The president-elect’s rise to power was ripped straight from the pro wrestling playbook. Voters may have known it was a performance, but they revelled in the spectacle.
For many, professional wrestling is a nostalgic flashback to the early 2000s, an era when World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) briefly graced British screens via Channel 4. Known for its over-the-top drama, theatrics, and athleticism, wrestling has always blurred the line between reality and fiction. But its influence on the highest office in the United States is a phenomenon few could have anticipated.
For Donald Trump, wrestling is more than just entertainment—it’s a strategic framework. His long association with WWE is well-documented: he’s hosted WrestleMania, appeared in WWE storylines, and even been inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. But far from being a quirky footnote in Trump’s biography, wrestling’s culture and tactics have profoundly shaped his political style and appeal.
Wrestling meets politics
Trump’s ties to wrestling were reignited in 2024 as he marched toward another White House term. WWE’s influence on American politics became even more pronounced when figures like Hulk Hogan and Jesse “The Body” Ventura entered the spotlight. Hogan’s antics at the Republican National Convention and Ventura’s name being floated as a potential running mate for Robert F Kennedy Jr highlighted the increasing merger of wrestling theatrics with political campaigns.
Even Trump’s rallies mirror wrestling shows. From blaring entrance music to choreographed moments of conflict, his events evoke the drama of a WWE ring. He thrives on audience participation, leading chants and assigning belittling nicknames like “Crooked Hillary” and “Sleepy Joe.” Much like in a wrestling match, the audience is invited to pick a side, cheer the hero, and boo the villain.
This is no accident. Wrestling thrives on the concept of “kayfabe,” the agreement between performers and fans to maintain the illusion that the staged conflicts are real. Trump has weaponised this idea in politics, where truth and spectacle blend seamlessly, allowing supporters to both knowingly acknowledge the performance while emotionally investing in it.
From kayfabe to neokayfabe
Abraham Josephine Riesman, a writer on the intersection of politics and wrestling, has coined the term “neokayfabe” to describe Trump’s political strategy. In this model, the boundaries between reality and fiction are deliberately blurred, creating an environment where the audience can no longer discern fact from fabrication. Trump’s ability to inhabit this space of blurred realities is unparalleled.
Trump’s supporters willingly suspend disbelief, embracing the performance despite recognising its artificiality. They don’t just accept the fakery—they revel in it. In political terms, this phenomenon translates to a unique kind of loyalty: an electorate that “keeps kayfabe”, cheering for Trump while remaining aware of his contrived narrative.
But this isn’t unique to Trump’s base. Modern politics across the board has adopted kayfabe-like qualities. Politicians’ speeches, crafted by teams of strategists and pollsters, are performances targeted at specific demographics. Voters cheer and emotionally engage, even while recognising the calculated artifice.
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Wrestling’s broader influence
Trump’s political persona owes much to his wrestling background, but the phenomenon extends beyond him. Wrestling culture has deeply infiltrated right-wing politics, with figures like Dana White, the UFC’s CEO, backing Trump and bringing combat sports fans into the political fold. By associating with combat sports and pro wrestling, Trump taps into a disaffected demographic often ignored by traditional politics—young, predominantly male voters drawn to the chaos and anti-establishment energy of his campaign.
The allure of Trump’s WWE-style politics is that it offers a blend of rebellion and entertainment. For an electorate tired of polished, focus-grouped candidates, his raw, chaotic style feels authentic—even when it isn’t.
The bigger picture
Trump’s use of wrestling tropes underscores a deeper truth about modern politics. In an era where cynicism runs deep, voters increasingly view political campaigns as elaborate productions. The choice isn’t between honesty and deceit, but between performances that entertain and those that bore.
Trump’s supporters have embraced this reality. To them, Trump’s antics are preferable to the staid professionalism of traditional candidates. As long as his campaign entertains, the suspension of disbelief is a small price to pay.
In this political landscape, Trump isn’t just a politician. He’s a performer, a provocateur, and a champion of pro wrestlingified politics. His rise proves one thing: in an age where spectacle reigns supreme, the showman will always win.
