It Used to be Better: The Death of Masculinity in Professional Wrestling

“If you take a thing apart or modify it, there are certain aspects which must remain intact for it to retain its identity. Without certain parts, it becomes something else.”

So it’s a lazy Sunday night, I did my dishes, tidied up, and I’ve got some time to kill. Time to hunker down in front of my TV and let the clown and puppet show melt my brain when it occurs to me- it’s a pay-per-view Sunday, brother!

The pro-wrestling pay-per-view Sunday was a highlight of my childhood. Months of intricate story lines, peppered with plot twists, met with my own, personal, mental preparation for the big day which would ultimately culminate in…. nothing. My parents weren’t going pay for a play-fighting television show (“pay for TV!?”).

But those times when I carefully wore away their resolve with begging and pleading- usually with highly detailed explanations of all the moments that led to this happening, where on this particular Sunday night everything would be coming to a head, and nothing would ever be the same in the entire world (wrestling federation).

I needed to be in front of my aging 27″ to take it all in… and those times where they yielded to my lust for staged grappling were fucking beautiful.

But you have to grow up sometime. I stopped watching fake sports in my mid-20s; things just felt different. Main event play-fighting didn’t hold my interest anymore… and it wasn’t until the introduction of the beautifully nostalgic WWE Network that I gave the whole thing a second thought.

The WWE Network, where I could relive those childhood memories thought to be lost to the ages; a place where Hulkamania could truly live forever. Of course, at first, I told myself that it’d just be for the free starter month. I only really wanted to check out a few old Saturday Night’s Main Events- maybe the time where Hogan suplexed the Big Boss Man off the top of the cage, the equivalent to Foley’s dive off the cell for its time…

But then I realized it was November… why not check out Survivor Series ’89, one of the few shows that my parents did, in fact, pay for TV and allow me to watch live. And, before long, I was waist deep in the build to The Black Scorpion vs. Sting at Starrcade 1990- a show that I had been so captivated by as a ten-year-old that I tuned-in to watch scrambled (after all, how could I have gotten to sleep that night without knowing who the dastardly Scorpion was?!).

It didn’t take long for them to get me; I was back, in front of the TV once again, watching drug addict grifters stealing from children. And while I had joined the Network, to re-experience the warmth of my childhood, I had no intentions of checking out the current product.

I mean, right?

Until a cold Sunday in March- a pay-per-view night, indeed- but this wasn’t any old ham-and-egger show… it was Wrestlemania; the true Colossal Tussle– the showcase of the immortal play-fighters. This was a big deal, and I knew it.

Just the word Wrestlemania produced a warm feeling unparalleled to others- conjuring memories of the intense paranoia felt in the weeks leading to the show, scrambling for a venue to soak-in the spectacle while acknowledging the horrifying possibility that none of my friends’ parents may be dumb enough to buy it.

Truth be told, it was mere hours before the start of Wrestlemania VI that I was able to secure a proper viewing location… I’ll leave it to you, the reader, to imagine the whirlwind of emotions I faced that day.

But now, as an adult, scrambling to secure my spot in viewing scripted-history was a thing of the past: Wrestlemania came free with my Network subscription, and since I still felt some attachment to the mental images it drew, I felt a bit of excitement- it was pay-per-view Sunday once again, brother!

And when it was all over, I felt only confusion. Yes, the show was boring- but even during pro-wrestling’s hottest periods there were bad shows too. I remember getting a loose hand-job during the midcard of Wrestlemania XV- a sure sign that something was amiss.

But this was different- this was confusion. What the heck did I just sit through?

On the surface, it looked the same. I mean, it was called Wrestlemania- the name on the marque still says sports entertainmentThere was a ring, and there were men pretending to grapple for fictional reasons- this much was certain. Even some of the names were the same; there was the Undertaker, and HHH .

