Reebok commercial. Instead of creating buzz for the brand, Reese has drawn waves of criticism, dragging Reebok into the crossfire. The result: a sponsorship deal that feels less like a slam dunk and more like a PR nightmare.

Industry insiders are now openly speculating that Reebok executives underestimated the risk of tying their comeback strategy so closely to one polarizing athlete. While other companies pursued safer bets with universally admired stars, Reebok doubled down on controversy, hoping it would translate to cultural relevance. The gamble hasn’t paid off. Worse, it has reinforced doubts about whether Reebok has the vision to compete in today’s hyper-competitive sneaker market. What was supposed to be their triumphant return now looks like another stumble.

Critics have also pointed out that Reebok failed to support Reese properly. Unlike Nike, which builds full marketing ecosystems around its athletes, or Adidas, which leverages massive collaborations, Reebok rolled out Reese’s campaign with minimal creativity. The shoes themselves were uninspired, the advertisements forgettable, and the rollout sloppy. For a star as flashy as Reese, the bland presentation only highlighted the disconnect. Fans expected bold and innovative; instead, they got something generic. The result: instant regret for a company already struggling to keep pace.

Meanwhile, Reese has shown no signs of changing her approach. She remains unapologetically herself, doubling down on her larger-than-life personality and brushing off critics. While this confidence has earned her a loyal following, it hasn’t translated into the kind of mainstream appeal Reebok desperately needed. In fact, it has widened the gap, making her seem like a niche figure rather than a transcendent superstar. For a global sneaker brand trying to claw back relevance, niche isn’t enough.

Now, questions swirl about the future of the deal. Will Reebok stick it out, hoping Reese eventually delivers on her promise? Or will the company quietly scale back its investment, letting the partnership fade into the background? Already, rumors suggest tension between the brand and its athlete, with both sides frustrated by unmet expectations. For Reebok, the financial losses are painful. For Reese, the reputational hit may be even worse, as critics point to the deal as evidence that her hype outweighs her substance.

The fallout from this partnership could ripple far beyond Reebok. Other brands are watching closely, reassessing how they approach endorsements in the women’s basketball market. Reese’s deal was supposed to be a blueprint for tapping into the sport’s rising popularity. Instead, it has become a cautionary tale about overestimating hype and underestimating risk. For players hoping to secure big-money contracts, the failure of Reese’s deal could make companies more cautious, slowing the momentum that NIL and endorsement opportunities have created.

For now, Reebok faces a branding disaster that it may not easily recover from. The company bet its comeback on Angel Reese, and the gamble is already being called the worst contract in its history. What was supposed to be a bold step into the future has turned into a stumbling miscalculation, one that fans and critics alike are watching unravel in real time. The phrase “instant regret” has echoed across social media, cementing the narrative before Reebok can even mount a defense.

In the end, the Angel Reese deal will be remembered not for the sneakers it produced but for the backlash it generated. For Reebok, it stands as a painful reminder that star power alone cannot save a brand. For Reese, it’s a lesson in how quickly public perception can shift, turning a dream partnership into a nightmare. And for fans, it’s proof that in the cutthroat world of sports marketing, hype fades fast — but bad deals linger forever.