America’s Heel: Donald Trump and the New Reality Show of Politics
What pro wrestling taught us about the rise of Trump—and why the American ‘heel’ isn’t going anywhere.
When I was nine years old, I saw the impossible happen on live television. The largest man that ever walked the earth—Andre the Giant—was lifted off his feet, hoisted into the air, and body-slammed onto a mat during WrestleMania III. This impossible feat was followed by the silliest move in the world—one I would repeat in many backyards, standing on worn-out mattresses and bouncing high off trampolines—the big leg finishing maneuver by Hulk Hogan.
The world as I knew it had changed.
I don’t like to write about politics as a practice. It’s a rabbit hole that, should I fall into it, would leave me as just another lost soul wandering in the dark, trying to make predictions based solely on my own perspective—and likely apologizing later for my complete ignorance on any number of topics. That’s not to say I’m apolitical; I simply prefer to keep writing about life separate from politics … unless we’re delving into the creative.
So, what follows is about the election, but not about tHe eLeCtIoN. Continue at your own risk.
A good number of us went to bed this past Tuesday wondering what had happened. Some of us woke up Wednesday morning, hoping it had all been a dream. I found myself doing this at 2:30 AM on Wednesday. After weeks of predictions that this election would be a squeaker, I had braced myself for a prolonged wait for the results, honestly expecting Donald Trump to come out as the victor. However, the speed of the results—and the surprise of the popular vote—caught me off guard.
As I lay in bed and opened my phone, I watched the AP’s live feed update to announce Trump as the 47th President of the United States. Yep. What I’d seen before going to bed actually happened.
If we’ve spoken in person, you know how critical I’ve been of this man—and more importantly, what he’s done to this country on a cultural level. Decorum is a word I learned in graduate school. It even sounds like a graduate school word, right? DE-CORE-UM. You can almost feel your nose lifting into the air as you say it out loud.
All too often, the media brings on lofty academics who invoke past leaders, using their speeches, journals, and other writings to demonstrate sophistication and verbal mastery as if to prove that our next leader is, by comparison, an abject idiot. I remember seeing the same critique aimed at George W. Bush. It’s been a recurring theme for the right since Reagan left office. I mean, have you actually listened to Louie Gohmert speak? Yikes!
So, where did this all begin? In 2016, we blamed Facebook. I actually agree with Max Read (he’s on Substack now and one of my top recommendations for subscribers). In fact, he posted earlier this week, blaming the “bro movement” on TikTok for 2024’s results. I tend to follow his logic here. The right’s social media presence is astounding; if anything, this was the election decided by podcasts. On The Problem with Jon Stewart podcast, Stewart highlights the Democrats’ outdated “ground game” tactics dating back to 1980.
By the way, I don’t ever in my life want to hear about our vaunted ground game will put us over the top. It’s a 50/50 tossup race, we’re sure of it, but the vaunted ground game — turns out that people knocking on other people’s doesn’t get them to do what you want them to do as, I believe, vacuum and Bible salesmen have probably known for many, many centuries. Fuck us, fuck me, I was wrong, will continue to be wrong.
I think you can actually trace this entire movement back even further. When Trump was elected in 2016, a good friend recommended a book that completely changed the way I think about why we all are the way we are. If you missed it, let me reintroduce you to American Nations.
Book Notes: American Nations: A History of the Eleven Rival Regional Cultures of North America
We are, whether you voted for Trump or not, a nation of immigrants. Some of our people came of their own accord, some not. Woodard outlines the great migration of people across the “free world,” forming what he calls the American Nation. Each “nation” has an identity that shapes the decisions and policies fueling the divisions we still grapple with today.
The book, written in 2011—years before our current cultural moment—was a wake-up call for many. Perhaps our assumptions about individuality were actually more deeply rooted in our past than we realized. The section on the South, or the “Deep South,” as Woodard calls it, was particularly interesting to me.
…they were the sons and grandsons of the founders of an older English colony: Barbados, the richest and most horrifying society in the English-speaking world. (p.82 DS)
Woodard dives into the concept of an elite society that perceives itself as inherently suited to govern—a ruling upper echelon. Ironically, this has now become the very complaint the region directs toward the left. Visit the South today, and you’ll hear constant complaints about political correctness, language restrictions, and feigned horror at “plain-speaking, real Americans.” In other words, the tactics they once relied on are no longer at their disposal, hence the sense of upheaval.
