The Matildas captain has joined one of the world’s most exclusive luxury watch brands, sharing candid insights into the sacrifices required to succeed at the highest level of world football.
3 min
Australian football superstar and Matildas captain Sam Kerr has joined one of the world’s most exclusive luxury watch brands, reflecting on the sacrifices behind a career at the pinnacle of professional sport and revealing she only signed with her new club last week.
As Richard Mille’s first and only Australian partner, Kerr has joined an elite group of global athletes, artists and innovators associated with one of the world’s most prestigious watchmakers.
Speaking in Sydney, the 32-year-old reflected on her next chapter, the extraordinary growth of women’s football and the personal sacrifices required to reach the top of the game.
Founded in 2001, Richard Mille has built a reputation for producing some of the world’s most technically advanced and exclusive timepieces. The Swiss watchmaker is renowned for its use of ultra-lightweight materials, Formula One-inspired engineering and limited-production watches that often sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars and, in some cases, more than $1 million.
Its ambassadors include tennis great Rafael Nadal, Formula One stars Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris, actress Michelle Yeoh and sprint champion Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce.
During the Sydney event, Kerr wore the Richard Mille RM 07-04 Automatic Sport, a lightweight model featuring a pink case, blue strap and skeletonised movement. Designed for active lifestyles, the watch reflects the brand’s philosophy of combining high-performance engineering with luxury craftsmanship.
For Kerr, becoming the brand’s first Australian partner is a source of considerable pride.
“Of course, being the only Australian is incredible to me,” she said. “I am very proud to be Australian and I like to put Australia on the map.”
The announcement comes as Kerr prepares for the next stage of her football career following her departure from Chelsea after six-and-a-half years.
While speculation around her future has been mounting for months, Kerr revealed a decision was only finalised recently.
“Everyone thinks that it was decided and I’ve known that (it was) reported that I’d signed somewhere in April, but honestly, I only signed my contract on Wednesday last week,” she said.
“I really hadn’t decided what I was going to do until last week.”
Kerr said she expects details of her new club to be announced around the beginning of July once her Chelsea contract officially concludes.
Despite her excitement about what lies ahead, she admitted leaving one of the world’s biggest football clubs has been emotional.
“I am really sad about it,” she said. “It’s been my home for 6.5 years. I have so many good memories there. I have so many amazing teammates. I’m sad to leave.
“It sucks to leave such a big club like Chelsea too, but it comes to an end to everything, right?”
The 32-year-old also reflected on the transformation of women’s football during her career, describing the Matildas’ rise from relative obscurity to household-name status as one of her proudest achievements.
“What the Matildas have done over the last four or five years has been incredible,” she said.
“The most important thing for me is that you leave the game in a better place.”
Kerr noted that when she began playing, there were few professional pathways for women, limited sponsorship opportunities and crowds that bore little resemblance to those regularly attending matches today.
“We are a part of that generation that still knows what it was like when there was no one in the crowd,” she said.
Today, she said, crowds of tens of thousands remain something the team never takes for granted.
“Even last night we had 20,000 on a Tuesday night nearly. That’s special to us,” she said.
“We feel very lucky that people come out and spend their money and come to a game and watch us.”
Yet behind the accolades, sponsorships and sold-out stadiums, Kerr said there have been significant personal sacrifices.
“I’ve been living out of home since I was 17 years old. I’ve missed a lot of my family’s life,” she said.
“I’ve missed a lot of weddings. I’ve missed funerals. I’ve missed so many things that people don’t see.”
Kerr revealed she was unable to return home for her grandmother’s funeral last year because of football commitments.
“You have to love what you’re doing. You have to want to sacrifice,” she said.
“Everyone makes sacrifices, of course, and what I do is a massive privilege, but there comes a lot of sacrifice with it.”
Away from football, Kerr said Australia remains central to her identity despite spending much of her adult life overseas.
“I think we take for granted in Australia the beaches, the ocean, the open spaces,” she said.
As she prepares for a new club, a new season and a new role with Richard Mille, Kerr said she remains motivated by the same passion that first drew her to the game as a teenager.
“It was really organic,” she said of her relationship with the luxury watchmaker.
“It’s a real family brand.”
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AI doesn’t rebel—people design, deploy and profit from it. The real danger lies in allowing tech companies to escape accountability while shaping regulations that protect their dominance.
4 min
A wave of corporate warnings and technical disclosures has flooded the media, with headlines worrying over “swarms” of rogue artificial-intelligence agents launching “unprecedented” cyberattacks, outsmarting their makers, and inching toward a terrifying autonomy. The most revealing part of this narrative isn’t what the software did. It’s who is telling the story—and why. When corporate leaders publicly insist that the systems they financed, engineered and deployed are suddenly beyond their power to contain, skepticism isn’t only healthy; it is essential.
