In conversation, much like on court, she is economical, focused – but never cold. There’s warmth there, too, grounded in a career that has seen both spotlight and scrutiny. She remains a commanding figure in sport – not just because of her record, which includes seven Grand Slam singles titles and four Olympic gold medals, but because of how she has shaped tennis beyond its scorelines. She is also, more recently, a global ambassador for Dior skincare – a role she references modestly, almost as a footnote to a life more concerned with legacy than labels. When asked if there’s a particular moment from her career that still stirs something in her, she hesitates. Not because there are none, but because in the moment, she says, it was all too mechanical to feel emotional.
“I think at the time, I didn’t get goosebumps. I was just… a machine,” she says plainly. “I had trained. I’d prepared mentally and physically. So when things happened, it felt inevitable. That was my mindset.” Now, she reflects, the feelings arrive more freely. “When I see old footage, when I actually watch it back, that’s when the goosebumps come. It’s a kind of reverse effect.” She names the Olympics as a standout. “London was unforgettable. Playing at Wimbledon, but for the Olympics – it felt like worlds colliding in the best way.”
Williams has always played with a tension between force and grace, a kind of physical poise rarely seen in elite sport. Her influences weren’t limited to her era. “I think of players like Suzanne Lenglen or Althea Gibson. There’s not much video of them, but even through the photos, you could sense their elegance. There’s something extraordinary about moving beautifully through triumph or disaster – especially when there’s no script, no second take.”
She recalls arriving on the tour as a teenager — braces still on, self-styling with the colours of the Grand Slams. “Red, white and blue bands for the US Open. Green and purple for Wimbledon,” she says, amused by the memory. “At the time I thought it was cool.” Her mother, she adds, instilled early habits that took a while to take root. “She always told us to moisturise. I used to laugh it off. But later you realise, she was right. Beauty really does begin with taking care of yourself.”
It’s part of why her work with Dior’s Capture line feels, to her, more grounded than glamorous. “It’s not about looking perfect,” she says. “It’s about feeling good. When you care for your skin, or your body, or whatever it is – it gives you something back. It affects how you move through the world.” The conversation turns, as it always must, to her sister. Venus and Serena Williams have long shared one of the most complex and compelling relationships in sport: at once rivals, teammates, co-authors of a sporting revolution.
“Our relationship is kind of frozen in time,” Venus says. “We’re only 15 months apart. We’ve done everything together since we were born. So when we’re on court, even when we’re competing, it’s still us – like it always was.” She sees Serena not only as a rival but as a driving force – someone who shaped her trajectory as much through presence as performance. Their relationship has always been symbiotic: each learning from the other, each quietly influencing the way the other moved, competed, and grew. It was a kind of unspoken leadership they shared, forged in childhood and refined under pressure.
Asked how she’s managed to stay in the game and in the public eye for so long, she is unsentimental. “The truth is, I wanted to be there,” she says. “You can’t fake it in tennis. You can’t give 70%. You have to love it, or it’s impossible.” That love has sustained her through an era in which tennis – particularly its fashion and cultural relevance – has changed markedly. Williams, whose own on-court style helped set a new precedent, seems pleased by the direction things are heading. “It’s more fun now,” she laughs. “Tennis fashion has become part of the conversation. And with more people taking up racket sports after the pandemic, you’re seeing that influence outside of tennis too. I hope it lasts.”
Off court, the relationship between sport and style has become more porous – something Williams embraces, though she’s wary of declaring any particular trend permanent. “You can’t really force what’s cool,” she says. “But tennis always comes back.” It’s not quite a pun, but it’s close – and she catches herself chuckling at the thought. Near the end of our time together, we return to the subject of Dior Capture. “The first thing that struck me [about the collection] was the science. Forty years of research. And then when I actually use it [the creme and the serum] – the effect on your skin smooths and plumps, it gives you something. It’s subtle, but powerful.”
The same could well be said of Williams herself. At 44, she is no longer chasing titles in the way she once did. But she’s still moving, still showing up, and still speaking with a kind of clarity that doesn’t require volume to be heard. “I’ve been lucky to live in phases,” she adds. “And when one phase ends, I try to let it go and move to the next.”
Venus Williams remains, in every sense, in motion — just away from the court.
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