The WNBA is no stranger to reinvention. But rarely does a single word capture the collision of sports, branding, identity, and controversy quite like this: “mebounds.”

The term—originally meant as an insult—has become one of the most talked-about memes in women’s basketball. It refers to Chicago Sky forward Angel Reese and the claim from online critics that her rebounding numbers are padded with missed shots of her own, scooped up for second (or third) attempts. The phrase blends mockery and metrics, humor and hostility. And now, it may also be a trademark.

Because Angel Reese, in full Angel Reese fashion, isn’t ignoring the noise. She’s trademarking it.

On June 15, after a viral X post joked that Reese should file paperwork and profit from the hate, the 22-year-old forward replied with a wink emoji, a check mark, and tagged her agent. “Thankyaaa,” she wrote.

Days later, reports confirmed her legal team had filed a trademark application for the word “mebound” under the goods and services category. If approved, she’ll have the exclusive right to sell merchandise under the label—hoodies, hats, accessories, even digital goods.

If the internet gave her a name, Reese plans to put it on a hoodie—and cash the check.

From Mockery to Monetization

Angel Reese is not the first athlete to turn criticism into capital. LeBron James famously trademarked “Shut Up and Dribble” after a Fox News commentator used it to diminish his activism. Serena Williams has flipped media criticism into fashion statements. Even Caitlin Clark, Reese’s on-court rival and off-court parallel, has embraced terms like “polarizing” as part of her branding arc.

But “mebounds” is different. It wasn’t coined by a network or a journalist. It was born on fan pages and in meme threads—started as a snarky way to undermine her production, and now turned into a cultural artifact.

That makes Reese’s decision both bold and brilliant—and undeniably risky.

Reclaiming the Narrative

To her supporters, the move is classic Reese: confident, witty, and ahead of the conversation. Why not take a slur and flip it into a slogan? If people are going to talk, let them pay for the privilege.

To her critics, it’s a deflection—a marketing stunt meant to mask underwhelming on-court performance with off-court theatrics.

Both views miss something bigger: Angel Reese isn’t trying to silence the narrative. She’s rewriting it.

“Y’all ate with that one,” she said on a recent livestream. “Mebounds? That was cute. I get rebounds, yeah. But I don’t care if they come off my own shots or yours. I get them.”

That casual clarity reflects how Reese sees herself: a player whose value isn’t limited to one metric or interpretation. She knows she’s not yet a finished product. But she also knows she moves culture in ways stats can’t measure.

And that may be the point.

The Stat Sheet Doesn’t Lie—But It Doesn’t Tell the Whole Story

Through her first 10 games of the 2025 season, Angel Reese is averaging 10.4 points and 8.7 rebounds per game. Her field goal percentage is just over 41%—solid, but not elite. She’s struggled with efficiency, particularly around the rim, and her offensive rating places her in the lower half of starting forwards.

At the same time, she’s drawn charges, fought for boards, and logged big minutes for a struggling Chicago Sky team (3–7 at the time of writing). Her rebounding has, in fact, kept her team afloat in several games—even if many of those rebounds come after her own missed putbacks.

This is where the “mebounds” criticism becomes more nuanced.

Yes, Reese has games where she misses a shot, rebounds it, misses again, and scores on the third try. But that’s often not selfishness—it’s survival. The Sky lack spacing and consistent perimeter threats, forcing players like Reese to create second chances inside. What critics call “stat padding,” coaches often call “effort.”

Still, perception lingers. And in sports, perception is as real as the numbers.

Performance vs. Persona

What makes the “mebounds” situation different from other athlete memes is how directly it intersects with Reese’s brand. Unlike more reserved players—say, A’ja Wilson or Chelsea Gray—Reese is hyper-present online. She engages with fans, posts fashion content, celebrates her NIL roots, and responds to criticism with the timing of a stand-up comic.

That visibility is both her strength and her vulnerability.

To her fans, she’s the future of women’s basketball: bold, unfiltered, accessible.

To her detractors, she’s too loud, too flashy, not “serious enough.” It’s a critique that female athletes—particularly Black women—have faced for generations.

“Mebounds,” then, becomes a kind of shorthand for all of it: the work, the flash, the skepticism, the stardom, the scrutiny. It’s a word, but it’s also a window.

And now it’s a trademark.

The Business Behind the Move

Filing for a trademark isn’t easy—or cheap. It involves legal review, category classification, usage verification, and potential litigation if challenged. Reese’s legal team reportedly filed under the “apparel and accessories” category, suggesting plans for physical products.

If successful, she’ll be able to print the word on sweatshirts, leggings, stickers, or even use it for digital branding (think: NFTs, mobile merch, augmented-reality filters).

The question is whether people will buy it.

Skeptics argue that “mebounds” is still too derogatory to sell. Why would someone—fan or foe—spend money on something that originated as a slight? It’s not “#MVP.” It’s not “Built Different.” It’s a jab, not a flex.

But that assumes the audience takes the word at face value. Reese is betting they don’t.

She’s betting fans understand irony. That supporters will wear “mebounds” as a badge of defiance. That her merch can become the basketball equivalent of a viral tweet, where owning the joke makes you the punchline’s master—not its victim.

In today’s hyper-connected sports ecosystem, that bet isn’t absurd. It might just be genius.

What It Says About the WNBA

The real story here isn’t just Reese. It’s the league.

The WNBA is in the midst of an identity shift—one powered by Clark’s sharp shooting, Reese’s charisma, and a wave of Gen Z players who grew up online and have no patience for outdated playbook politics.

They don’t wait for endorsements. They create their own.

They don’t ask for media framing. They log on and frame themselves.

In this new era, brands are personal. Memes are monetizable. And even criticism is content.

“Mebounds” might be the first WNBA meme to get trademarked. It won’t be the last.

Because as the league leans into visibility, its players are doing the same. And that means every moment—good, bad, viral—is up for grabs.

The Fans Are Watching—and Arguing

As expected, the internet response has been polarized.

Supporters flooded Reese’s posts with praise. “Queen behavior,” one wrote. “She’s really turning the internet against itself.”

Others weren’t as kind. “Make a layup before you make a hoodie,” another posted, drawing thousands of likes.

Still, in true Reese fashion, she hasn’t backed down. And she’s not waiting for consensus. She’s betting on conversation.

And so far, she’s winning it.

Final Word: More Than a Meme

Angel Reese’s journey—from LSU to the WNBA, from national title celebrations to meme-fueled backlash—has never followed a straight path. But it has always moved forward.

Trademarking “mebounds” isn’t just about branding. It’s about ownership.

It’s about showing that in the modern WNBA, players don’t just play the game. They shape the narrative. They choose what sticks. And they decide what gets sold.

Will it work? Time—and sales—will tell.

But one thing is clear: Angel Reese didn’t invent the word. She just made it hers.