The Last of Us part II adaptation: How Abby’s muscular physique revived GamerGate controversy, explored in depth

The story was never the sole reason for the hate against The Last of Us Part II. Nothing to do with Joel, Ellie, or that notorious golf club. Truth is, an angry mob of gamers went completely bonkers upon seeing a muscular woman.

The gaming industry is still plagued by the same toxic pushback against diversity eleven years after GamerGate. Not because she was an awfully written character, but because she dared to be different from what some players consider acceptable, Abby Anderson became the newest victim.

Trigger warning: Online abuse, s*xism, and gaming culture are covered in this article. We are dissecting some difficult but important issues on the situation of gaming, gaming adaptations on TV, and representation.

Disclaimer: This article presents an analytical perspective on the controversy surrounding Abby Anderson and its connection to GamerGate, based on research, documented reactions, and industry discussions. The opinions expressed reflect an evaluation of the public discourse, media responses, and the broader cultural impact of diversity in gaming. This analysis is grounded in factual reporting and historical patterns within the gaming industry. Plus, it contains spoilers regarding the game.

The reaction was as predictable as it was exhausting—review bombing, harassment campaigns, conspiracy theories about her design being part of a "politically correct agenda." Now that HBO is getting ready to adapt The Last of Us Part II for the screens, the topic has flared up again, and the studio's choice to make Abby look less muscular begs the question: why are we even having this discussion?

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What GamerGate left behind: Still the same after eleven years

The critique of Abby Anderson in The Last of Us: Part II is nothing new. It follows in the footsteps of other instances of systemic flaws in gaming culture. There has been no letup in the criticism of female characters that don't conform to male ideals since GamerGate over ten years ago. All the responses to Abby's behavior exhibit the same toxic traits: s*xism, authoritarianism, and reactive rage masquerading as "criticism."

A social movement started in 2014 by the name of GamerGate sought to address "ethics in game journalism." It quickly, though, became a massive harassment campaign aimed at female players. Doxxing, threats, and abusive behavior were commonplace for female programmers, journalists, and content creators because their industries were predominantly (white) male-dominated. This uprising did more than just draw attention to the widespread s*xism in video games; it also set the stage for similar conflicts down the road.

This legacy is visible in how The Last of Us Part II was received. The criticism of Abby didn’t just come from players who disliked the game’s plot twists—it echoed the same arguments from GamerGate. The idea that developers were “forcing” diversity, that a muscular woman was unrealistic, and that the industry was being overtaken by “political correctness” were all talking points lifted directly from the GamerGate era. More than a decade later, the ghosts of that movement continue to shape how games are received and debated.

The resistance to characters like Abby isn’t just about her. It’s about an ongoing struggle in gaming culture—one where any deviation from traditional portrayals of women sparks outrage. The same forces that harassed female developers in 2014 are still at work, only now their ire is directed at fictional characters who challenge their worldview.

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The selective outrage over "realism"

A game where a parasitic fungus turns humans into zombies is apparently fine, but a woman with visible muscles? Too unrealistic. Abby’s physique became one of the biggest complaints from detractors, who argued that it was "impossible" for a woman to be that buff in a post-apocalyptic world. These same critics, however, had no issues accepting Joel surviving multiple gunshot wounds or Ellie, a teenager, taking down groups of armed men single-handedly.

The hypocrisy is glaring. Players are willing to suspend disbelief for every outlandish element in a game—from sci-fi weaponry to magic healing potions—but a woman with muscle mass? That crosses the line. This selective realism conveniently appears only when it serves a particular narrative: keeping female characters within certain “acceptable” boundaries.

Also, the criticisms aimed at Abby's body failed to take her surroundings into account. She was a member of a militia that had all the resources they needed, which included food, supplies, and a training program that emphasized physical strength. Like real-life athletes who keep up their intense training even in the face of difficult conditions, Abby was able to grow muscle thanks to her environment, unlike the scavengers who were fighting for survival. The backlash wasn’t about realism. It was about discomfort with a woman who defied conventional beauty standards.

Even outside of gaming, this pattern is familiar. Female athletes, bodybuilders, and even actresses who bulk up for roles frequently face criticism for looking “too masculine.” The same s*xist double standard that exists in Hollywood and sports applied to The Last of Us Part II, proving that the backlash against Abby had less to do with the game itself and more to do with broader cultural anxieties about strong women.