If you were watching from across the room, half looking at your phone, half paying attention, maybe you’d have been convinced… but, not me. Unfortunately, I had made the ugly mistake of taking the fake-event too seriously, watching too closely; expecting to be entertained.

Watching closely, you see the little differences. Like how the steel guard rail has been replaced with pillows. Gone were the natural promos given by the likes of Jake “The Snake” Roberts and Dusty Rhodes, replaced with stilted, awful monologues. The fake grappling looked faker than ever; closer to a collaborative stunt show than an actual representation of two men pretending to fight.

There were no badass heels like “Ravishing” Rick Rude making the audience feel badly about their bodies. And, worst of all, everything on-screen was delivered with a wink-and-nudge- just in case anyone dare take the clown show too seriously.

It was almost as if you recreated an entire movie, shot-for-shot, using non-actors. Everything kind of looked the same while also looking horribly weird and different.

Which begs the question: how much of something can you change without entirely making it something else?

It was only after getting a look at the members of the audience, the “WWE Universe” (I’m throwing up), that something urgent and terrible had occurred to me. There were grown men wearing unicorn horns and holding up signs about hugging. Wrestling fans were never known for their own masculinity, but part of the allure of professional wrestling was being drawn to the display of masculinity.

When “Ravishing” Rick Rude comes out to the ring looking greased and ripped, as if he just fucked every girlfriend in a twenty-five mile radius, while calling you a sweathog, you were powerless against his heavy verbiage. You were forced into taking the only action available: booing and hurling insults. When The Ultimate Warrior hits the ring as a paragon of positive masculinity, you’re naturally on his side. If Rude cheats to win, it’s intrinsically understood that his decision was based on the idea that cheating was a last resort.

Despite Rude being more masculine than the audience, Warrior had proven himself more masculine than Rude, forcing Rude to exploit Warrior’s honor (and the naivete) to garner a cheap victory. So even if the audience is deficient in their own masculinity and unable to compete with Rude, they can feel both satisfaction and anger in how Rude was unable to defeat the Warrior without cheating. And when the Warrior finally gets his revenge, the victory is even more rewarding.

This is the basis of the emotional roller-coaster that is professional wrestling.

Professional wrestling fans are looking for a dramatization of combat where larger-than-life figures play out different masculine archetypes which the wrestling fan can attach himself to and interact with. This is why the hardcore wrestling fan will dress like, mimic, and act out the machismo of their favorite wrestler; they want to see themselves in the charisma of Ric Flair or the irresistible force of Hulk Hogan.

It’s easy to compare bad guy wrestlers with the alpha male bullies the wrestling fan has encountered throughout his life; the quarterback who screws the cheerleaders, or the asshole boss who gives everyone a hard time. The undeserving characters who cheat to win and always manage to find a way to come out on top, like the Honky Tonk Man, are infuriating because we’ve all known someone like that. Professional wrestling can present these archetypes and also manage to end the story with the honorable wrestler triumphing.

“Men seek out substitutes for fighting…men ritualize play fighting with sport.”

In Jack Donovan’s meditation on authentic masculinity, “The Way of Men,” Donovan defines masculinity as being composed of strength, courage, mastery, and honor. In looking to the archetypes of classic professional wrestlers, we can see where these qualities are either represented or deficient depending on the desired effect.

A wrestler may have strength as their signature quality, something surely masculine, but  lack honor- making him the typical monster heel like Big Van Vader or Sid. He may have strength but lack courage, like “Hollywood” Hulk Hogan, or even strength without mastery- with which the Ultimate Warrior certainly comes to mind.

Courage is defined by the “will to act in the face of adversity” and is the hallmark of the good guy, babyface wrestler. When you see blood in professional wrestling, the idea is typically to make the babyface seem more courageous. We feel sympathy for bleeding “Stone Cold” Steve Austin as he battles through Bret Hart’s sharpshooter at Wrestlemania 13 due to the depths of his courage.

