The viral storm surrounding American figure skater Alysa Liu has once again thrust the 20-year-old Olympic gold medalist into the unforgiving spotlight of social media scrutiny. Following her triumphant performance at the recent Winter Olympics, where she captured hearts with her technical brilliance and unapologetic “alt” aesthetic, Liu found herself at the center of heated online debate after users noticed significant changes to her Instagram profile and archived posts.
Gone were the “she/they” pronouns that once appeared in her bio—replaced simply with “she/her,” aligning with her official U.S. Figure Skating roster listing. References to Pride Month celebrations, rainbow-themed stories, and supportive messages directed toward the LGBTQ+ community had vanished from her visible content. What began as quiet observation by fans quickly escalated into widespread backlash, accusations of betrayal, and demands for explanation.
In an exclusive statement that has since spread like wildfire across platforms, Liu addressed the controversy head-on: “I was young when I posted those things. I was figuring myself out like a lot of teenagers do. I don’t believe in those things anymore.”
The remark, delivered with characteristic directness, has ignited polarized reactions. Supporters hail it as a refreshing display of personal growth and authenticity in an era where public figures are often pressured to maintain rigid ideological consistency. Critics, however, view the statement as dismissive and potentially harmful, accusing Liu of abandoning a community that once embraced her as an ally—or even speculated icon—during her earlier years.
Liu rose to prominence as a prodigy in figure skating. She became the youngest U.S. ladies’ champion in history at age 13 and secured a spot on the Olympic team while still navigating the complexities of adolescence. During the lead-up to the Beijing Games four years ago, her social media reflected the exploratory spirit common among Gen Z athletes. She experimented with pronouns, shared Pride graphics, and expressed solidarity with friends in the LGBTQ+ community.
At the time, outlets like Outsports highlighted her as a potential beacon for queer youth in sports, noting her “she/they” designation and interpreting it as a signal of nonbinary or fluid identity.
“Four years ago she carried the hopes of parts of the LGBTQ community,” one sports commentator reflected recently. “She hadn’t come out, but the signals were there—pronouns, Pride posts, an alternative style that read as queer-coded to many. People projected meaning onto it.”
That projection, however, appears to have been one-sided. Liu has never publicly identified as part of the LGBTQ+ spectrum. Her recent cleanup of old content seems less a dramatic reversal and more a deliberate streamlining of her online presence as she matures into her early twenties.
The backlash arrived swiftly. On platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Reddit, and Instagram, users expressed disappointment ranging from measured concern to outright vitriol. Some accused her of internalized pressure from conservative family influences or skating’s traditionally conservative circles. Others labeled the move performative or attention-seeking in reverse—claiming she once chased progressive clout and now seeks approval from a different audience.
Conservative commentators, meanwhile, celebrated the development. Posts framing Liu’s statement as evidence that “the pronoun trend is dying” garnered tens of thousands of likes. Memes circulated depicting her as “based” or “grown up,” with captions praising her for refusing to apologize or soften her words.
Liu’s blunt phrasing—“I don’t believe in that stuff anymore”—struck a particularly raw nerve. To detractors, the casual dismissal of pronouns and LGBTQ+ advocacy sounded callous, reducing complex identities to a passing phase. To admirers, it represented rare candor in a world where celebrities often issue carefully worded non-statements when their views evolve.
Psychologists and media analysts note that such public reckonings are increasingly common among young public figures who came of age during the height of social justice activism on platforms like TikTok and Instagram. “Adolescence is a laboratory for identity,” explains Dr. Elena Ramirez, a developmental psychologist specializing in Gen Z. “Many experiment with labels, aesthetics, and causes that feel meaningful at 16 or 17. As they enter adulthood, priorities shift—career, relationships, personal philosophy. Deleting old posts is often less about rejection and more about curating a version of self that feels authentic today.”
Liu’s case is complicated by the intense scrutiny athletes face. Figure skating, with its blend of artistry and athleticism, has long attracted fans who read personal expression into costumes, music choices, and social media. Her edgy makeup, dyed hair streaks, and punk-inspired outfits earned her the “alt girl” moniker long before any pronoun discourse. That aesthetic remains intact, leading some observers to argue that her core self-expression hasn’t changed—only certain signifiers have been removed.
In the wake of her statement, Liu has largely retreated from further comment. Friends close to her describe the attention as exhausting. “She’s focused on skating, training, and enjoying life after the Olympics,” one source said anonymously. “The internet wants a full manifesto, but she’s 20. She doesn’t owe anyone a dissertation on her beliefs.”
The episode raises broader questions about cancel culture, personal evolution, and the permanence of digital footprints. Should teenagers be held eternally accountable for exploratory posts made under the pressure of viral fame? Can public figures change their minds without being branded traitors? And in an increasingly polarized online landscape, is there room for nuance when someone simply says, “That was then; this is now”?
For her part, Liu continues to compete at the highest level, delighting audiences with quadruple jumps and innovative programs. Whether the controversy fades or reignites remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: in the age of endless screenshots and digital archaeology, growing up in public is a high-stakes endeavor.
As one viral commenter put it: “She was allowed to be wrong. She’s allowed to be different now. Let the girl skate.”
