Formula 1 has spent decades attempting to find a foothold in the United States. Though revered globally as the pinnacle of motorsport, its presence on American soil remained marginal well into the 2010s. The cars were fast, the technology sophisticated, and the driver rivalries compelling, yet something was always missing in the U.S. market. Early attempts to popularize the sport fell flat, with short-lived Grands Prix in Phoenix, Detroit, and even the parking lot of Caesars Palace in Las Vegas serving as reminders of F1’s struggle to translate its European prestige into sustained American interest. It was not until Liberty Media, a U.S.-based conglomerate, acquired Formula 1 in 2017 that the sport began to reengineer its relationship with American audiences seriously. In a calculated effort to broaden the sport’s appeal, Liberty leaned into digital platforms, social media, and, most pivotally, storytelling. The Netflix docuseries Drive to Survive humanized the sport’s elite drivers and teams, casting them not just as engineering titans or tactical geniuses, but as personalities with rivalries, pressure, and vulnerability. The series exploded in popularity, introducing millions of Americans to the sport and significantly increasing F1’s U.S. visibility to levels previously thought unattainable.
The numbers affirm this breakthrough. ESPN’s F1 broadcast ratings surged by over 50 percent in 2021. In 2022, average viewership per race in the U.S. reached a record 1.21 million. The United States Grand Prix in Austin drew over 440,000 attendees across its three-day duration. In response, Liberty Media announced an ambitious expansion of the F1 calendar, which will include three U.S. races, adding Miami and Las Vegas to the existing Austin Grand Prix. These events were marketed not only as races but as full-fledged cultural spectacles. Celebrities filled the paddocks, musical acts headlined the weekends, and cities rolled out red carpets, transforming city streets into circuits under spotlights. Miami debuted in 2022 with a festival atmosphere, while Las Vegas’ 2023 Grand Prix included a multimillion-dollar opening ceremony and a track that ran directly down the Las Vegas Strip. The ambition was unmistakable. F1 wanted to make the United States not just a lucrative market but the centerpiece of its global entertainment pivot.
Yet amid the lights and noise, signs of trouble began to emerge. Despite record attendance figures, television viewership in the United States declined in 2023. The average audience dropped from 1.21 million to 1.11 million per race. In 2025, the Miami Grand Prix experienced a precipitous 30% decline in viewership from its debut peak. Social media buzz began to wane. Merchandise sales plateaued. While Formula 1 had unquestionably succeeded in creating an image of relevance, many wondered whether that image could sustain lasting, organic engagement. The cracks were subtle at first but grew more visible over time. At the heart of the issue is a disconnect between how Formula 1 is branding itself in the United States and what many American fans want. The series has adopted a model of exclusivity and spectacle, relying on luxury, celebrity, and high production values to capture attention. Tickets for U.S. races routinely cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars, pricing out younger or working-class fans. In Las Vegas, general admission started at nearly $500, and premium experiences climbed into five figures. Fans voiced frustration at the limited visibility of the track, overwhelming crowds, and the sense that these events were not for die-hard followers of the sport, but for VIPs and socialites seeking a photo opportunity.
Compounding this is a sense of predictability that has begun to plague the on-track product itself. Max Verstappen and Red Bull Racing have dominated recent seasons with unprecedented consistency. In 2023, Verstappen won 19 of 22 races, and by mid-2025, he had already claimed several more with seemingly little resistance. For longtime F1 fans, dominance by a single driver or team is not new. Michael Schumacher, Lewis Hamilton, and Sebastian Vettel each had their reigns. But for casual viewers in the U.S., many of whom were introduced to F1 by a Netflix series that emphasized drama, rivalry, and the unknown, a season devoid of competition can quickly become unwatchable. American sports culture thrives on parity, comeback stories, and underdogs. When races become foregone conclusions by the third lap, the energy dissipates, and the broader audience tends to tune out.
There is also the matter of national representation. Unlike most other global sports, Formula 1 has historically had minimal American participation at the elite level. Since the early 1990s, no American driver has won a Grand Prix. Logan Sargeant, who competed for Williams in 2023 and 2024, struggled with consistency and retired from the sport without leaving a mark. While American companies like Haas F1 Team have entered the paddock, they have done so without much success or fanfare. Fans seeking a driver to rally behind, someone representing their country on the global stage, are left with little. Christian Horner of Red Bull Racing has noted that the U.S. needs not just an American driver, but a competitive one capable of winning races and battling for titles if the sport wants to maintain momentum in the States. Without that anchor, the fandom risks becoming superficial, more closely tied to personality-driven content than to the sport itself.
This superficiality is what many fans and analysts now see as the sport’s most significant vulnerability in the United States. While Drive to Survive succeeded in making Formula 1 culturally relevant, it may have also created a viewer base that is not primarily interested in the core product of racing. Many of the fans who came to the sport through the series do not watch full races, do not follow technical regulation changes, and cannot identify most of the teams. They are entertained by story arcs and rivalries, not lap times or pit strategies. When the off-track drama dies down and the racing becomes monotonous, they drift away. The challenge for Formula 1 now is how to convert those casual fans into lifelong supporters. Liberty Media has invested resources in hospitality, marketing, and immersive experiences, but many of these initiatives remain confined to elite circles. There are relatively few grassroots efforts to cultivate a community around local motorsport culture. Unlike NASCAR or IndyCar, which have deep roots in regional circuits and local tracks, F1 in America feels imported, distant, and curated.
Still, there is reason for cautious optimism. The younger demographic that F1 has attracted in the U.S. is more diverse and more global in its sensibilities than previous generations. American teenagers now recognize the names of drivers like Charles Leclerc or Lando Norris with the same familiarity they have for NBA players. This global awareness could allow F1 to plant deeper roots in the U.S. in the years ahead. The key will be ensuring that the sport does not alienate the very fans it has worked so hard to attract. Lowering ticket prices, improving accessibility to races, cultivating American driving talent, and ensuring competitive balance on track are all crucial steps. If Formula 1 wants to establish itself as a permanent fixture in the American sports landscape, it must evolve beyond spectacle and invest in substance. It must not only reflect America’s interests, but also the reality of what American fans need to remain loyal. The coming years will reveal whether F1 can recalibrate its approach or whether its American moment will remain a fleeting success, brilliant but brief, like so many other attempts before.
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