There was a time when sailing’s highest profile event, the America’s Cup, was one of the crown jewels of international sport—a dazzling spectacle dominated by billionaires, backed by major sponsors, and swarmed by celebrities. The event drew global television networks eager to pay top dollar for broadcast rights, while the super-rich spared no expense in pursuit of sailing’s oldest and most prestigious trophy. In its heyday, the Cup was not just a regatta—it was a cultural phenomenon. When Australia famously broke the United States’ 132-year winning streak in 1983, the impact rippled far beyond the water. Fremantle, the sleepy port city that would host the Cup’s defence, saw property prices soar almost overnight.
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In its glory days, the America’s Cup was as much a battleground for billionaires as it was a test of sailing prowess—a stage where wealth, ambition, and national pride collided in spectacular fashion. Titans of industry lined up to pour their fortunes into the pursuit of the Auld Mug, each convinced they could outspend and outwit their rivals to etch their name into sailing history. Media mogul Ted Turner famously led Courageous to victory in 1977, bringing a brash, cowboy swagger to the sport and helping turn the Cup into prime time entertainment. He was just one of many deep-pocketed personalities who viewed the America’s Cup not just as a sailing competition, but as the ultimate billionaire’s playground.
The list of luminaries who followed reads like a roll call of global business royalty. Patrizio Bertelli, the head of Prada, has been the driving force behind Luna Rossa for decades, fusing Italian minimalist style with cutting-edge yacht design. Ernesto Bertarelli, the Swiss biotech billionaire, stunned the sailing world by winning the Cup in 2003 with Alinghi, becoming the first European to do so. Larry Ellison, co-founder of Oracle, reshaped the modern Cup with his relentless pursuit of speed and spectacle, bankrolling campaigns that introduced wing sails and foiling multihulls. Then there was Bill Koch, the American industrialist who in 1992 mounted one of the most lavish and methodical campaigns in Cup history with America³, combining science, technology, and meticulous preparation to bring the trophy home. And Swedish energy tycoon Torbjörn Törnqvist has also made his mark, twice backing the highly respected Artemis Racing syndicate and bringing a cool Scandinavian efficiency to the cutthroat world of Cup competition.
When the America’s Cup was held in Valencia in 2007, it marked a new era of international interest in the event. The Spanish city played host to a bumper crop of challengers from across the globe, with 11 teams from across Europe and around the world assembling for what became one of the most competitive and widely celebrated editions in the Cup’s storied history. Valencia’s vibrant setting, reliable sea breeze, and unique ‘city’ of team bases encircling the harbour created an electric atmosphere that drew massive crowds and global attention. Uniquely, the event was so commercially successful that teams actually received a share of the revenue generated from the television rights—a rare moment when competing in the Cup wasn’t just about prestige, but offered financial return as well. It was so good that many – me included – still regard the 32nd America’s Cup as the gold standard.
Since the high watermark of Valencia 2007, the America’s Cup has seen a steady decline in mainstream appeal and competitive diversity. The 2010 edition, held in Valencia once again, was a far cry from its predecessor. Reduced to a two-boat, two-race Deed of Gift challenge between BMW Oracle Racing and Alinghi, the event dragged on for weeks due to unfavourable weather conditions and legal wrangling, leaving fans and broadcasters frustrated. While the technology on display was extraordinary—giant multihulls and wing sails like nothing seen before—the lack of a challenger series or wider competition stripped the event of much of its drama and fan engagement.
The 2013 America’s Cup in San Francisco attempted a reset with fast foiling catamarans and a more media-friendly format, but only attracted three challengers. While the setting and speed of the boats were impressive, the event is remembered mostly for one thing: the miraculous comeback by Oracle Team USA, who overturned an 8–1 deficit to beat Emirates Team New Zealand 9–8 in one of sport’s greatest turnarounds. Four years later in Bermuda, the Cup welcomed six teams, but despite the beautiful setting and tight racing, the event failed to make a lasting impact. The standout story was Emirates Team New Zealand’s return to form, as they outclassed the fleet with a radical innovation—pedal-powered “cyclors” replacing traditional grinders, giving them a crucial edge. Their dominance, along with a spectacular nosedive in the early rounds that they recovered from, added some excitement, but overall, the 35th Cup lacked the cultural buzz and global attention of earlier editions.
