Why wrestling meant so much to me, and why it still does

Duende is a Spanish word describing a force hidden in art that moves a person – a power that is unexplainable and usually tied to live performance. Expanding on this definition, we can speak of duende when we hear a favorite song for the first time, watch film scenes that stay with us forever, or stand before a beloved painting for the opening time.

In my case, for many years, the provider of such emotions was pro wrestling. I fell in love with professional wrestling at the age of 10, by accident. After a long day of renovating the family home, I stumbled upon WWE Raw on the Extreme Sports Channel one Saturday night.

It was an experience like no other. A fight, but not static and tactical like boxing; it was more theatrical, full of expression and moves that seemed impossible to pull off in a “real” fight, all wrapped in a massive spectacle.

For the next 6-7 years, I was in wrestling’s clutches: I watched it for hours, participated in forums, took my first steps in editorial offices, and (very amateurishly) translated my first books. I can safely say I was shaped by wrestling, or rather, by the environment and interests surrounding it – which led me to where I am today.

Since 2016, my relationship with pro wrestling has resembled a long-distance affair: occasional check-ins to see how things are going, with periodic returns heavily soaked in nostalgia for the simpler times of childhood and adolescence.

There are plenty of arguments against wrestling, from accusations of “low-brow” entertainment and “fakeness” to its potentially harmful social influence. There are also interesting studies attempting to link the Donald Trump phenomenon to pro wrestling, citing his relatively frequent appearances in and out of the ring.

In this piece, however, I will try to present a few arguments “for”, or rather, explain where the global popularity of pro wrestling actually comes from.

Seeking Noble Roots

An obvious strategy for those primarily concerned with maintaining an “intellectual” image would be to reach for safe authorities from the past. It is often pointed out that Plato wasn’t just a philosopher but – according to some sources – also a wrestler, and a quite capable one at that. His participation in the Isthmian Games is often cited as an anecdote, and the nickname “Plato” itself allegedly meant “Broad,” a nod to his physique.

Many of Socrates’ dialogues took place in gymnasiums, at the intersection of philosophy and physicality. Of course, this isn’t pro wrestling in the modern sense, but given their shared roots, we can also throw in contemporary names. Rick Rubin – the legendary producer who worked with the likes of the Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Slayer, and Johnny Cash – has often spoken of wrestling as a relaxing form of entertainment based on close cooperation that surprisingly accurately depicts human existence: full of aggression, love, betrayal, and the need to belong. To complete the set, I could also add Timothée Chalamet.

The problem is, these kinds of examples tell us very little about the phenomenon of wrestling itself. They are more attempts to “ennoble” it through association than real explanations of why it works and why it still attracts millions of viewers.

Let’s go deeper.

The Spectacle of Excess

The best text I’ve read on the philosophical foundations of wrestling is undoubtedly The World of Wrestling by Roland Barthes from Mythologies – likely the most cited essay on the subject. Barthes correctly points out that wrestling is a spectacle of excess, reminiscent of ancient theater, leaving the viewer with very little room for imagination in the visual layer.

Barthes also makes a fascinating comparison with boxing. To him, boxing is a feature film, while wrestling is more like a series of memes.

Boxing	Wrestling
The fight has a beginning, development, and end.	Every moment matters in and of itself.
Process, tension, and strategy are what count.	You don’t need to remember what happened before.
The viewer follows a story leading to a result.	Emotions, gestures, roles, and symbols are what count.
The meaning of the fight reveals itself over time.	It is theater, not sport.
The result matters; the future (“who wins?”) is key.	The result doesn’t matter. What matters is what you see now.

Another philosophical pillar of wrestling, according to Barthes, is the lack of rules or the awareness that breaking them is its very essence. As viewers, we aren’t waiting for a fair contest, but for a spectacle of evil that will always find a way to bypass the rules to achieve its goal.

The conclusion of the main event of the most important day in wrestling in 2024 – the milestone WrestleMania XL – perfectly illustrates the French philosopher’s thoughts. For those unfamiliar with the wrestling world who want to understand what happened in the clip above: imagine the Champions League final, tied 3-3 in extra time, where – one after another -legends from both clubs are subbed onto the pitch until the deciding goal is scored. (If that analogy didn’t help, sorry, but I can’t help you).

Gods in the Ring

Wrestling reduces human experiences and values (good, evil, friendship, or suffering) to their most basic, almost elemental forms. This makes them instantly readable. At the same time, every event in the ring can be analyzed symbolically. Operating with simple signs and gestures brings wrestlers close to being mythic figures – gods demonstrating good and evil in their purest states. In this sense, wrestling represents both an excess of meaning and a total lack of it.

Moving away from metaphysical considerations, wrestling and its audience also say a lot about psychology and sociology. The relationship between the audience and the show is particularly interesting today because kayfabe – the illusion of realism created by the performers – is no longer strictly protected. In the past, it was sacred; today, it is consciously punctured. A good example is the series Unreal on Netflix (currently in its second season), where WWE, the world’s largest promotion, almost entirely pulls back the curtain, showing the backstage mechanics and the rules of the game.

Wrestling has always functioned as a constructed world containing elements of reality. Stories like the saga of Cody Rhodes and his father (a legendary wrestler), or Roman Reigns and his Samoan family (including Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson), are among the best storylines of recent years. Similarly, CM Punk’s comments about Saudi Arabia were used to validate John Cena’s transformation and his move to the “dark side.”

It is these stories, played out on the edge of reality and fiction, that are the most gripping. They build tension based on the constant violation of the boundaries upon which the entire world of professional wrestling rests. Paradoxically, this is why WWE can reveal the “scripting” of matches today: viewers accept the artifice as long as the emotions are real. And the more those emotions are rooted in the characters’ actual biographies, the easier it is to believe they are authentic. Sometimes, they actually are.

Barthes would likely agree that viewers aren’t interested in whether what they see is “real,” but in what it means. Wrestling works so well today because it has become exactly what the modern world has become for many: a performance where we no longer believe in facts, but desperately need meaning.

The Journey vs. The Destination

Wrestling says a lot about the heroes we cheer for and our relationship with success. The best example is Cody Rhodes – the blonde hero from the video above – who, after many ups and downs, finally won the championship at WrestleMania XL, closing his long road to the goal. A few months after his triumph, his support dropped while his detractors grew, showing that in art, the journey itself is often more interesting than the hero’s final success.

Wrestling is currently experiencing another peak in popularity. It fits perfectly into an era where movies and series are designed for viewers to grasp the message with one eye. Dialogues and visuals are simplified and blunt, and wrestling, with its excess and saturation, perfectly fits these short attention spans. This upward trend will likely continue and expand beyond traditional markets like the US, Mexico, Japan, or the UK.

Pro wrestling attracts millions of viewers worldwide. To ignore it is to lose the chance to understand the world as it is and the emotions it channels. I hope my perspective as both an insider and an outsider helps those interested more fully grasp the phenomenon of wrestling.

If duende is an unexplainable force that moves us in art, then wrestling turns out to be its surprisingly modern form. Excess, artifice, and the sincerity of emotion allow it to break through the noise of a world smoothed out by filters.

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