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When Maro Itoje was named as the first ever black captain of the British & Irish Lions earlier this year, he strolled out holding the team’s mascot while showing off his distinctive pearl earring.
To rugby’s old guard, it’s the kind of detail that might spark an eye-roll. Traditionalists still pining for the days of mud-caked faces, short shorts and no-nonsense hard men may struggle to square that image with a now centurion Test lock accessorising like a fashion-forward Gen Z pop star. But that’s exactly what makes it so powerful.
Itoje is not just one of the game’s best players — he’s one of its most marketable.
Some will say that’s irrelevant. That image don’t matter. But in 2025, they kind of do. Social media attention, cross-platform appeal, and cultural cachet are part of the sporting economy now. And if a pearl earring helps get a new fan through the door, into the highlights, and curious about the next Test match — that’s not style over substance. That’s good for the growth of the game.
Are you watching Eddie Jones?
Eddie Jones famously said only a few years ago that the now Saracens and England leader isn’t captain material, claiming he was "very inward-looking" and lacked influence over his team-mates.
The England lock, who was born in north London to Nigerian parents, brought up his 100th Test cap this weekend, a milestone that marks not only his endurance at the top of the sport but his transformation into one of rugby’s most recognisable figures.
When not leading his club or country, the devout Christian is a collector of African art and funds innovative schemes to help those who need help to attain an education in Nigeria and the UK through his ‘Pearl Fund', while he’s also often seen modelling.
Itoje’s on-field presence has long sparked debate. He pushes the line on everything from breakdown contesting to gamesmanship. He chats, he jostles, he celebrates turnover wins like they’re tries. Opposition fans can’t stand it, while Saracens and England fans lap it up. That tension, that discomfort, is part of his value.
It’s easy to forget now, but Itoje burst onto the scene in 2016 as more than just a promising athlete. He was the future of English rugby — and a marketing dream. Tall, articulate, confident, and ferociously good. At his best, he’s unplayable. Even when he’s not, he’s never invisible.
Let’s face it: rugby still has a bit of a “niceness” problem. It’s proud of its values — and rightly so — but that pride sometimes veers into snobbery. Players who show emotion, ruffle feathers, or play with visible bite are too often criticised as “petulant” or “over-celebratory”, look at Henry Pollock.
We celebrate the Richie McCaws and Sam Whitelocks of this world — greats in their own right — but we should also have room for players like Itoje, who bring something different.
Because rugby isn't just a science of systems and structures — it’s theatre. And like any good theatre, it needs characters who provoke a reaction.
Itoje has been outspoken in a different way, helping to lead conversations around diversity, identity, and marketing issues within the sport. Not always comfortable topics but again, necessary. Just as he’s never conformed to expectations on the pitch, he’s never been afraid to challenge the game’s culture off it either.
As Itoje hits a century of Tests, rugby should take note of what he represents. He’s not just an elite player — he’s a personality. A brand. A story. That’s not a bad thing. It’s the sort of packaging the sport needs more of, especially when it competes for eyeballs with football, Formula One, and TikTok snippets.
The next generation of players should feel emboldened to show their character, to live loudly, to play with bite and a bit of snarl. They should look at Itoje and know that it’s okay to be disliked — as long as you’re also feared, respected, and ultimately a standard bearer in your position.
Because rugby doesn’t need more robots. It needs more Maros.