Why do thousands buy tickets to watch the Lionesses and not turn up?

Walk into the FA’s boardroom at Wembley, and the PowerPoint presentations will tell you women’s football is in a golden age of unmitigated growth. They will point to the ‘Sold Out’ graphics plastered across social media hours after tickets go on sale. They will laud the fervent demand following the 2025 European title defense in Switzerland. But step out onto the terrace five minutes before kickoff, and your eyes tell a different, more uncomfortable story.

The England women's team has a ghost problem. We are seeing swathes of empty red plastic where screaming fans are supposed to be. In 2025 alone, across eight home fixtures, nearly 48,000 tickets were purchased by people who simply couldn't be bothered to show up. That is not a rounding error; that is the capacity of Villa Park left vacant. This discrepancy is the dirty little secret of the women's game right now, and it points to a structural failure in how the FA is valuing its premium product.

The Psychology of the Ten-Pound Ticket

Here is the brutal economic reality: If you price a product like a throwaway item, the consumer will treat it like one. The FA, in a desperate bid to ensure full stadiums and good headlines, has kept entry points artificially low—often between £10 and £20 for adults, and even less for children.

While this was necessary five years ago to build the fanbase, it has now created a "gym membership" dynamic. You buy the ticket because it’s cheap and you intend to go. But when matchday arrives—if it’s raining, if the Tube is delayed, or if you simply feel tired—you swallow the £15 loss without blinking. It doesn’t hurt your wallet enough to force you out the door. Contrast this with a Premier League fixture: if you possess a £70 ticket to see Arsenal or Liverpool, you are going, even if you have the flu. The financial stake demands commitment.

The Stat Pack: The "Ghost Fan" Index

The numbers from the 2025 calendar year are damning. While the FA trumpets ticket sales, the turnstile clicks—the only metric that actually generates atmosphere—lag significantly behind.

Fixture (2025)	Venue	Tickets Sold	Actual Attendance	Drop-off Rate
England vs. USA	Wembley	82,000 (Sold Out)	71,400	12.9%
England vs. Brazil	Wembley	78,500	66,100	15.8%
England vs. Norway	St James' Park	52,000 (Sold Out)	44,800	13.8%
2025 Average	-	-	-	~14%

Deep Dive: The Commercial Black Hole

From a market perspective, this is a catastrophe masquerading as success. The FA pockets the ticket revenue regardless, so the bottom line on the gate receipt ledger looks healthy. But the modern sports economy does not rely on gate receipts alone; it relies on the ecosystem of the matchday experience.

A ghost fan buys no beer. They buy no scarves. They buy no programs. When 10,000 people fail to show up at Wembley, that is an estimated £250,000 to £400,000 in lost secondary revenue (concessions and merchandise) per game. Over eight games, we are talking about millions left on the table.

Furthermore, sponsors like Nike and Visa pay for eyeballs and atmosphere. They want the roar. They want the backdrop of a packed house for their TV spots. When the camera pans across the expensive seats near the halfway line—often the ones bought by corporate scalpers or bundled indiscriminately—and finds them empty, the product looks "soft." It signals to broadcasters that the engagement is wide, perhaps, but not deep. In contract negotiations for the next rights cycle, this visual apathy is leverage the networks will use against the Federation.

Fan Pulse: The "Locked Out" Loyalists

The mood among the die-hard supporters—the ones who traveled to Switzerland, the ones who track the U21s—is shifting from confusion to fury. Scroll through the fan forums or listen to the chatter at the Boxpark pre-game, and the narrative is clear: the system is broken.

"I sat in a queue for three hours online to get tickets for the USA game and missed out. Then I watch on TV and the entire row Z in the lower tier is empty. It’s insulting. The resale platform is clunky, and people just sit on the tickets because they only cost a tenner. It’s blocking real fans."

There is a growing resentment toward the "event crowd"—families or casual observers who buy tickets in bulk (often up to 8 at a time) "just in case" they want to go, clogging the supply lines for those who live and breathe the sport. The lack of a punitive system for non-attendance, or a seamless, mandatory resale mechanism, is alienating the core demographic the Lionesses rely on for noise.

Locker Room Implications: The Silence Speaks

Do not think for a second the players are oblivious to this. Sarina Wiegman is a manager who demands high intensity and clinical ruthlessness. That energy is symbiotic with the crowd. When the Lionesses played at a sold-out Brentford Community Stadium or Bramall Lane during the Euros run, the noise was oppressive. It suffocated opponents.

Wembley, however, is becoming a cavern. When 15% of the crowd is missing, the acoustic dynamics shift. The "roar" becomes a murmur. Players like Leah Williamson and Alessia Russo thrive on adrenaline; playing in front of polite, patchy crowds in a friendly feels like a training exercise. This dulls the competitive edge right when England needs to be sharpening it for the World Cup cycle. The "Wembley Factor" is in danger of becoming a sedative rather than a stimulant.

The Fix: Time to Pay the Price

The FA faces a choice that will be unpopular but is entirely necessary: they must raise ticket prices. It is time to test the elasticity of this demand. If the product is as premium as the marketing suggests, fans will pay £30 or £40.

Higher prices do two things. First, they filter out the casual "maybe" buyers, leaving inventory for those committ