Angel Reese is one of the most polarizing figures in women’s basketball today. Revered by many and disliked by others, her rise to prominence has come with both admiration and intense scrutiny. Understanding why Angel Reese is so despised by some requires an exploration of her public persona, on-court behavior, media narrative, and the cultural context surrounding her. Much of the disdain aimed at her is deeply intertwined with issues of race, gender, confidence, and a changing landscape in women’s sports.
Reese, a standout forward who rose to fame during her time at LSU, made headlines during the 2023 NCAA Women’s Tournament when her dominant play helped the Tigers win their first national championship. But it was not just her performance that drew attention; it was her unapologetic style and competitive bravado that ignited both praise and outrage. The most notable example came during the national championship game against Iowa, where she mimicked Caitlin Clark’s “you can’t see me” gesture and pointed to her ring finger in front of Clark after the game was essentially won. While Clark had made the same gesture during a previous game, Reese’s version was met with immediate backlash from fans, commentators, and social media users. The disparity in reactions sparked a national debate.
For many, the reaction to Reese’s gesture was coded in racial and gender biases. While Clark, a white player, was celebrated for her swagger and confidence, Reese, a Black woman, was vilified for the same behavior. Critics labeled her “classless,” “ghetto,” and “unsportsmanlike,” while others pointed out the hypocrisy and double standards. The incident became emblematic of how Black women are often perceived when they are assertive or confident, particularly in sports. Reese herself addressed the criticism head-on, saying she would always be unapologetically herself and that she knew who she was representing—young Black girls who rarely see themselves reflected positively in the sports world. Her stance gained her support from prominent figures, but also reinforced the polarization around her.
Reese’s personality is central to both her fame and her criticism. She exudes confidence, speaks her mind, and does not conform to traditional expectations of humility or modesty in female athletes. For some, this makes her a role model—strong, empowered, and authentic. But for others, it challenges their preconceived notions of how women, particularly women of color, should behave in the public eye. The same traits that are often celebrated in male athletes—trash-talking, emotional expression, and assertiveness—are weaponized against women like Reese. When she shows emotion or intensity, it is seen as a lack of discipline or decorum, rather than competitive fire.
The media has played a significant role in shaping Reese’s public image. Tabloids, sports shows, and social media platforms often zero in on her behavior, turning moments of confidence into controversies. Her every move is dissected, sometimes unfairly, and often without the same nuance or understanding granted to her peers. She has become a lightning rod for hot takes and clickbait, and this has fueled resentment from fans who feel she is “overhyped” or receives too much attention. It also doesn’t help that the narrative around her is often set up as a contrast to Caitlin Clark, creating a false binary where one woman’s rise is portrayed as being at the expense of the other.
Reese’s public persona is also shaped by her embrace of NIL (Name, Image, Likeness) opportunities. As one of the most marketable athletes in college sports, she has signed deals with major brands and built a powerful personal brand. Her social media presence, fashion sense, and branding choices project an image of luxury, success, and control. To her fans, she represents the modern athlete: business-savvy, confident, and influential. But to her detractors, her success is perceived as arrogance or self-promotion. There’s an undercurrent of discomfort among some fans when athletes, particularly young women of color, profit and celebrate their earnings openly.
Another factor is that Reese does not shy away from discussing social justice issues or calling out inequities in the sport. She has used her platform to speak on topics that make people uncomfortable. When LSU opted out of visiting the White House after winning the championship, Reese voiced her disapproval of political leadership and double standards in how teams are treated based on race. These stances, while applauded by progressives, angered more conservative segments of the fanbase. In the current climate, where sports and politics frequently collide, outspoken athletes become targets for vitriol—especially when their views don’t align with the status quo.
Her journey through the 2024–2025 college and early WNBA seasons further inflamed opinions. Reese declared for the WNBA draft and joined the Chicago Sky, stepping into professional play with the same confidence she displayed in college. Early struggles in adjusting to the WNBA’s pace and physicality were expected by many, but criticism was swift and loud. Detractors quickly framed her as overrated or unprepared. What’s often overlooked is the learning curve faced by all rookies and the high bar Reese is unfairly expected to meet from the outset. She’s held to an impossible standard—expected to dominate immediately, act modestly, and remain controversy-free, all while navigating the pressures of fame and a new league.
Moreover, she is part of a broader cultural shift in women’s basketball. The game is growing rapidly, in part because of charismatic stars like Reese, Clark, JuJu Watkins, and others who are not only skilled but also entertaining. Reese’s presence and persona have helped bring visibility to the sport in unprecedented ways. But this growth brings new kinds of scrutiny. As more people tune in, especially those unfamiliar with the women’s game, their expectations and biases come with them. Angel Reese, as one of the sport’s most recognizable figures, becomes a canvas onto which fans project their hopes, frustrations, and prejudices.
What is often described as “despise” may also be better understood as discomfort. Reese is not universally disliked, but she forces conversations that many people would prefer not to have. She challenges norms—of femininity, race, and respectability—in a sport that is still evolving. The backlash she receives is as much about what she represents as who she is. She is loud in a culture that prefers women to be quiet. She is bold in a system that rewards modesty. She is visible in ways that demand engagement, and not everyone is ready for that.
Despite all this, Angel Reese remains undeterred. She continues to embrace her role as a disruptor, as someone who breaks barriers not just by scoring points or grabbing rebounds, but by existing loudly and unapologetically. She is part of a generation of athletes who are not just playing the game but redefining its boundaries. For every critic who despises her, there are fans who love her, admire her courage, and see themselves in her journey.
In the end, the dislike some people feel toward Angel Reese is not just about her behavior or even her performance. It’s about how she makes them feel—uncomfortable, challenged, maybe even irrelevant. She reflects a changing sports world where diversity, authenticity, and voice are not just permitted but celebrated. That’s a powerful shift. And like most seismic shifts, it comes with resistance.
But Reese is not here to be palatable. She’s here to win, to inspire, to be seen. And that, more than anything, is why she’s both despised and deeply important.
