It’s a testament to its popularity that the WWE is adaptable to change. A never-ending dramedy with unlimited characters (sort of like a less-rapey Law & Order: SVU), the WWE is a good-versus-evil universe, where that ‘good’ or ‘evil’ depends on whatever its audience considers heroic or contemptible, or cool or lame, in the present day.
Though it seems like it’s been the same silly, comic-book soap opera since forever, the WWE has recently become kind of relevant again. Every other day a comedian on TV admits they’re a huge ‘Smark’ (smart ‘Mark’), little kids walk around in John Cena tees, or a rapper drops Bray Wyatt’s name in an otherwise average lyric. But why?
New, niche characters are a huge part of it: for the first time in years some of these wrestlers seem like actually people we could know, and maybe even like. But mainly it’s a new attitude towards the ‘reality’ of the show and a surprisingly clever adoption of technology that’s putting the WWE back into the mainstream.
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Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Et Al. (The Past)
Let’s get this out of the way: yes, pro wrestling isn’t real. It’s so not-real that there’s even a term, ‘kayfabe’, which is shorthand for that special suspension of disbelief needed to keep you watching.
Mick Foley after the Hell in a Cell match, in which he fell through the roof of a cage.
Wrestling, as WWE-style sports entertainment, has come in and out of cultural relevance over the years. The first time it gained mass appeal was in the ’80s, when storylines became more cartoonish. Hulk Hogan was the reigning king, and the WWF (now WWE) secured its dominance in the industry. The next and most recent big wave was the Attitude Era from the ’90s to the early ’00s, a grisly time dominated by still-enduring figures like Stone Cold Steve Austin, Mick Foley, The Undertaker and Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. Popular for its hardasses and unruly matches, the era was about blood, huge personalities and shots to the head with folding chairs.
Unfortunately for women, the Attitude Era also featured a cringe-worthy depantsing of the women’s division, wherein its female wrestlers became wet t-shirt-clad, Budweiser promo girls — aka ‘Divas’ — who were stripped of most of their integrity and left with just enough fabric to cover their ‘cookies’. For a good example of female wrestlers, watch Glow on Netflix.
Then The Rock became The Scorpion King, Steve Austin retired and started a podcast, and in the period that followed, the WWE toned down its image. The company changed its demographic, aiming for a PG classification, in part due to the political aspirations of WWE boss Vince McMahon’s wife, Linda. And so the PG Era was born, cemented when John Cena, the hip-hop-thug, was transformed into its mascot: an all-American marine, a terrorist-fighting GI-Joe. For years, Cena was the safe-bet champion, intermittently passing off the title to Randy Orton and other bad guys – until 2013, when the will-they-won’t-they, Ross-and-Rachel storyline got old and needed to give way to something new and different.
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The Reality Era (The Present)
WWE’s broadcasts — including live shows (Raw), pre-taped shows (Smackdown), and pay-per-view events (Wrestlemania) — have always involved staged ‘candid’ moments, for a reality TV-esque feel. But now more than ever, that line between reality and ‘kayfabe’ is blurred.
WWE wrestlers are given mandatory Twitter accounts, but often use them to make their real opinions known: a notable example is Big E’s recent tweet, in which he suggested that the company’s habit of almost exclusively pitting a beefcake Bulgarian wrestler called Rusev against black wrestlers implies that either Rusev, or the company, is racist.
I have a feeling @RusevBUL hates Hip Hop and cornbread.
— Epsilon (@WWEBigE) May 6, 2014
The radical new direction in company leadership has further blurred the line between fiction and reality. Vince McMahon’s daughter, Stephanie, and her husband, wrestler Triple H, are now in charge of operations. In place of Vince’s angry dad vibe, they’ve introduced a decidedly sinister vibe as The Authority, a theatrical embodiment of the ultimate heel, The Law — we’re in charge, and you’re powerless to stop us.