Emirates Team New Zealand’s visionary victory in the 2017 America’s Cup not only returned the regatta to Auckland but also heralded a seismic shift in the direction of the competition. The Kiwis introduced the AC75 foiling monohull—a radical concept that many in the sailing world had previously deemed unworkable. The boats were a revelation: sleek, powerful, they flew above the water balanced delicately on one of two lateral foils and a slender t-foil rudder. It was a bold move from the Kiwis, but a carefully calculated one too, and they executed it perfectly.
But with that innovation came some negative consequences. With the sailors now operating from deep cockpits and remaining seated for the entire race, only the very tops of their helmets are visible to spectators. Sails are trimmed with button pushes and are only changed between races. The helmsmen use Formula 1-style ‘wheels’ and steer for roughly half of the race as they hand off to their opposite number on the other side of the boat every time they tack or gybe. While there is no denying that the AC75s are engineering marvels, their detached, almost robotic aesthetic has left many fans cold. For both die-hard sailing enthusiasts and potential new fans from the broader sporting world, this lack of visible human action is a key reason why the America’s Cup is struggling to achieve its former glory.
Emirates Team New Zealand’s creation of the AC75 foiling monohull was a masterclass in innovation—an extraordinary leap in yacht design that pushed the boundaries of what was thought possible in monohull sailing. But in delivering such a bold and sophisticated platform, the Kiwis have arguably created a fundamental problem for the America’s Cup going forwards. The AC75, with its complex control systems, custom foils, and relentless demand for design precision, is so technologically advanced that it arguably hands a huge competitive advantage to the team that conceived it. Even established syndicates like Luna Rossa Prada Pirelli, NYYC American Magic, Athena Racing, and Orient Express Racing Team are still playing catch-up with a design rule that the Kiwis understand more intimately than anyone else.
This raises an uncomfortable question about the future of the America’s Cup: have the AC75s simply become too complicated and too expensive? For any potential new challenger—say, a fledgling team from Australia looking to rekindle the magic of 1983—the barriers to entry are now astronomically high. The days when a determined group of sailors with a billionaire backer could mount a credible campaign with a well-built monohull and a tight-knit shore crew are long gone. Today’s Cup boats require aerospace-level engineering resources and years of development just to get to the start line. While the AC75 era has delivered stunning speed and jaw-dropping technology, it’s also threatening to stifle the very competitive spirit and international diversity that once made the America's Cup the pinnacle of sailing.
The recent withdrawal of two billionaire-backed potential challengers from the 38th America’s Cup sent ripples through the sailing world—and not the good kind. While the specifics of their decisions remain behind closed doors, it’s hard not to connect the dots. Mounting a Cup campaign in the AC75 era demands an almost absurd level of investment, not just in dollars but in time, expertise, and infrastructure. If even billionaires—those traditionally undeterred by spiralling costs or high-stakes risk—are walking away from the table, it raises serious questions about whether the America’s Cup has become unsustainably complex and prohibitively expensive. After all, when the rulebook reads like an engineering thesis and the pathway to competitiveness is shrouded in years of design refinement, who can realistically step up to challenge?
To paraphrase Oscar Wilde: to lose one billionaire challenger might be considered misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness. Or more accurately, perhaps it points to deeper systemic issues within the current setup of the event. If the America’s Cup is ever to stand a chance of making a return to its glory days, then it may be time for the powers that be to reassess the competition's strategic direction. With the use of AC75s for AC38 already set in stone, at this stage there is not very much that can realistically be done to regain the attention of the traditionalist sailing fans. But when even the billionaires start backing away, you have to wonder who, exactly, this event is now really for.
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