Photo by Mark Steffens courtesy of Nation Extreme Wrestling

Let’s start with acknowledging the obvious: pro-wrestling is “fake.” I know. The storylines are scripted. The costumes are as beautifully designed as any Broadway production’s. The match outcomes are predetermined. But that doesn’t make what happens any less real for the people who step into the ring. Some of that realness is compounded for wrestlers who identify as members of the 2SLGBTQIA+ and/or racialized communities, for whom the profession hasn’t always offered the safest space.

I’ve been a pro-wrestling fan since childhood, initially as a way to connect with my older male cousins. Since then, my love for the sport has evolved into something very much my own. But in pro-wrestling’s heyday in the late ’90s, a period known amongst fans as the Attitude Era, it seemed to reach its peak of influence in the pop culture zeitgeist. It was hard to avoid The Rock or Stone Cold Steve Austin’s image; and I challenge you to go back in time to any elementary school then and find a kid who wasn’t doing the infamous “Suck it” gesture on the playground.

In 2002, World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), the world’s most popular promotion at the time, portrayed a romantic relationship between Billy Gunn and Chuck Palumbo. The storyline was initially praised as depicting the 2SLGBTQIA+ community positively on national television. Things ended badly, however, when it was later revealed that it was all a publicity stunt orchestrated by the company. Billy and Chuck were not queer at all, but rather two heterosexual male wrestlers.

Not much has been heard about wrestling recently outside of its dedicated fanbase, aside from a few high-profile lawsuits involving violence and men at the top of WWE. But now, it seems the sport is enjoying a resurgence, both in quality and popularity, along with a much-needed realignment in values.

Over two decades after the setup with Palumbo, Gunn is still in the pro-wrestling world, but he’s now with All Elite Wrestling (AEW). So is Anthony Bowens, an openly gay Black wrestler. There was a storyline in 2023 where a female wrestler, Harley Cameron, tried to hit on Bowens. This led to a strong crowd reaction: the audience started chanting “He’s gay! He’s gay!” repeatedly to Cameron. There wasn’t a hint of irony or hate in this moment though. It was pure joy. It was a celebration of Black queer love.

Gunn can be seen grinning during the segment, cheering on the crowd. It felt like a moment of redemption for what he was a part of back in 2002, compared to what he gets to be a part of now. For many wrestling fans, the “He’s gay” chant was a watershed moment. Change has been coming to the world of professional wrestling for a long time. And now it’s finally the sport’s moment to shine.

This shift toward a more progressive environment in the pro-wrestling landscape moved at a sluggish pace at first, but it’s been picking up momentum over the past five years. Malik Melo, a Black professional wrestler from Vancouver, B.C., reflects on his early childhood experiences with the sport: “Growing up in the late 1990s and early 2000s, there were mainly cisgender white guys in prominent roles. There was the rare chance of seeing someone who looked like me, with people like Booker T and The Rock, but that was really it.”

Melo currently trains out of Lions Gate Dojo, which prides itself on being an inclusive space for all of its members. “When I started in 2019, it was myself and one other Black wrestler, Shareef Morrow. We really just had to grind it out. Fast forward a few years, there’s a few more of us. It’s still in the single digits, but it’s a different scene and feel now. It’s much more positive; we all know each other and try to connect. It’s great.”

If that much change can happen in the span of five years, it bodes well for the future of the pro-wrestling ring as a stage to showcase Black excellence. And that future might come sooner rather than later with the rising star of Swerve Strickland, a professional wrestler with AEW who just became the promotion’s first African American Heavyweight Champion. Strickland has gotten over (a pro-wrestling term for becoming popular with fans) through portraying himself in a way that is not sugar coated or whitewashed for mainstream audiences. He is simultaneously grounded and extravagant, clever, strong and authentic: he is embodying what Black excellence means to him, from his rap music to his clothing choices. And it’s clearly resonating with fans.

Lions Gate Dojo, where Melo trains, is run by four trainers: Artemis Spencer, Nicole Matthews, Tony Baroni and Billy Suede. Matthews, whose real name is Lindsay Miller, gives some insight on what it was like being a fan of the predominantly male-centric industry when she was younger: “Growing up,” she says, “I didn’t really look for inspiration from women wrestlers because there wasn’t that much on TV.” And you can’t blame her. During this time in the ’90s, women wrestlers were few and far between. And the ones who did make it on air on WWE, then known as WWF? They weren’t even called wrestlers, but Divas, and they wrestled in bra-and-panties matches thinly guised as games of strip poker. It was both wildly popular and wildly objectifying.

Fortunately, in time, there were other promotions that Matthews could look up to. Shimmer, a women’s professional wrestling promotion that started up in 2005, was one of them. “That was my only goal when I started wrestling. I didn’t give a fuck about WWE, I just wanted to get to Shimmer.” Although Shimmer went defunct in November 2021, women wrestlers are no longer subjected to the bra-and-panties match as their only claim to fame. Nyla Rose made history when she became the first openly transgender pro wrestler to sign with a major American promotion in 2019. Other popular wrestlers like Bianca Belair, Jamie Hayter and Mercedes Mone are also paving the way as strong role models for the next generation of women wrestling fans.

Lions Gate Dojo wants to encourage this next generation to step into the ring. “When I started coaching 10 years ago, it wasn’t a very diverse group of people. A lot of times I was the only girl in class; it did not represent the Vancouver demographic at all,” Matthews says. “Now, it’s so much more diverse. It just naturally happened over the past five years.”

The world of pro-wrestling has come a long way from the days of Billy and Chuck’s fake gay wedding and women being forced to work in their undergarments. And while there’s still a long way to go, the future of pro wrestling looks brighter than ever. As an adult fan today, as much as I cherish my childhood memories of the ’90s and its Attitude Era, I’m jealous of the fans who get to come up in the new age of pro wrestling. They’re watching a sport that is now more dynamic, equitable, compelling, and fun.

Sure, some might still call pro wrestling “fake.” But let me tell you: as my husband and I cried tears of joy during the “He’s gay” chant last summer, nothing felt fake about that to me.