Their big-business talk is so convincing that even Smarks have a hard time distinguishing between plot lines that are based on ‘kayfabe’, and the decisions that really are just ‘for the good of the business’.
Smarmy former WWE Champion Randy Orton with his evil corporate mates, The Authority.
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The Yes Army
Through 2012–2013, a new-agey, vegan wrestler called Daniel Bryan gained huge momentum through fan support. He was working his way up from the developmental league, NXT, but since he’s not a typical WWE Superstar, he was apparently shut out by The Authority. Since everyone likes an underdog, fans would chant Bryan’s catchphrase (he just points to the roof and yells ‘Yes!’) over other wrestlers’ matches, booing boring veterans like Batista, John Cena and Randy Orton. The Yes Army’s influence culminated in Bryan’s ludicrous, yet totally enchanting Occupy Raw campaign, where he took over a live Raw taping with a gang of fans protesting inside the ring, dressed in his merch and impassionedly chanting ‘Yes!’
His rebellion gave Bryan a shot at the WWE Heavyweight Championship title: it seemed that despite being skeptical about his potential, Stephanie McMahon and Triple H wanted to give the fans what they wanted.
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Not Your Average Superstars
In the Reality Era, a ‘face’ (good guy) isn’t necessarily a hairless, solarium-orange Adonis (a John Cena or Randy Orton type) and a Diva isn’t necessarily a mammary-boosted Barbie (a Natalya). There’s a new generation of Superstars, like Bryan, who have succeeded because they’re different, because they’re talented and because they’re a lot of fun to watch. Another good example is Bray Wyatt: a character adopted by wrestler Windham Rotunda who’s so creepy and on-point that he seems like he’s straight out of an HBO series. A Southern cult-leader and head of the fictional Wyatt Family, Wyatt matches open like a Deliverance-esque nightmare: he sits in an actual rocking chair with two brainwashed cronies behind him, one of whom is wearing a sheep mask.
New Diva Paige is a precocious English wrestler who dresses like a Tumblr goth. Improbably, she became Divas Champion mere months into her WWE career. In fact, with the ushering in of reality-style formats, the Divas are being built up in a way they never have before. Reality show Total Divas (broadcast on E! and produced by Bunim/Murray, the same company behind Keeping Up With the Kardashians) is now in its second season. In a marriage of catty backstage antics and wrestling politics, the show has set up a conflict between the phonies (‘failed actresses’ such as Eva Marie) and the purists (tiny powerhouse AJ Lee and her bodyguard Tamina) within the division, meaning women who are actually good wrestlers get some cred, and others can elevate the ‘I’m-here-because-I’m-hot’ angle to fiendishly heel-like levels.
Vaguely crooked cop tag-team The Shield (which includes The Rock’s little cousin Roman Reigns) has risen to face status. The hilarious Bo Dallas — an anti-heel who makes motivational ‘viral videos’ in place of promos — just made his own unconventional WWE debut last weekend.
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The WWE Network
Finally, in a bold move, the WWE launched a subscription streaming service. The WWE Network means that the company has more control over the length and content of its broadcasts (it no longer answers to the networks that control that old-time device, the television), and is more-or-less safeguarded against piracy. They’ve also been testing out reality TV formats, like Legends House and Total Divas, again breaking down the divide between the way wrestlers appear in promos and who they seem to be IRL.
I guess what I’m saying is that it’s okay to like wrestling. It’s combines the MSG-like effect of reality TV (which is to say, bliss followed immediately by feelings of guilt and sleepiness), with yelling, cool moves, fighting, and costumes. And unlike Game of Thrones, which is tragically about to be out of our lives for another year, wrestling never leaves you without a new episode to watch on a Monday night. I’m trying not to ruin it by saying something like, “Professional wrestling is totally postmodern in a totally not-annoying way.” Even though that is exactly what I’m saying. Wrestling is true, and by true, I mean false. But in the end, isn’t that the real truth?
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