If American Nations provides an entry point into understanding our new normal, I’d point to Andrew Marantz’s Anti-Social as the most recent addition to the story of how we got here.
Reading American Nations helped me understand the historical and cultural divides that have long defined this country. But Anti-Social takes that understanding into the digital age, where these divides are amplified and exploited through media—especially social media. It’s a shift from timeless roots to the timely, from historical context to current influence, where the line between information and manipulation blurs. Together, these works draw a clear line from the past to our present cultural moment, illuminating forces that shape the world I thought I knew.
Book Notes: Anti-Social: Online Extremists, Techno-Utopians, and the Hijacking of the American Conversation
The opening scene of Anti-Social is a study in obliviousness. The lack of self-awareness within the current ruling class of right-wing ideologues is on full display. The author is hanging out with his subjects as they prepare to attend the “DeploraBall,” a celebration of Donald Trump’s election in 2017 held at the National Press Club in Washington, DC. Cassandra Fairbanks, a “journalist” who worked for the right-leaning, Russian state-owned “news” agency Sputnik, shares her love for Bob Dylan while “The Death of Emmett Till” plays on a record player. It’s peak obliviousness.
Over several years, Marantz does an impressive job tracking these small-time media figures as they rise in popularity on social media platforms, spreading misinformation, hate, misogyny, and propaganda. It’s a journey through the chaos of early 4chan culture and the QAnon phenomenon.
If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend Anti-Social. Though slightly dated, it offers a wealth of insights to help readers identify the hallmarks of this subculture’s tactics, from the memeification of society to figures who have become potential cabinet members in the upcoming administration. It’s a disturbing preview of what’s to come.
All this to say, we should have seen it coming. The country I thought I lived in, when I woke up last Tuesday, isn’t the country I actually live in, and I have to come to terms with that … we all do.
I assume we’re all readers here, but a little video fun can help highlight the history that’s brought us to this current moment. I first heard about this on last week’s episode of ScriptNotes. At the end of each episode, the two hosts share “one cool thing.” Craig Mazin mentioned a docuseries on Netflix called Mr. McMahon. This six-part series follows the rise of wrestling in American culture, particularly the rise—and likely fall—of wrestling’s greatest heel, the former Chairman and CEO, Vince McMahon. Here’s the trailer:
It’s a fascinating study of wrestling’s rise in popular culture and its deep, often unexpected ties to shifting cultural norms. I loved wrestling as a kid. To be honest, it’s still a guilty pleasure today. But, although I tune in from time to time, my interest has faded over the years.
Watching the documentary, I realized that my waning viewership mirrors my evolving political views. I reached a point where what they were selling no longer resonated with me. If you’ve seen or plan to watch the series, I checked out as a regular viewer around the early 2000s—around episode four, “Attitude.” Wrestling … changed.
With it came a crudeness, an objectification of women, a rawness that I found dull. As I moved into a life focused on creative work, it all felt like echoes of the fall of the Roman Empire I’d studied in history class. Maybe I was becoming what the right might now call “elite.”
The flash of flesh and blood no longer held the same thrill. I needed more. I needed character development, deeper human inquiry, and a big, introspective look at the question, “Why are we all here, anyway?” Back then, I thought of it as putting away childish things. That’s not to dismiss those who still enjoy it—I get it, truly. We all need something we can just turn on and escape into. Escapism is a necessity, and if wrestling is your thing, more power to you. But wrestling’s changing storylines are a striking mirror to the shifting dialogues in our culture.
We, as a people, as a culture, aren’t who I thought we were. My reality isn’t the reality, and I’ll need time to reconcile that. Harris is not Andre the Giant, and Trump is certainly no Hulk Hogan (except, perhaps, in his WCW days). This isn’t doom and gloom. I still believe in the American experiment and hold onto hope for progress. But if I’m honest, we’re living in our “Ruthless Aggression” era, here on the wrestling timeline of American life.