Somewhere, under the bright lights, a crowd is yelling and hollering out of sync. Faceless voices shrouded in the dark as a light shines upon the stage – a square with four ropes and four turnbuckles. Where an act so beautiful will take place and make people forget who they are.
One man steps forth. Bald, five o’clock shadow, short stature. His nose has been broken in three places in his career, and has no tone. He has his scars, and he has his muscles. This is the type of man you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with because you don’t know what he’ll do to you. He had a date the night prior. It went well. He finished a painting he had been working on for months, one of many that would chill you to the bone, juxtaposed with the bleeding heart he quietly beats.. For the masses, they boo and jeer him and make many passing comments about his appearance.
Another man enters through the curtain, and he has a gut. He’s a big guy (and hairy too), and someone you would never want to cross at a bar or pub because you know what he could do to you. This man spent the day before this match giving his daughter the best birthday experience of her life at that point, capped off with a concert held by her favorite pop star.. He’s poured buckets of blood, sweat, and tears for it. For her. For the crowd. And they make fat jokes at him and laugh.
They tell a story in the fiction of sport and violence that washes all of these preconceived notions away, as the crowd rises and falls to their victories and defeats from bell-to-bell, and in those thirty-eight minutes, they get lost and forget their lives. The people society told them to laugh at makes them face themselves. It’s not about who looks conventionally handsome and glamorous, it’s about where and how we see ourselves. Tonight, these fans got to see themselves in these men.
And that’s what’s beautiful about fiction. About professional wrestling. We get to see ourselves in stories and characters that make us happy yet make us feel uncomfortable. There’s the thing about this vice of entertainment, is that often while we are catered to – we are seen and heard.
So why are you here? Why am I here, talking to you?
Because we end up having to have these conversations. Which is why I chose a time where it is currently not in conversation – this is to be a reminder that every time someone is shamed for how they look, that this shit should not matter.
Sometimes these conversations stem from hearing about how certain promotions might not like how wrestlers look, stunting any momentum, and sometimes it starts from some lame goober spouting off nonsense on social media, but the visage of wrestlers is held in an oddly judgmental lens, when that matters least. That’s not what attracts fans. It’s the character and performance that charms us. It’s a lot of things.
It’s the magic that you can’t see, the intangibles that define a star. The ones who possess an aura that keeps people returning and supporting them. Oftentimes, these same wrestlers being scrutinized aren’t even conventionally unattractive, and they lead far better lives than those who just sit back and deploy the shitsplosives that drop out of their mouths when they contribute ill to society. Like, what are we doing here?
These are people, not superheroes, and they don’t have to be. They have their own struggles beyond what we see. Yet, they keep going and so do we. Not because we need a reminder, but because we need to know that there are people out there that receive great things despite what life throws at them. Because maybe if we ourselves keep fighting, we may get it too. Maybe it won’t be as glorious as a belt or a trophy, but it will be something worth fighting for. That’s hope.
Some may wonder if this article is even worth writing about, if it is even that serious. It may not be for you, and maybe not the wrestlers that are stalled from pushes for not fitting an image or the wrestlers receiving hate online, but it matters to everyone who is vulnerable and doesn’t have the strength yet to ignore the bitter spit sprayed by the foul-minded people.
In the midst of bizarre tribalism between wrestling promotions, there is a multitude of mud-slinging directed every which way, to where the usual suspects and even the chiseled or curvaceous supermodels are not safe. If you’re so far into your loyalty for whatever “side” you’re on that you’ve got to tear someone down based on looks, you’ve got to look deep inside yourself and ask why the hell you’re even watching professional wrestling in the first place.
This isn’t a supermodel contest (sorry Rick Martel and the Maximum Male Models), this is grapes. Yeah, vanity and beauty and sex appeal very much do have a spot in pro wrestling, as does lore, drama, work rate, and selling. It depends on how you use it. But not everyone is going to be a Wardlow, a Roman Reigns, a Jamie Hayter, or a Mandy Rose.
Wrestling isn’t pretty, and it never was meant to be. Hell, for some fans, the only thing that matters is the sounds of slaps and thuds of bodies on the mat, for some, the sight of spectacle and blood that satisfies the goopy-goblin brains inside our heads, and sometimes that is just enough.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having men sculpted with the clay to form the body of Greek gods and demigods, or women looking like someone’s idealized vision of beauty gifted by Aphrodite herself, but this is not the way to be human. There’s no one way to be human. We are all individually shaped a certain way, and that factors little into wrestling, where the only shape that matters is the squared circle. We are not universal.
These wrestlers will still get in the ring every night, having made up their mind, because they’ve likely told themselves the exact same things that hecklers have many times, to the point that these words of outsiders and themselves mean absolutely nothing,.This body dysmorphia is the worst critic, worse than any edgy, lame, and cringe thing said on the Internet or in the crowd.
It is by their own image that the vibes and presence exuded by the look of individuality that magnetizes us fans and makes them all the more easy to root for or boo, depending on how they use their god-given charisma. It is by this, that the lies of beauty standards of the decades crumble.
Besides, these toxic folks can’t do what those wrestlers can. They don’t have the voice these fighters do. Everybody is different, and everybody is special.
Look at how people of different shapes and sizes are reflected on television. Children can look at the wrestlers they see and find representation. To see someone who is so much like you succeed, that is hope. That is the unveiling of facades dictated by the shallow diminishing.
If I can be vulnerable for a moment, a little “behind baseball”, I until recently did not like my body, but I learned to. Hell, I’ve been learning to. It’s a slow process of practicing self-love, and putting in the physical work to turn it into something I like.. And so, I work to gain that body I love. It’s something I’m doing for me, so I can personally enjoy the vision of my reflection, and while the process is slow, it is rewarding for every time I look at myself with a smile. I’ve been less inclined to body shame myself, and more willing to give myself credit and see myself as the man I want to be. I’m seeing all my favorite features I want to see. All of these problem areas I gained during the early days of Covid-19 are being toned to my liking. I love myself and I’ve found myself. Yeah, I have my off days where I feel like the world’s sorriest cup of tapioca or vanilla pudding (I am white). But I work on it. And do you know what? Absolutely nobody needs to follow that. Be and look the way you want to be and look. Find your self-love and happiness.
So, other than myself and the wrestlers that endure and persevere, this article is for those that cheer these heroes and wonder if that’s how the rest of the world sees them when darkness seeps out. This is for you. Do the minds of strangers matter much to you? Do they pay your bills and drive your every thought? No. You’re you – so wonderfully and magically you. All of these things you’re self-conscious about are beautiful. Stretch marks, scars, skin conditions, the parts that are “too big” or “too small” are all beautiful. We’re all the different leaves of the same tree. Different patterns, yet made of the same things.
So, see yourself in those amazing performers and enjoy as they show the world who they can be. Follow your dreams and love yourself. Whether you’re crafting and maintaining the look you want, or you cannot change it at all, love yourself. You’re not meant to be perfect. None of us are. So appreciate and love that person inside that has so much to offer.
Yes, the world is a hard place to be in, and the appearance we are given tolls heavily upon our minds, but look at yourself, and rejoice, for you’re given something unique. Smile, and put on your gear as you step into the ring of day to day life.
From bell-to-bell, this is your fight, and you are the babyface against the heels out there.