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The science behind Abby's physique: Yes, women can be muscular

That Abby's figure is implausible is an argument that science has disproved. From vaudeville strongwomen to contemporary Olympic competitors like Kuo Hsing-Chun and Rhea Ripley, women have a long history of achieving remarkable levels of muscular development. Abby had access to food, a fully equipped gym, and years of dedicated training. Her physicality is not just realistic—it is necessary for her character arc.

Strength training is not limited to men. Women’s bodies are fully capable of developing significant muscle mass, especially with the right nutrition and consistent resistance training. Scientific studies show that women can gain muscle at a comparable rate to men when given the same training conditions. The main difference is hormonal—men naturally produce more testosterone, which aids in hypertrophy, but that doesn’t mean women can’t achieve highly muscular physiques.

Women like the early 1900s vaudeville strongwoman Charmion showed incredible power without access to contemporary supplements or specialized tools in the past. Modern women athletes still break preconceptions. Extreme strength is not exclusive to men, as Olympic weightlifters, CrossFit champions, and MMA fighters repeatedly show.

Abby’s physique in The Last of Us Part II was actually based on a real-life CrossFit athlete, further dispelling claims of “unrealism.” Her body wasn’t exaggerated—it was modeled after real, existing women who trained rigorously. The issue isn’t whether women can look like Abby. The issue is that certain players didn’t want to see a woman look like that.

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Abby’s body as a narrative tool

Abby’s transformation into a powerhouse of muscle is not just for show. It visually represents her trauma, her drive for revenge, and her sheer determination to become an unstoppable force. When the game strips her of that strength in the final act, reducing her to a frail, starving prisoner, the impact is palpable. This physical transformation is crucial to the storytelling.

Her muscular build is more than an aesthetic choice—it’s part of how the game conveys her psychological state. Abby’s story is one of discipline, survival, and relentless pursuit of justice. She isn’t just physically strong; she has hardened herself emotionally and mentally to carry out her revenge. Her body is an extension of her inner turmoil and single-minded purpose.

Abby's physique has transformed totally by the time the Rattlers catch her. The once-strong soldier is today weak, fragile, and hardly identifiable. She has suffered tremendously, and this visual contrast emphasizes that. Her last conflict with Ellie is more than just a fight; it's a moment of narrative reckoning in which both characters find their lowest. Without her original strength, Abby’s final act in the game carries even greater emotional weight.

[Regardless of whether you liked the decision to change Abby’s physique or not, it’s undeniable that we lost a lot by not having her muscular in the show.

May her gains rest in peace 🕊️]

Her transformation should have silenced critics who claimed she was “too strong.” The game ultimately deconstructs her strength, showing that no amount of muscle can protect someone from the cyclical nature of violence. The fact that this nuance was ignored by detractors proves that their issue was never about the story—it was about the fact that Abby ever existed in the first place.

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HBO's decision to weaken Abby: A step backward

Neil Druckmann and Craig Mazin have stated that Abby in the HBO adaptation will not be as muscular as in the game. The director's justification was that the show would "focus more on drama than action." This explanation falls flat, given that Abby’s physique was never just about action. It was all about character development. Eliminating this element of her design is a surrender to the very audience that first rejected her.

The decision to downplay Abby’s physicality fundamentally alters how her story is told. In the game, her transformation into a powerful, muscular fighter is a direct response to her trauma. She builds her strength to prepare for revenge, channeling her grief into physical discipline. By compromising this part of her character in the adaptation, viewers run the danger of losing a major visual and thematic component of her journey.

This shift also conveys a concerning message regarding the portrayal of female characters in popular culture. Rather than supporting their artistic choices, HBO appears to be caving to the criticism from the same forces who tormented the actors and game developers. Rather than challenge these outdated perspectives, the adaptation appears to be smoothing over a controversy it should have confronted head-on.

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The double standard in gaming backlash

Critics have pointed fingers at many strong female game characters before Abby. Her beauty may not be seen as "traditionally" stunning, but then again, what is conventional? The Renaissance ideal of beauty, as depicted in works by artists like Michelangelo, Titian, and Rubens, was fuller, curvier figures that symbolized fertility and wealth. But society's expectations have always shaped beauty standards, which frequently reflect masculine tastes. Women's bodies and identities are theirs, not something to be molded for male consumption; they were not born to satisfy men.

Critics (players) have also attacked current League of Legends character redesigns, Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn and Jill Valentine from Resident Evil 3 for "de-s*xualizing" women. The reality is simple: some gamers still struggle to accept female characters who exist outside of their fantasy.

