Alexandra Grant has been facing a relentless wave of online criticism, even as her relationship with Keanu Reeves grows deeper and more visibly affectionate. What should be a private, joyful chapter in the life of one of Hollywood’s most beloved stars has instead become fuel for jealousy, conspiracy theories, and outright hostility directed squarely at the woman by his side.

The latest flashpoint came in early January 2026, when a 37-second video of the couple ice skating at New York’s Rockefeller Center went viral. Posted by the fan account @archiveskeanu, the clip showed Reeves and Grant gliding hand-in-hand, sharing hugs, quick kisses, and playful spins beneath the twinkling lights. For many viewers, it was a heartwarming snapshot of two people clearly in love—Reeves in a cozy green hoodie, Grant in a soft lavender coat, both laughing as they navigated the ice together.

Yet within hours, the comments sections on Instagram, YouTube, X, and Reddit turned vicious. Instead of celebrating the couple’s happiness, a vocal segment of netizens zeroed in on Reeves’ slightly unsteady movements, his occasional hunch forward, and moments where he appeared to pause and catch his breath. They quickly connected these observations to his well-documented November 2025 knee fracture, sustained on the set of the comedy Good Fortune. Reeves had fractured his kneecap during a dance sequence, spent ten weeks in a brace, and described the pain as “banana-cakes” in interviews. At 61, with decades of high-impact stunt work and motorcycle accidents behind him, some physical limitations are inevitable.

Rather than express sympathy for Reeves’ recovery, many commenters turned their anger toward Grant. “Why would she drag him onto the ice knowing his knees are shot?” one Instagram user demanded. “She deliberately takes him ice skating to make him look weak,” another claimed on YouTube. More extreme voices accused her of staging the entire outing for attention, insisting that “she always makes sure there’s a photographer nearby” and that Reeves looks “like her plaything.” Conspiracy threads on Reddit’s r/Fauxmoi and other forums revived old rumors that the relationship is a “contract” or PR arrangement, with some users alleging Grant is “using him for fame” while Reeves is “trapped” or “not acting like himself.”

These attacks are not new—they have shadowed Grant since she and Reeves first appeared together publicly in 2019 at the LACMA Art + Film Gala. Before that moment, Reeves had spent years as Hollywood’s ultimate gentle icon: the man who quietly endured unimaginable personal losses (the stillbirth of his daughter in 1999, the 2001 death of partner Jennifer Syme in a car accident, the 1993 overdose of close friend River Phoenix), gave away millions in charity, bought motorcycles for entire stunt teams, and rode the subway without bodyguards. Fans adored this image so much that they nicknamed him “the internet’s boyfriend.” Grant’s entrance disrupted that fantasy.

At 52, with silver hair worn naturally and an established career as a visual artist, Grant didn’t match the stereotypical image of a celebrity partner. Early criticism focused heavily on her appearance, age difference (she is nine years younger than Reeves, though many assume the opposite), and perceived lack of conventional “glamour.” Forums and tabloid comment sections filled with ageist, sexist jabs calling her “not pretty enough” or “too old-looking” for him. Grant has addressed this double standard in interviews, pointing out that women dating famous men are frequently reduced to accessories or judged harshly on looks in ways male partners rarely are.

The ice-skating video simply poured gasoline on these long-smoldering embers. Extended clips circulated showing Reeves nearly falling several times, sitting briefly on the ice, and Grant continuing to skate around him. “She left him on the ground and didn’t even check if he was okay,” one viewer complained. Others mocked his skating ability, forgetting or ignoring that he was once a skilled ice hockey player in his Canadian teenage years. The contrast between past athletic prowess and current caution became ammunition: “Wouldn’t you think he’d be more confident on ice? It’s like riding a bike. Weird,” one commenter wrote, conveniently overlooking the impact of serious injury and aging.

Grant’s defenders, however, have pushed back forcefully. Fan accounts on X repeatedly post messages like: “Alexandra Grant has done nothing to deserve this hate. No one makes Keanu Reeves smile the way she does.” On Reddit, users call her “a fucking rad chick” who shares Reeves’ intellectual depth, kindness, and preference for privacy. They highlight her own accomplishments: exhibitions at institutions like MOCA, co-founding the independent publishing house X Artists’ Books, and collaborating with Reeves on art books such as Ode to Happiness (2011) and Shadows (2016) years before romance developed. To them, the hate is pure jealousy—parasocial obsession from fans who cannot accept that their idealized, unattainable hero has chosen a real, grounded partner.

Grant herself has handled the scrutiny with remarkable composure. When fake marriage rumors and AI-generated wedding photos spread in September 2025, she posted a genuine kissing photo on Instagram with the caption “fake news,” urging followers to be cautious about misinformation. Reeves’ publicist later confirmed the couple is not married. In a subsequent interview at the Good Fortune premiere, Reeves praised her response: “She just did a wonderful job addressing, like, ‘Thank you, but here’s the reality.’” Even this drew snide remarks from detractors who accused her of “controlling the narrative.”

The pattern reveals a troubling truth about modern fan culture. Reeves’ tragedies and humility have made him an object of intense, almost possessive affection. When a woman—especially one who refuses to conform to Hollywood beauty standards or seek the spotlight—enters his life, that affection can curdle into resentment. Smartphones and social media have turned every public moment into content for dissection, eroding any remaining boundary between celebrity and audience. The Rockefeller Center rink, one of the most public places in the world, offered no protection from being filmed and judged.

Yet the couple continues forward undeterred. They attend events together, collaborate creatively, and share quiet moments of joy. Grant’s New Year’s message in January 2026 reflected on 2025 as a year of “falling in love with each other and our work in new ways,” wishing for “more sweet moments” in the year ahead. Celebrating at Sandra Bernhard’s party alongside Reeves, she radiated the same calm confidence that has defined her throughout the storm.

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This backlash ultimately says far more about the critics than it does about Alexandra Grant. In an industry built on illusion, she and Reeves represent something rare: a relationship rooted in mutual respect, shared values, and genuine affection, not red-carpet optics. For the fans who truly care about Reeves’ happiness, the healthiest response is acceptance—letting him choose his partner without the burden of hate.

Because at the end of the day, no amount of online vitriol can erase the simple, powerful truth visible in that ice-skating video: Keanu Reeves is happy. And Alexandra Grant is the woman standing beside him, holding his hand through every glide, every wobble, and every beautiful, imperfect moment.