The white working class hero trope in pro wrestling (Part 2 of 3)

 This is part two of a three-part series about sports and the white working class, with an emphasis on professional wrestling. This part discusses the trope of the white working class hero in professional wrestling.

More than perhaps any other sport, professional wrestling embodies the virtues of the white working class by uplifting heroes with backstories rooted in the trope of the white working class hero. Stone Cold Steve Austin was one of the biggest stars of the late 1990’s and early 2000’s. He was known for wearing a black leather vest and jeans, and had proclivities for shotgunning cans of beer, giving the finger on live TV, and overall sticking it to the man.

One of Steve Austin's most infamous rivalries was against Vince McMahon, the CEO of the World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. (WWE), who constantly pressed working-class Steve Austin to clean up and go corporate. In one memorable encounter, Austin at first pretends to cede to McMahon’s demands by wearing a well-tailored suit and tie and agreeing to change his ways. To thundering boos, Stone Cold tells the crowd that he realized that “little old Steve Austin . . . a redneck from South Texas”, could never defeat Vince McMahon, “a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth, a man with a multi-million dollar company, an entrepreneur, a leader.”

However, at the last moment Austin changes his tone and rips off the layers of his suit to reveal a black t-shirt, with cut-off sleeves, featuring his signature phrase “HELL YEAH” and a skull. Stone Cold addressed the stunned McMahon, saying:

You gotta remember son, what you see is what you get with Stone Cold Steve Austin. I ain’t fancy. Am I a redneck from South Texas? You’re damn right. And I ain’t gonna change for nobody.

Although Steve Austin knows his corporate overlord wants him to sell out, he turns down all the privileges that would have come with being in the managerial class because to do so would be to abandon his working class values and instead adopt the values and respectability of the elite in the ways he speaks, dresses, and acts. Because of his working class roots in South Texas, Steve Austin may not talk right, dress right, or act right; but dammit, he is who he is and no businessman from Connecticut can take that away from him.

This is far from the first time that a white working class hero has been involved in staged class conflict under the guise of professional wrestling. Take for example this verbal takedown by the white working class hero of the 1980s, Dusty Rhodes, against his arch nemesis, the Rolex wearin’, diamong ring wearin’, limousine ridin’, and jet flyin’ Ric Flair:

You don’t know what hard times are, daddy. Hard times are when the textile workers around this country are out of work, they got four or five kids and can’t pay their wages, can’t buy their food. Hard times are when the autoworkers are out of work and they tell ‘em to go home. And hard times are when a man has worked at a job for thirty years—THIRTY YEARS—and they give him a watch, kick him in the butt and say “hey a computer took your place daddy,” that’s hard times! That’s hard times! And Ric Flair you put hard times on this country by takin’ Dusty Rhodes out, that’s hard times. And we all had hard times together, and I admit, I don’t look like the athlete of the day supposed to look. My belly’s just a lil’ big, my heinie’s a lil’ big, but brother, I am bad. And they know I’m bad.

It’s hard to avoid the allure of Rhodes’ words. Is this an impassioned speech from a Bernie Sanders-style populist with a Texas twang? Or a professional wrestler ready to chokehold his opponent in staged combat? It doesn’t really matter. The point is that Rhodes was a star at the top of his profession, but like Steve Austin he never forgot who he was or where he came from.

The lower-class virtues born from the struggles that stars like Austin and Rhodes had growing up white, rural, and working class are the same ones that gave them popularity on the wrestling circuit or give white working class politicians today a boost at the polls. There is something inherently appealing about a person who reaches the highest levels of their profession, but never forgets about the little guy along the way.

This is the total opposite of what is normally expected in the sports world. Where cultural and economic elites love a bootstraps story, they hate when a sports star acts in conformance with what the upper echelons fear from the working class: violence, outward class expression, and a lack of decorum and respectability.

To elites, becoming a sports star is supposed to improve you, because wealth is supposed to instill the values and virtues of the elite. Athletes who know “hard times” are supposed to forget those and stand for the national anthem even when they feel they were left behind and have no affinity for it.

Pro wrestling may therefore be an anomaly in the sports world because it rewards athletes who proudly reflect working-class values. The normal assignment of cultural capital is entirely reversed because it doesn’t help stars to be respectable or espouse the values of elites in their conduct. Indeed doing so may actually hurt them. While other sports stars are expected to adhere to the conventions of the elites, pro wrestlers eschew them.

Elites may continue to turn their noses up at pro wrestling, but the sport is still a place where working class whites can find affinity with certain wrestlers. Every time Steve Austin or Dusty Rhodes went to the mat, they were there to do staged violence against the elites, the enemies of the working class.

Examining these white working class heroes gives elites insight on how the white working class responds to criticism. They doesn’t like being judged by cultural and economic elites for how they look, act, or talk. They don’t like it when their “hard times” are diminished because they refuse to leave behind their rural and working class roots – spiritually or physically – even though they may know their jobs and communities will eventually be the victims of the steady onslaught of technology and globalization. Though these white working class heroes may not espouse elite respectability, they instead exude a working-class definition of respectability which means never turning your back on where you came from or changing who you are because of wealth or success.