For years, Silicon Valley has drawn scrutiny from civil society and global regulators over tangible harms such as youth mental health deterioration and systematic privacy violations. Today, industry figures seem to be trying to change that public image. Loudly blowing the whistle on their own systems—just as two of the leading companies were preparing for massive initial public offerings—lets AI executives position themselves as a new generation of leaders who have come to terms with their societal responsibilities. They seem to want us to believe that they no longer want to “move fast and break things” but will instead stand as vigilant guardians between humanity and a technological apocalypse.
There is one glaring problem: Software doesn’t rebel. A mathematical model possesses neither intent, malice nor the will to defy its creators, let alone extinguish our species. AI is a human artifact, engineered for profit.
When an agentic model in an evaluation sandbox connects to an unauthorized server or executes an exploit, it hasn’t staged a coup. It has tried to meet the human-defined objectives set out before it through a path its designers failed to constrain. It’s the digital equivalent of the King Midas myth, in which the king’s ill-defined wish turns even his food and drink into gold.
That powerful experimental models were able to discover novel vulnerabilities and breach external systems isn’t a sign of a dangerous superintelligence but of human error or negligence. There is no sentient actor lurking in the weights to be reasoned with, feared or pacified. There are only human software engineers, product managers and corporate boards deciding which guardrails are worth the latency cost and which permissions can be skipped in the race to market.
Policymakers and voters need to resist AI exceptionalism. In any other discipline—from civil engineering to pharmaceuticals—courts and regulators treat a system failure as evidence of bad product design and inadequate safety testing. If an aircraft crashes, we focus on finding the engineering defect, correcting it, and enforcing established liability standards for the damage created.
By leaning on an anthropomorphic narrative, Silicon Valley attempts to repackage its specific human choices that led to experimental, powerful models behaving unexpectedly during tests as an existential peril. Elevating the issue to a cosmic scale leaves the public paralyzed and takes ordinary product accountability off the table.
In the cutthroat race for venture capital and market dominance, building guardrails slows down deployment. Grandstanding about uncontrollable power costs nothing and generates billions of dollars in free publicity, justifying stock prices, all while cultivating an aura of technological capability not only to build the frontier but also ultimately to rein it in.
Governments need to recognize regulatory capture when it stares them in the face. Tech leaders’ strategy looks transparent: Alarm Washington and Brussels into creating a regime in which only trillion-dollar incumbents with fully staffed compliance and safety departments can legally operate. By sitting at the policymakers’ tables before anyone else, these companies can help draft rules digging an impassable moat protecting them from open-source developers and upstart competitors, domestic or international. The real danger is in further concentrating the tech industry into the hands of only a few companies with deep pockets.
Beijing and Washington have brushed off those tech leaders’ calls, albeit for very different reasons. Chinese state media dismissed them as part of the “Cold War playbook” and intended to preserve U.S. dominance. Xi Jinping argued for exactly the opposite at the Brics Summit on Sept. 12, calling on Brics countries to “strengthen cooperation in the field of AI, encourage open source, openness, collaboration and sharing, and break new grounds and scale new heights.” President Trump, steeped in a doctrine of unfettered capitalism and technological supremacy, called fears that AI could destroy humanity a “hoax.” Vice President JD Vance warned that AI companies “begging the government to regulate them” looked like a “Trojan Horse.”
Striving to pursue its “European way” on AI and assert regulatory leadership, Europe, by contrast, welcomed the call. European Union President Ursula von der Leyen made this clear at the State of the EU speech last Wednesday and announced that the EU will invite “the main frontier labs for a discussion on how we can support ongoing industry efforts to pace the frontier.”
Europe has been here before. In an effort to lead global regulation and react to fears borne from ChatGPT, Europe rushed its landmark AI Act into law in 2024. Already the world’s most restrictive rulebook, the framework quickly proved too broad and complex to enforce. Stalled by implementation delays and concerns about European competitiveness, the EU postponed the law’s full rollout, leaving regulations uncertain.
AI should be regulated—risks exist and should be taken seriously. But governments need to act based on available evidence and verified facts, not corporate PR panic, the views of industry insiders, or the desire for quick political wins. The greatest danger facing society isn’t that software will awaken and overthrow its human masters. It is that we will allow the creators of the software to abdicate human responsibility for the systems they choose to build and help them pull up the ladder to market access behind them.