When a babyface fights through the odds of entering the Royal Rumble at number one, we love him even more when he shows the courage to persevere- a storyline used again and again because it’s just that effective. And when a heel exploits the courageousness of a babyface wrestler, like HHH leaving Mick Foley laying in a pool of blood, we hate them even more. Courage without strength is, of course, another hallmark of wrestling storytelling- the hapless geek who refuses to quit- and we’ve seen that play out in pathetic old Mankind before transforming into his badass alter ego Cactus Jack.

Having mastery over anything- be it a subject, skill, or art- is something which is revered in the masculine realm. This is why professional wrestling has a World Champion– and the wrestling fan will either respect (or fear) the champion who conquered the competition using legitimate (fake legitimate?) means to the title… or despise the cowardly villain who cheated to win. The modern fan can even look to the all-star ring technicians like Ric Flair or Bryan Danielson and respect them for their mastery of the carnival.

Another hallmark of the professional wrestler is their sense of honor, or lack of honor. Where they fall on the barometer of honor is what ultimately decides their fate as either hero or villain.

For these archetypes to be effective, and for the emotional component of wrestling to resonate, the wrestling fan must be given the chance to become invested in taking the show seriously. The current product lacks this depth, almost to the point of making fun of the viewer for bothering to try. Even if the classic characters of the old era had cartoonish personas, they were still believably human. Modern wrestlers do not feel like three-dimensional characters or actual human beings. Even if someone like Kamala had a silly gimmick, I was still able to believe that he was a Ugandan savage- and there was a sense of danger to that. I was able to believe that Mr. Perfect was really that smug, or that Macho Man genuinely had a screw loose. I was able to get emotionally invested in wins and loses, dramatic triumphs and devastating disappointments, because the characters ultimately felt human.

Maybe the overt masculinity of classic wrestling has become too venomous for a modern audience. Maybe advertisers need a softer product to sell. Or maybe times have changed, and all forms of entertainment are being stripped of masculinity as our cultural testosterone whimpers along on life support- while men dressed as unicorns try to capture the greatness of what has since faded.

When it used to be better.

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  1. Bob Steiner · February 27, 2017

    Well this was bloody stupid

  2. Be Sour, It's An Old Day · February 27, 2017

    The column opens with an apology for being a wrestling fan. “I’m going to say up front how silly ‘play fighting’ is so that people will take me seriously and realize I’m an intellectual with a sense of irony. Not just some fan.” Greaaaat start…

    Then we transition into an extended homage to the writer’s own acknowledged sense of nostalgia for the pop culture of the 80s and early 90s. Because god fucking knows the Internet needs more of that in 2017…

    He next bends over backwards to establish no interest, repeat, NO INTEREST in modern wrestling. I don’t know about the rest of you, but this makes me keenly interested in what he thinks about wrestling in 2017. If you can’t take the opinion of someone who tells you repeatedly that he doesn’t give a shit to the bank, then what can you?

    Now comes a few complaints about some of the safety measures and suggestions that ring work looked more convincing in the 80s.

    The former is perhaps a product of not having paid attention to the industry for 20 years and being unaware of the necessity of keeping performers healthy and alive. The latter, on the other hand, invites speculation that the writer himself may have been suffering from a head injury when taking in those matches.

    Ironically, the modern indy style is much more risky and physically taxing than the plodding brawls that the likes of Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior used to indulge in. Which makes the next avenue of complaint all the more curious…

    Finally we transition into the meat (for lack of a better word) of the complaint: To this writer, wrestling is supposed to be a “display of masculinity.” This is problematic for several reasons.

    One, it necessarily excludes the long and storied history of women’s wrestling from consideration. Plenty of women on the old ladies circuits would probably like to teach him a thing or two (like how to subsist only on liquids with a wired jaw for three to nine weeks…).

    Two, this standard is perilously subjective. If this joker doesn’t find a guy like AJ Styles or Seth Rollins manly enough to scratch whatever itch he’s got, well, that sounds an awful lot like his problem.