This pattern is deeply ingrained in gaming culture. When female characters are hypers*xualized, they are seen as acceptable, but the moment they deviate from that mold—by being muscular, older, or not traditionally feminine—they become targets for vitriol. A long-standing bias against women whose bodies aren't shaped to attract a man's gaze is at the root of the problem, not aesthetic preferences or realism.

It's ironic that reviewers like these often say they support "strong female characters." But they turn their backs on a strong woman, both physically and metaphorically. The problem was never with women's perceived weakness in games; rather, it was with the regulation of that weakness. This double standard exposes the truth.

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Why some gamers were so outraged by Joel's death: The Joel factor

The emergence of Abby was a contributing factor to the indignation, but her role in The Last of Us Part II—killing Joel—contributed significantly. This was never about "bad storytelling." It was about players refusing to accept that the protagonist they idolized was not invincible. The fact that a muscular woman was the one to take him down only made it worse for them.

Joel’s death was one of the most divisive moments in gaming history. The emotional weight of his murder—executed brutally, with no chance for heroics—was intended to shock players and challenge their perception of morality within the world of The Last of Us. For some players, however, this was unacceptable. They saw Joel as an untouchable figure, ignoring the moral ambiguity of his actions in the first game.

Abby’s role in this moment became a lightning rod for controversy. Instead of engaging with the narrative themes of revenge and cyclical violence, some players chose to direct their anger at her very existence. The backlash was less about the story’s execution and more about resentment toward a character who dared to shift the focus away from their beloved protagonist.

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The backlash to Abby was always rooted in s*xism

Patrick O'Rourke summed it up best in his viral tweet: the hatred toward The Last of Us Part II is eerily reminiscent of GamerGate. Review-bombing, harassment campaigns, and attacks on voice actress Laura Bailey followed the same playbook used against women in gaming for years. The pattern is undeniable.

The harassment extended beyond Abby as a character—it targeted those who brought her to life. Laura Bailey, who voiced Abby, was the target of numerous internet threats and insults just for doing her job. It was clear that the animosity wasn't limited to narrative grievances; the fact that it was focused on female characters in the game further supports the notion that there are systemic biases against female gamers.

This reaction highlighted a more general issue: how women challenging accepted positions in gaming communities were treated. Before Abby, other female characters have come against this kind of resistance as well. Until these debates address the basic s*xism behind these reactions, history will keep repeating itself.

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The LGBTQ+ aspect: Also targeted were Ellie and Dina

Characters other than Abby were also receiving criticism. Another contentious issue was Ellie, who came out as a lesbian, and her connection with Dina. Negative reviews of The Last of Us: Part II were much more likely to include references to the LGBTQ+ community, according to the data analysis. Furthermore, this proves that the majority of the criticism had nothing to do with "bad writing." In fact, as several sources, threats, and comments confirm, it had everything to do with opposition to diversity.

Even though Ellie's s*xuality was out in the original game's Left Behind DLC, the criticism she faced in Part II was a result of her connection with Dina. The mere fact of a lesbian protagonist in a major AAA game was enough to enrage certain segments of the gaming community. For these critics, the problem wasn’t about how the story was told—it was about the story being told at all.

Though not a transgender character, Abby was also targeted by transphobic remarks. This captures a broader general unease with any deviation from accepted (by whom?) gender roles. Assuming a muscular woman has to be trans exposes a high degree of rigidity and prejudice in these criteria. The problem was a noisy minority rejecting a universe in which not all female characters exist to satisfy them, not about representation.

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"People just didn't like the game; it's not about s*xism!"

One often-used counterargument is that The Last of Us Part II got bad reviews just because players didn't like the narrative. However, the first game, which included Ellie’s LGBTQ+ identity in the Left Behind DLC, was widely praised. The difference? Part II pushed inclusivity and subverted expectations in ways that made some players uncomfortable.

The review-bombing of The Last of Us Part II wasn’t just about disappointment. It was a coordinated attempt to discredit the game's reception since it dared to question accepted "traditionally" established narratives in gaming. Should the problem really be with storytelling shortcomings, we would see similar indignation over other games with conflicting storylines. Rather, the sharpest reaction usually seems to target games that give diversity a higher priority.

This trend reminds us that for some people, gaming serves not just as an amusement but also as a means of reaffirming particular perspectives. And when a game like The Last of Us Part II questions those, the response is quick, loud, and very revealing.

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The hypocrisy of "forced diversity"

Critics often claim they dislike The Last of Us Part II because it "forces diversity." This argument falls apart when you consider that the game’s diverse cast was not tokenistic; it was integral to the story. Representation is not a "political agenda"—it is a reflection of the real world.

