Lollipop Chainsaw’s Sequel Risks Missing Its Own Joke

When I first saw a Lollipop Chainsaw ad in a magazine, my heart started pounding. And then, dread settled in. I knew I would get into serious trouble if my mom caught me staring. I quickly slipped the magazine under my childhood bed, trying to conceal the evidence that I had unknowingly bought it and had the nerve to look at its cheekiness. I still remember Juliet Starling’s intense gaze: the lollipop-sucking, chainsaw-wielding cheerleader who, peering through the page, looked at me knowingly. “You want to play this game,” she told me with nothing but a smirk.

Middle school was the perfect age to obsess over world-ending scenarios sparked by a video game ad, which, to this day, I believe my kind mother remains unaware of. In fact, the world didn’t end on that fateful day. I grew up, attended college, married, and my life continued smoothly. But like every other elder Gen-Z, I was afflicted with a strange nostalgia fueled by FOMO. In a marathon to revisit the games I had missed during my strict upbringing (such as Mass Effect and Assassin’s Creed), I picked up a copy of Lollipop Chainsaw. It was a great distraction with a bouncy and vibrant gameplay that equally pleased my 13- and 23-year-old selves. And so, Juliet Starling proved right all along: I did want to play this game.

Fast forward to 2025, and I’m graced with news that makes me smile. Lollipop Chainsaw is getting a new game and an anime series, igniting a reboot that long-time fans were hoping to see. Yet, the announcement was murky toward the end—a casual swipe that altered the tone of what should have been a slam-dunk announcement. And now, I’m really worried that the remake might miss the mark.

What’s Going On With Lollipop Chainsaw and DEI?

According to an announcement made by Dragami Games, the studio behind Lollipop Chainsaw REPOP, a partnership has been formed with Taiwanese investment company Nada Holdings to produce multiple projects under the IP. Although it is not yet confirmed, the language surrounding a “brand-new Lollipop Chainsaw title that both preserves and builds upon the appeal of the original” suggests a sequel is in the works.

Most notably, the part of the announcement causing a stir actually slips in at the very end of the statement. “The development process will prioritize staying true to the distinctive tone and spirit of the original work,” Nada Holdings states, “without imposing excessive creative restrictions in the name of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion).”

Record Scratch. What Am I Missing?

Like some Lollipop Chainsaw fans, I’m perplexed at why a political dog whistle would be injected into an announcement that is meant to be celebratory. Lollipop remains in my memory as one of the most iconic hack-and-slash titles, standing out for its irreverent and unserious nature, which subverts many expectations raised by its initial presentation. And then I had to pause and ponder whether the game had ever been part of, or had ever pandered to, a culture war to begin with.

Lollipop Chainsaw is a Campy, Bizarre Time Capsule

I discovered the fun to be had in Lollipop Chainsaw a few years ago, only three years before Lollipop Chainsaw REPOP’s release date. But before that, I had almost completely forgotten about the incident with the ad featuring Juliet. So, the IP was not at the forefront of my mind when I fell back in love with video games in my early 20s. The game only came to me when I was planning some cosplay ideas, and a friend suggested that I give Juliet Starling a try. In that moment, Juliet’s taunting face from the ad raced back to my mind. And suddenly, I was 13 all over again.

Lollipop Chainsaw was just a distant, awkward memory; one of those banned games meant for edgy adults who shopped at Hot Topic. Yet, realization hit me in threes at that moment:

• I was now an adult.
• Lollipop Chainsaw was clearly no longer a game that was off-limits.
• I fulfilled the prophecy: I was an adult who shopped at Hot Topic.

But I was hesitant to add it to my repertoire of must-play games. First off, I felt gross seeing a high schooler in skimpy cheer attire. Secondly, I wasn’t sure that the hack-and-slash genre was for me. And last but not least, I was not confident that the game could stick a tolerable tonal landing given its marketing. It felt like a game for someone other than me. However, since I prefer to be fully informed before forming opinions, finding an inexpensive copy to play on my aging Xbox 360 was as simple as a quick eBay search.

