Ten years ago, a flood of gamers attacked developers Zoë Quinn and Brianna Wu and media critic Anita Sarkeesian. The three were part of a growing chorus of people calling for a more inclusive culture within video games. The attackers doxxed and harassed their targets, doing all they could to stifle the women’s efforts. The incident, which became known as Gamergate, illuminated the toxicity women faced in gaming spaces and beyond.

Eventually, the harassment faded from the news, but its residue was never fully removed from the internet and public life.

Gamergate articulated a particular kind of aggrieved masculinity, an anger at losing the power of being the target audience. Since 2014, it has shaped everything from the men’s rights movement to the current iteration of the GOP, outlining what it means to be a man in certain corners of the internet.

In many ways, says Adrienne Massanari, an associate professor at American University’s school of communications, Gamergate presaged a broader reaction on the right toward real changes happening in American society. Former Donald Trump adviser Steve Bannon latched onto this in 2015, harnessing the power of committed online fandoms to bolster Trump’s campaign.

Within the community, Gamergate seemingly bifurcated men into distinct camps. Men who came to Sarkeesian’s defense, for example, were dubbed “white knights” and simps. Meanwhile, the people doing the harassing saw themselves as trying to protect the space from the “outside” influences of “social justice warriors,” who threatened to take away the elements that—they felt—made games fun.

“Even though we know that a bunch of people play games, [the men involved in Gamergate] saw themselves as being the target demographic for games. When that started to shift, the reaction was, of course, anger,” says Massanari. “Now that’s reflected, refracted, and amplified by Trumpism and that kind of far-right strain of Republicanism reacting to demographic and societal shifts toward a more egalitarian society.”

This same kind of anger and resistance can be seen now in figures like J.D. Vance and Elon Musk, who both decry “woke-ism” in politics and culture broadly. In interviews, Musk has said that he was motivated to purchase X, formerly Twitter, to fight the “woke mind virus” that he says is destroying civilization. The Heritage Foundation’s political road map Project 2025 repeatedly mentions “woke” progressivism as a threat that must be eliminated, particularly by doing away with diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives in government spaces.

This connection comes full circle in what’s become “Gamergate 2.0,” a backlash to inclusion efforts where “DEI” is now a catchphrase. Ten years ago, gamers pushed back against critics like Sarkeesian for pointing out that many female characters in games were nothing more than tropes. In 2024, the campaigns are against video game consulting companies such as Sweet Baby for performing what some gamers believe is “forced diversification.” No matter the rallying cry, the reason is the same: Being upset that the characters in video games no longer represent your interests.

While the politics of masculine grievance aren’t exactly new, says Patrick Rafail, professor of sociology at Tulane University, “the mainstreaming of it is.”

Although Gamergate came out of a relatively niche subculture, its elements can now be found in influencers like Andrew Tate who have popularized “these very simplistic, archetypal, stereotypical extremes” of masculinity, says Debbie Ging, professor of digital media and gender at Dublin City University. A new era of podcasting, coupled with a rise in short-form video platforms like TikTok, “which are heavily algorithm-driven,” have been significant drivers of this form of rhetoric, Ging says.