What can we learn about class from the “Real Housewives”?

I confess: I am addicted to the various Real Housewives (RH) series that air on Bravo. Indeed, I have watched the majority of the series over the last ten-plus years. Each series follows five to six wealthy “real housewives” as they live out their lives, mingle with each other, and deal with “real world” problems that afflict the rich—including upgrading from one mansion to another. For this reason, some writers refer to the series as “Rich Women Doing Things.”

Currently, I enjoy watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (RHOBH), of New York (RHONY), and of Atlanta (RHOA). RHOA is the only RH franchise series featuring an all black female ensemble; both BH and NY feature white women only. The RH franchise has been a great success. The first series, the Real Housewives of Orange County, premiered in 2006, and has been renewed each year since then. Further, RHONY and RHOA are each on their tenth season, and the RHOBH is on its eight season.

Despite the misnomer Real Housewives getting lost on the wealthy women featured in each series--their rich people problems don’t affect the vast majority of (working class) housewives--the series offers an unwitting social commentary on class (gender, and race). By class I mean the je ne sais quoi attributes of class that belong in the nebulous discourse of culture, and include the social scripts and habitus that signal a person has class. Think of the characters in the Beverly Hillbillies—another great social commentary on class—whose pairing of material wealth with lack of class, is precisely what elicited laughs.

Unlike the characters in the Beverly Hillbillies, however, the women in the Real Housewives seemingly have an abundance of wealth and class. Here are a few tropes that cut across the RHOBH, RHONY, and RHOA series, and provide insight on what it takes to be a woman of a certain class these days, i.e., to be a classy woman.

First, having a group of gay male friends that you refer to as “the gays,” and can summon to provide you comedic relief, beauty and fashion advice, or raise your mood is part-and-parcel of being a woman of a certain class. In the current season of RHOA, for example, NeNe Leakes, a former stripper turned Broadway star, hosted a “girls and gays” soiree in which her female guests were supposed to bring along their gay friends to “drink and kiki.” But as one of “the gays” pointed out to NeNe’s guests, “it’s kinda like your white friend sayin’ bring your best black friend.” Hmm! (Season 10, episode 4) Further north, in RHONY, Sonja, who was once married to one of Morgan Stanley’s co-founder's son, threw a house party for her gays, because she “love[s] spending time with [her] gays.” And “when they come, [she’s] more vulgar, more ridiculous than them.” Who knew that gay men were ridiculous to begin with! According to Sonja, her gays are all about “living in the moment, let’s have fun, let’s laugh, and let’s get laid.” This in sharp contrast to her female co-starts, whom she describes as judgmental. (Season 10, episode 2) In short, being a woman of a certain class entails having your very own coterie of “gays” whom (wait, they’re objects!) that you can play with to feel better.

Second, owning and running a business for which you do practically nothing but pretend to be incredibly busy is part of being a classy woman. In RHOBH, Dorit launched a swimwear line named "Beverly Beach." In the show, Dorit tells others that she’s incredibly busy, and we get glimpses of her making slight adjustments to her designers’ sketches—crossing out what she doesn’t like, critiquing samples on live models, and profusely worrying about meeting the deadline for the premier fashion show. But since other people complete the majority of the design and administrative work, we see that Dorit has enough time for a girls trip to Germany with her costars. (Season 8, episode 15) Personally, I can’t recall the last time I took an oversees vacation right before a pressing deadline. Meanwhile, in the South, Porsha Williams, the former wife of a NFL player, continues “running” her hair extensions business, and contemplates opening a hair salon. Although she has “never ran a salon before, never had one, just visited one as a patron,” she’s hoping to open a hair salon in three months. She doesn't care about the minutia of business, like whether it’s “better to have [stylists] do the booth rent, or is it better to have them on commission.” After all, that’s what your “team” will figure out. (RHOA Season 10, episode 3) Thus, being a woman of a certain class means running and managing a business where your greatest contribution is lending your name, and where you're able to take credit for work of others.

Third, setting aside professionalism when engaging with one’s employees goes hand-in-hand with being a classy woman. For example, Lisa Vanderpump, a restaurateur with an estimated net worth of $75 million, likes reminding her employees who’s boss in the RHOBH cross-over series Vanderpump Rules. Has your boss ever described you as a “lost puppy,” or made sexual innuendos at your expense after agreeing to give you a second shot? Lisa has. Being a classy women also entails reminding your employees that you write their paychecks and referring to them as "bitches" when appropriate. Well, at least that’s what we can learn about class from Grammy Award winner Kandi Burruss of RHOA.

Admittedly, I can’t afford to engage in conspicuous leisure or consumption like the RH women can. But in my milieu referring to gay men as “the gays,” taking credit for others’ work, and mistreating employees hardly signals having class. And while there are other examples of recurring themes in the RH series that provide insight into what it means to have class today, these three examples help elucidate one point: but for being wealthy, individuals wouldn't be regarded as classy.

Thank you "Real Housewives" for shedding light on the illusion of high class performance.