What’s particularly ironic is that many of the same people who cry about “forced diversity” never had an issue with decades of overwhelmingly male, white protagonists. When the industry was catering almost exclusively to them, they saw no problem. However, games become an "agenda" the moment more different characters are included. It is blatantly hypocritical.

Additionally, diversity isn't included in The Last of Us Part II merely for show. It explores important topics of identity, morality, and survival through the identities of its protagonists. Ellie’s queerness isn’t just a checkbox—it’s a core part of her story. Abby’s strength isn’t arbitrary—it’s part of her journey. The pushback against these elements is less about the game itself and more about resistance to change.

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The HBO adaptation: Will history repeat itself?

With The Last of Us Part II on the way, we are likely to see a resurgence of the same discourse. The casting of Kaitlyn Dever as Abby already sparked conversations about whether she can embody the character’s physicality. If HBO chooses to soften Abby’s presence further, it may diminish the weight of her role in the story.

The TV version has already strayed from the source material, and some of those modifications have been welcomed. Season 1's enlarged plot of Bill and Frank, for instance, and it was hailed for giving an already emotional plotline complexity. However, the choice to minimize Abby's body changes a basic component of her journey.

HBO runs the danger of losing one of the most striking visual contrasts in the narrative if it buckles to criticism and shows Abby in a less imposing or physically forceful manner: Abby's brute strength against Ellie's quickness and intelligence. Their rivalry plays out in great part in response to this dynamic. Changing it to evade controversy would be a mistake.

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The harm of servicing toxic fandoms

Changing Abby's appearance could be supporting the destructive aspect of the fandom that first shunned her. This creates a risky precedent: if enough people object loudly enough, studios may keep compromising in order to avoid controversy instead of following artistic vision (and respect).

We’ve seen this pattern before. Studios and developers, afraid of backlash, sometimes make preemptive changes to avoid controversy rather than standing by their creative choices. This isn’t just about Abby—it’s about how much power online outrage should have in shaping storytelling.

If HBO’s adaptation diminishes Abby’s physicality, it will send a clear message: that backlash works. It will embolden the same voices that harassed Laura Bailey and review-bombed The Last of Us Part II. The show would be supporting rather than questioning outdated ideas of femininity and strength.

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The impact of online harassment on creative decisions (and in real life)

Many developers face overwhelming harassment campaigns when they introduce diversity in games. The situation with Abby and Laura Bailey's harassment reflects a larger issue where toxicity shapes industry decisions.

The gaming business has battled for years on how to deal with harassment. From coders getting death threats to reporters being doxxed for talking about representation, the environment may be harsh for anyone ushering progress. GamerGate may have been a concentrated event, but its effects linger in how companies approach inclusivity.

One of the main issues is the tendency of many studios to choose to ignore rather than face conflict is a harmful conduct. They (sometimes not so) subtly change elements of their game adaptations to please specific groups. This just helps to emphasize the power of those voices. What we need are more developers willing to stand by their decisions and call out bad-faith criticism for what it is.

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How The Last of Us Part II redefined gaming narratives

Notwithstanding the criticism, the game challenged players to consider morality and viewpoint in ways few others would have done. It's a revolutionary turning point in the narrative.

It makes players deal with the results of their actions rather than provide them with the simple revenge fantasy they might have craved. Playing as Abby after experiencing Joel’s death through Ellie’s eyes is an uncomfortable but effective narrative choice.

Few games dare to challenge players in this way. Most prefer clear-cut, good-versus-evil dynamics, where the player is always on the right side. The Last of Us Part II complicates that, showing that revenge isn’t satisfying and that violence only breeds more violence. It's precisely because the game rejects to fulfill conventional power plays that it sets off such indignation.

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How media portrayal influences audience perception

When adaptations change major character details, it alters how audiences perceive them. Weakening Abby’s physique may change how new viewers understand her motivations and emotional arc.

Character design is a powerful storytelling tool. Abby’s build isn’t just about making her look strong—it communicates who she is before she even speaks. When we first meet her, we see someone who has spent years preparing for a single goal. That goal defines her, and her body reflects it.

If the HBO show downplays this, it risks diluting Abby’s arc. A smaller, less muscular Abby wouldn’t carry the same weight in her interactions with Ellie. Their final fight would lose much of its visual contrast, making it feel less like a battle of opposing forces and more like a standard action scene. These details matter, and changing them alters how the audience interprets the story.

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What gaming culture can learn from this debate?