    Even if I went along with this flimsy, insecure notion that wrestling is about being a man’s man, I really don’t think I’d feel personally safe questioning the masculinity of anyone working in that ring today. And in the cartoonish Adonises of yesteryear I see not an ideal to be admired, but rather a toxic fable that forced performers down unhealthy and self-destructive paths.

    But there I go with my anti-masculine bullshit again. Real men don’t worry about such things I guess. If Randy the Ram drops dead at 44, at least he did it his way, brother.

    Naturally, some sexism can’t help but creep into the text. “Donovan defines masculinity as being composed of strength, courage, mastery, and honor,” we’re told. By extension, we must assume that women put comparably little value in strength, courage, “mastery” (whatever that means?), and honor, and that these values are less suited for them, or perhaps not suited at all?

    This is the problem every time you try to prescribe abstract values to one demographic group or another; you’re necessarily crafting a condemnation by omission of the out group. Note that the only reference to women in this entire column is as “girls” to be fucked en masse by Rick Rude.

    By the way, for a guy who went to great pains to make sure we knew that he was sufficiently embarrassed at once being a wrestling fan–to the point that he must now repeatedly qualify himself as a fan not of wrestling but of his own childhood–he sure does spend a lot of time breaking down the storytelling tropes of the sport. A whole lot of time.

    Finally, the old canard: “It used to be better.” He even worked it into the hed. Naturally, this writer is not alone in this opinion. But that’s been true in every generation since the dawn of time.

    Crusty old school territory wrestlers (who were, incidentally, paragons of violent, scabby, Biker meth-grade masculinity on a scale that this writer might quail if confronted with) were disgusted by the cartooniness and family appeal of 80s wrestling just as much as by the Hollywood-style posturing of 90s wrestling.

    Now most of them are dead and the fans of what came after are free to move into that social niche and turn their disgruntlement onto the media of the next generation. A tale as old as time.

    Curiously, this writer seems to hold particular disdain for the New Day, taking one more shot at them in closing, but previously praised the dorkiness of Mick Foley’s late-breaking Mankind routine (which dates his wrestling apostasy much more recently than he’d evidently like for us to believe, and suggests he was a fan for much, much longer than he let on before), a schtick so dorky that Foley himself acknowledged it was necessary to physically discard the gimmick onstage in order to be taken seriously again as an aggressor.

    If there’s a single performer that the New Day’s face antics owe more to than Foley in the time both just before and just after his first in-ring retirement I have trouble imagining who it would be. But, again, the view across the generation gap can render things blurry at times.

    • John Random (@JohnRandom1234) · February 27, 2017

      “Be Sour, It’s and Old Day,”

      If you can’t grasp that modern pro wrestling is a shit tier product then I don’t know what to tell you. It’s probably possible for you to be more of a faggot, but I doubt it.

      “Naturally, some sexism can’t help but creep into the text. “Donovan defines masculinity as being composed of strength, courage, mastery, and honor,” we’re told. By extension, we must assume that women put comparably little value in strength, courage, “mastery” (whatever that means?), and honor, and that these values are less suited for them, or perhaps not suited at all?…This is the problem every time you try to prescribe abstract values to one demographic group or another; you’re necessarily crafting a condemnation by omission of the out group.”

      Nice regurgitation of Frankfurt School/”Post-Structuralist” horseshit. Muh social constructs. Contrary to what your freshman english teacher told you, these things are rooted in flesh and blood reality. Men and women are different. Violence is the domain of men. Any damn fool know this. The rules and codes governing its use is part and parcel with the foundation of what we call honor. Man gets into a fight with another man, no one loses sleep. Man gets into a fight with a woman and someone’s going to jail. This attempt to introduce women into male spaces is nothing more than an attempt to sell the product to women (which it never will to the degree they want because violence is a man’s world), wrapped in cultural bolshevist bullshit. Feminism is communism with tits.

