A Brief History of Online Misogyny

Rachel Gambling is a Health Promotion Specialist for Brook Southend. In her free time she writes poetry and creates content for her website @girlblogzine which is dedicated to riot grrrl arts and culture. Here, she outlines a brief history of the rise of online misogyny from her own perspective.

In 2010, Hunter Moore became infamous on MySpace for his adult website IsAnyoneUp. The site hosted thousands of explicit photos of women, often alongside links to their MySpace or Facebook profiles. Many of these images were uploaded by ex-partners in an act now widely recognised as “revenge porn”, the deliberate sharing of intimate images without consent. Some victims were even teenage girls. Others had their private photos hacked from email accounts. This content, unfortunately, thrived. Eventually, Moore was held to account by vigilante hacker group Anonymous – and later sentenced to two and a half years in prison.

As the 2010s progressed, overt misogyny such as that platformed by Moore began to face a new challenge: a wave of online feminism. This movement found a home on the micro-blogging platform Tumblr, where people discovered feminist theory, intersectionality and queer identities.

As a teenager, I thrived on Tumblr. I could discuss my emerging sexuality anonymously and without shame. I learned about patriarchy, misogyny and sexual objectification. For the first time I realised that the unwanted sexual comments I received from male peers were unacceptable.

Building on this growing conversation, feminist creators began to reach wider audiences. One of the most prominent voices was Anita Sarkeesian, who launched her YouTube channel Feminist Frequency and the video series Tropes vs. Women in Video Games. She analysed sexist narratives in gaming and how they fuelled negative attitudes towards women.

The backlash was immediate and vicious. The male-dominated gaming community launched a targeted harassment campaign later known as GamerGate which included death threats, sexual assault threats, hacking and doxxing. Sarkeesian was even sent drawings depicting her being raped by video game characters.

GamerGate soon became a rallying point for those who called themselves anti-SJW (anti–social justice warrior) and the alt-right. These groups presented themselves as defenders of free speech while promoting a reactionary agenda.

I remember this explosion on YouTube during my adolescence. Because I often watched feminist content, the platform’s algorithm began recommending anti-SJW, anti-feminist and alt-right videos that used similar keywords. These creators focused on mocking and devaluing outspoken feminists, sex educators and activists, framing their work as harmful to men.

In 2016, filmmaker Cassie Jaye released The Red Pill, a documentary exploring the men’s rights movement. Jaye ultimately concluded that men “had it worse than women”, a stance that has since been widely criticised and is now often associated with incel communities. Although the film has aged poorly, it marked a moment when far-right, misogynist ideology began to be treated as a legitimate counterpoint to feminist politics.

Fast forward to 2020: during the global pandemic we spent unprecedented hours online. Some people launched podcasts or passion projects; others gravitated toward conspiracy theories and extremist ideas that previous generations had largely rejected.

As we emerged from lockdown, social media algorithms shifted again. Platforms realised that controversial content keeps people scrolling, so they pushed inflammatory figures such as Andrew Tate, Fresh and Fit and Bonnie Blue onto our feeds. Their rhetoric echoed earlier misogynistic voices from Hunter Moore to GamerGate. This time the audience was bigger and the mainstream media took notice.

Today we stand at a crossroads. We need to challenge misinformation, yet in doing so we risk amplifying the very people exploiting social media for attention.

Tech giants such as Meta, X (formerly Twitter) and TikTok now wield extraordinary influence over public opinion. I often ask myself: how do we hold these platforms to account when they sit literally in the palms of our hands and consume hours of our day?

Individually, we can report content that promotes hate speech, but too often those reports are rejected despite obvious breaches of community guidelines. We can lobby MPs and urge government action against platforms that promote extremist, right-wing content. Yet with social media CEOs like Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg attending Donald Trump’s inauguration, it is hard to believe that current leaders will act decisively.

So what next?

Should we boycott platforms like Meta and X? Should we use them to signpost reliable information on our own channels? Should we focus on holding our governments to account for their complacency?

The conversation must continue, but our words need to turn into action sooner rather than later.