Go, Team, Go!

When I first played Lollipop Chainsaw, I believed I knew exactly what to expect. The main character was a scantily clad blonde cheerleader holding a chainsaw that’s as big as her torso. But I was mistaken. Not entirely mistaken, but mistaken in a way that made me laugh at myself. Lollipop Chainsaw aims to make the player think it’s shallow. It tries to attract players with revealing outfits and achievements hidden behind upskirt camera angles, only to pull the rug out from under the player.

The game’s whole setup flips traditional gender dynamics on their head in the dumbest, smartest way possible. Juliet isn’t just treated as a pretty girl to look at. She’s capable, funny, resourceful, and a great female heroine in gaming overall. Meanwhile, her boyfriend is literally reduced to a talking head on her hip. That’s the thing about Lollipop Chainsaw: it’s not subtle, but it is smarter than it looks. James Gunn and Suda51’s humor is all over it. It is crude and chaotic, but often self-aware enough to dodge the absolute worst of its own punchlines. It wasn’t making fun of the humble bimbo; it was making fun of the people who underestimated them. In 2012, this must have felt bizarrely clever.

I Wish I Had Played Lollipop Chainsaw Sooner

The early 2010s were a strange time for women in games. The industry was filled with women characters who either took themselves very seriously or not seriously at all. However, Lollipop Chainsaw occupied a bizarre middle ground. It was part grindhouse movie, part teen comedy, part ironic-but-not-too-ironic celebration of hyperfemininity. Juliet was pink, glittery, and absurd, but she was also highly competent. And to a particular kind of player, myself included, that was pretty cool.

People connected with Lollipop Chainsaw because the game didn’t ask to be taken seriously, but it also didn’t talk down to its audience. It was messy, loud, and unpolished, but that was part of its charm. It understood the era it came from, and maybe even gently pushed back against it in its own sugar-sick way. It knew exactly what it looked like, and then it made gamers play as the girl they were supposed to write off.

So Why Are We Dragging Lollipop Chainsaw Into A Culture War?

Lollipop Chainsaw didn’t need to wave a political flag. It didn’t grandstand or preach. Instead, it poked at tropes with bubblegum-sticky fingers and flipped them upside down while doing a high kick. In fact, some of the employed tropes and jokes disguised as dark humor haven’t aged gracefully. Some never made sense to begin with. But that was part of the chaotic blend. It was a game that satirized sex, violence, and pop culture without pretending to solve any of the problems it pointed out.

To frame its revival as an anti-DEI statement completely misunderstands the game’s original appeal. Lollipop Chainsaw was never a feminist manifesto, but it was absolutely part of an ongoing conversation about the way women were represented in gaming. Juliet wasn’t revolutionary, but she was aware. She made space for contradiction: she could be sexy and silly and skilled and sweet, and the game refused to flatten her into just one of those things. That wasn’t inclusion by quota. That was intention.

Is The New Lollipop Chainsaw’s Anti-DEI Stance A Red Flag?

When Dragami Games announced its upcoming sequel and, in the same breath, made a point of saying that they “won’t let DEI elements dictate” their creative vision, it felt less like a bold stance and more like a red flag. Nobody asked them to do that. There was no “woke mob” at the gates of the studio. It felt like watching someone angrily lock a door that was never open, shouting at ghosts. Frankly, who was talking about this?

What’s exhausting is how often this kind of rhetoric gets applied to cult-classic games that were never part of that fight in the first place. Lollipop Chainsaw wasn’t trying to change the world—it was trying to have a little fun with the mess. It didn’t punch down. It giggled sideways. And it did so in an era when irony was the armor we wore to get through cultural growing pains. To now reframe that as a battle cry against inclusion doesn’t just miss the point. It tramples the unique, subversive heart of an original game that didn’t overthink its message or delivery. If this new installment forgets that cheeky defiance and instead plays things outright offensively under the guise of “authenticity” and “dark humor,” it won’t feel like Lollipop Chainsaw at all. It’ll feel like a husk wearing a cheerleader’s costume.