      Fact is, WWE got greedy, became a publicy traded company, and bends its knee to PC corporate orthodoxies, resulting in lowest common denomenator shit.The author of the article is right, and you’re an idiot who should go back to reddit.

      Seriously, what kind of faggot is a fan of New Day? smh.

    • No seriously, I'm Eric Andre · April 23, 2017

      You’re a right fucking nerd and modern wrestling sucks for every reason listed in the article. Now get a life you sad boy.

  3. Colby Wilson · February 27, 2017

    Watching WWF back in the day was one of the more memorable parts of my lack luster childhood. My favorite villain archetype wrestlers were Ted Debiase Million Dollar Man, Irwin R. Shyster, Rude Rick Flair, Jake The Snake Roberts, and Shawn Michaels. I learned to how to properly talk shit from watching those guys.

    • Properly talking shit is a start… you can learn a lot about gaming a woman by watching old wrestling too. I remember being 19 and being out with a chick and her friend one night, at a pool hall, and for shits and giggles I decided to “act like HHH” in my swagger and attitude… especially as I was terrible at pool, and as a cover I tried to pull the “cool heel” attitude of “not giving a fuck.” Ended up hooking up with them both that night… and it only took me the next ten years to figure out exactly why that happened.

  4. Matthew Hurwitz · March 1, 2017

    Please consider a follow-up on this article to go more in detail about what’s wrong with the modern WWE. I haven’t watched wrestling since when I was a kid, so I can only imagine it’s like the difference between The Terminator and Terminator Genisys, but I’d love to see you do an autopsy report.

    • I’ll probably come around to writing on wrestling again- it’s something of a passion of mine, even if it used to be better. Watching the new stuff really is as unsatisfying as I made it out to be, and I still do get caught up in the nostalgia of looking forward to a “Wrestlemania” or a “Summerslam” (since it’s “free” for me anyway), only to be irritated that I even bothered half-way through the show- and, in the case of this year’s Mania, being exhausted at work the next day and cursing myself for being stupid enough to stay up for it.

      I think in some ways the wrestling fan has always been a masochist and a cuck, as part of the entertainment is being insulted by a superior (or, at least, more masculine) man, while having an even more masculine man triumph over the bad guy. I hate to split hairs over the cuck thing as being such a negative, because I believe it’s always been a part of male-nature to admire great men (and hope to emulate them as much as possible)- but to the pro-wrestling fan, being insulted is part of the emotional rollercoaster of the show. Like I said in the post, this element of pro-wrestling is greatly diminished than what it was- and instead of a heel insulting the audience for their lack of masculinity, with the babyface redeeming them, the modern product seems more about coddling the fan for his lack of masculinity and embracing it.

      I think all forms of entertainment have shifted gears toward the direction of glamorizing the geek and encouraging men to not take themselves, or their masculinity, seriously- and such, you see people in the crowd happily wearing unicorn horns and holding signs about hugging. I get that it’s part of the product and not random- like the unicorn horns are for a tag team and the hugging signs are in reference to one of the women… but compare that to the Attitude era where men in the crowd would posture their masculinity by giving the finger to wrestlers and cursing at them. This wasn’t random either, the product at the time was built toward encouraging that kind of overt masculinity with Stone Cold, and DX. I don’t know if you were an ECW fan, but the entire ECW product was an outlet for allowing the crowd to LARP masculinity for three-hours at a time… and now, the message is essentially, “it’s okay to be a pussy.”

      So, to answer your question, maybe “Summerslam”… after all, how can I miss a pay-per-view Sunday, brother.

  5. Pingback: It Used to be Better: The Death of Masculinity in Professional Wrestling — Kill to Party – Classic Wrestling Association
  6. Mike · December 6, 2019

    Agree w/the article fully. 2 years+ old but still rings true, modern wrestling sucks.

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