When Eileen Gu chose to compete for China instead of America, the reaction moved quickly beyond the sports arena. It became a fixture in national media, moving into the polarized world of talk radio, cable news, and political op-eds.
For many observers, a personal career move became a public referendum on loyalty. In an era where US/China tensions influence almost every aspect of public life, Gu became a symbol for a nation struggling with its own geopolitical anxieties.
The American media reaction to Gu can be split into two distinct camps. On one side, conservative cable news outlets, particularly Fox News, framed her choice in the language of betrayal.
During the 2022 Beijing Games, commentators described her as "ungrateful." Their argument was rooted in the idea of a "national asset": the U.S. had provided the coaches, the training facilities, and the competitive infrastructure, and Gu had "handed" those American-made results to a strategic rival. For this segment of the media, there was no room for bicultural nuance. The narrative was binary:
You are either with the United States or against it.
On the other side, legacy publications like The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal took a more analytical, albeit skeptical, approach. They focused on the "geopolitical tightrope" Gu was attempting to walk.
The New York Times questioned whether an athlete could truly "soar over the divide" when the two countries were actively locking horns over trade, technology, and human rights. Their coverage often highlighted the "VPN incident" (where Gu suggested fans in China could simply use a VPN to bypass internet restrictions) as evidence of how difficult it is to maintain a "bridge-building" mission under an authoritarian regime.
In these papers, Gu was treated as a test case for whether a globalized identity can survive a new era of Cold War rivalry.
A deeper layer of the controversy involves the American expectation of the mixed-race experience. Gu is bicultural and mixed-race, raised in the multicultural environment of San Francisco. She has famously stated, "When I'm in the U.S., I'm American, but when I'm in China, I'm Chinese." To many younger, globalized Americans, this is an honest reflection of a fluid, modern identity.
However, many media critics saw this "contextual identity" as a strategic convenience rather than a personal truth. There is a persistent, quiet pressure in the U.S. for mixed-race individuals to serve as the ultimate proof of the "American Dream" by choosing a singular, patriotic path.
When Gu refused to fit into that box, she challenged a core American narrative. The media’s fascination with her citizenship status (constantly asking if she had renounced her American passport) was more than a legal question. It was a demand for her to declare her identity in a way that was permanent and fixed, rather than situational.
Naomi Osaka provides a clear point of comparison that helps explain why the Gu backlash was so uniquely intense. When Osaka chose to represent Japan over the U.S. in 2018, the American media reaction was remarkably restrained. The conversation focused on her heritage, her marketing power, and her personal agency.
The difference is fundamentally geopolitical. Japan is a treaty ally of the United States. In the American imagination, a move toward an ally is "safe" and does not trigger a national security reflex. But because the U.S. government increasingly defines China as a strategic adversary, the American media interprets Gu’s choice through a zero-sum lens.
Every gold medal for China is viewed as a loss for the American system. In this high-stakes environment, even her enrollment at Stanford University was scrutinized, as though an American institution was helping produce a champion for a rival state.
Beyond politics, there is the reality of the globalized athlete as a business entity. Gu is the face of over 20 brands, ranging from luxury goods to major Chinese corporations.
She reportedly earned over $30 million in endorsements in a single year. Sports analysts pointed out that international sport is a marketplace, and Gu saw an opportunity to be a singular icon in a market of over a billion people.
In professional sports, this is often called "maximizing value." But in the current political climate, "good business" can look like "moral compromise."
The U.S. media frequently pointed out the irony of Gu representing a country with strict internet censorship while maintaining a massive, VPN-reliant social media following. This perceived hypocrisy became a central theme in her coverage, making it impossible for her to be seen as "just an athlete."
The controversy surrounding Eileen Gu reveals that the United States has moved toward a climate where athletes are increasingly expected to choose a side. Gu attempted to serve as a bridge between two superpowers at the exact moment they were pulling apart.
The debate remains intense because the underlying political tension has not eased. Eileen Gu has not changed her mind, but the world around her has become less forgiving of her dual identity. Ultimately, she has become a mirror for American anxieties. When the public looks at her, they see unresolved questions about power, loyalty, and who "owns" success in a divided century.