The gaming sector has to choose whether it wants to go beyond servicing harmful amounts of its target market. Embracing diversity should not be a gamble; rather, it should be the norm.

Developers have battled to strike a mix between audience expectations and artistic vision for years. Though opposition to change will always exist, history indicates that innovation advances things. Once attacked for their variety, games, including The Last of Us Part II, Horizon Zero Dawn, and Life is Strange, are today praised for stretching limits. Studios have to understand that long-term narrative shouldn't be dictated by moments of short-term indignation.

In the end, this argument emphasizes the need to be strong in artistic choices. Developers now have to consider if they are creating games to tell the best possible tales or satisfy a vocal minority. The response will outline gaming's future.

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How might have things been done differently?

Rather than altering Abby, the company might have stood more strongly supporting the artistic decisions made in the game, confronting negative reactions instead of caving in.

Standing by Abby's initial design would have been a more successful reaction from HBO and The Last of Us crew, therefore supporting the reason she was made that way. They would have been conveying a message that there is no question about representation in games and adaptations. Rather, by making Abby "more vulnerable," they have subtly approved those who assailed her character initially.

Studios and developers should take a proactive stance on these disputes. Instead of responding defensively, they should teach viewers the value of several narratives. This implies designing environments where several types of heroes can coexist, free from compromise or justification.

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Why Abby deserved better—and so did the audience

The debate around Abby reveals a more general unease with female characters whose existence is not to satisfy male audiences. Her story was necessary and should not have been diluted.

Abby was never meant to be a comfortable character. Her existence in The Last of Us Part II was meant to challenge the player’s assumptions, forcing them to confront the cycle of violence and vengeance. Reducing her presence in the HBO adaptation removes that depth, therefore transforming her from the contentious, multi-layered figure she was meant to be into simply another character.

Above all, they expected a faithful adaptation that honored the complexity and subtleties of the original story. Softening Abby's design runs the danger of losing what once made her such a potent symbol. HBO, and for those who related to her path, the loss is great.

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The future of diversity in gaming narratives

If this controversy teaches us anything, it’s that gaming is at a crossroads. The industry can continue pushing meaningful narratives or retreat into catering to outdated expectations. Diversity in gaming is here to stay, but every step forward faces resistance. It’s up to developers to push ahead despite the backlash.

The Last of Us Part II proved that games can be emotionally complex and narratively bold. The response to Abby shows how far gaming has come, as well as how some gamers still find difficulty with change. The stories studios choose to tell—and whether they dare to tell them completely—will help to define the future.

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Not even a Miss was spared: The backlash against Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman

If anyone thought that only muscular women like Abby faced backlash, Gal Gadot’s casting as Wonder Woman proved otherwise. Despite being a literal Miss Israel, a globally recognized beauty queen, and a former soldier, she was met with complaints that she was "too skinny" for the role. Critics conveniently ignored her two years of service in the Israeli Defense Forces, where she underwent rigorous military training, including krav maga, weapons handling, and combat drills.

The irony is staggering. While some audiences demanded that Abby be smaller, others insisted that Gadot wasn’t physically imposing enough to play the Amazonian warrior. What many overlooked was that Gal Gadot didn't just rely on her existing training—she spent months building muscle and learning specialized fight choreography to embody the character.

By the time Wonder Woman hit theaters, those who paid attention could see the realism in her movements. Her hand-to-hand combat scenes weren’t just CGI trickery; they reflected real techniques that she had trained for extensively.

The backlash against Gadot, just like with Abby, wasn’t really about accuracy or realism. It was about an ingrained expectation of how women should look in action roles. If they’re too muscular, they’re "unattractive." If they’re too lean, they’re "not strong enough." This impossible standard proves that no version of a strong female character will ever satisfy certain audiences. The problem was never their physiques—it was the fact that they existed at all as powerful figures in male-dominated genres.

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The weight of representation

At its core, the backlash against Abby Anderson was never just about her muscles. It was about control—about who gets to be the hero, who gets to be strong, and who is allowed to take up space in gaming.

The controversy surrounding The Last of Us Part II is a reminder that representation isn’t just about including diverse characters—it’s about allowing them to be complex, flawed, and fully realized. Abby was a groundbreaking character, but the reaction to her exposed lingering biases still plagues the industry.

HBO’s decision to downplay her physique may seem like a small change, but it represents something larger: the ongoing battle for more authentic, unapologetic representation in gaming and media. Until studios stop compromising to appease the loudest voices, this cycle will continue. The question is—will they finally take a stand?