Free Form Friday: Why Hulk Hogan’s speech was the key to understanding MAGA
Free Form Friday is my weekly non-Bowie post. For more David Bowie, come back tomorrow…
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Although the Republican National Convention seems like it happened several election cycles ago, it’s worth revisiting the most important speech given during the event: Hulk Hogan’s. As I wrote last week, Donald Trump has not only adopted the language of pro-wrestling but also its ethos. This is intuitively understood by his core supporters and ignored by virtually everyone else. Hogan’s presence at the convention is often mentioned by Trump critics with a sense of condescension, illustrating the perceived crassness and vulgarity of the MAGA Republican Party. What they are missing is that Hogan’s speech was a kind of Rosetta Stone.
Hogan began by referencing his past glory days in Madison Square Garden and, though not by name, his WrestleMania III match against Andre the Giant. It was at that moment that it dawned on me: the age of American greatness to which Donald Trump wants to return is not the 1950s, or the 1850s, but the 1980s. This has less to do with the state of America at the time and more with the state of Trump himself—relatively youthful, free to do whatever he wanted to women, mostly adored (outside the pages of Spy Magazine), and with nothing but blue skies ahead.
How many people had no idea what Hulk Hogan was talking about when he said, “The vibe was so intense, the energy was so crazy, it felt like maybe I was going to press that no good, sticky giant over my head and slam him through the mat, brother”? Trump understood. To a demographic of middle-aged guys who were paying attention, those were the days!
Hogan, in many ways, is the perfect MAGA avatar. His entire persona is more about image than reality. During his speech, he briefly broke character to reveal his true name, Terry Bollea, and acknowledged that he was an entertainer. He explained that he usually stayed away from politics but could no longer stay silent after everything that’s happened to the country over the past four years, declaring Trump “a real American hero” with no trace of irony before returning to character for the rest of his speech.
The ironies, of course, are plentiful, but nowhere more so than Hogan’s use of the word “real.” Trump is a “real American hero,” yet Hogan had just admitted that there is nothing real about himself. Hulk Hogan is not his real name. He’s an entertainer, not an athlete. He avoided saying what exactly inspired him to come off the bench, suggesting that his political motivation is also not “real.”
Even within wrestling, there was little real about Hulk Hogan. He’s not a real blonde. He wasn’t actually 6’8”, as he claimed. He wasn’t the first to slam Andre the Giant (who was not actually undefeated when Hogan beat him—an event significant enough to mention nearly 40 years later at a Republican convention). He toggled between being a “heel” and a “face,” such that his wrestling character revealed very little about his true character.
And what of his true character? Well, it seems not too different from Trump’s. His use of racial epithets led to significant backlash and temporary removal from WWE’s Hall of Fame. Despite denying steroid use on the Arsenio Hall Show, he later admitted to it. His involvement in the Gawker case had to do with shutting down a media outlet over a sex tape, was financed by tech billionaire and neo-monarchist Peter Thiel, who is also the patron of J.D. Vance. Hogan has even faced criticism from fellow wrestlers for hogging the limelight. Despite all this, his walk-on music at the convention was “Real American,” a song he is credited with writing.
The word “again” is key to understanding “Make America Great Again.” But Hogan’s claim about Trump contained an extra word to throw off the inspecting: when he called Trump a “real American hero,” 80s wrestling fans got the reference. By this point, he had already walked on to his theme song and called the attendees “real Americans.” So when he got to Trump, he was saying Trump is a real American, period. The next lines in the song go, “fight for the rights of every man, fight for what’s right.”
So who isn’t a real American? And who are the real Americans fighting against?
That’s the obvious issue—less obvious is what “real” means in MAGA-world. “Professional wrestling is fake” is itself a trope. The reality is more nuanced. Professional wrestling has predetermined outcomes. Wrestling moves that would appear lethal are choreographed. Hogan once said he could punch someone in the face without hurting them, creating a convincing illusion. But not everything in the ring is an illusion. Some of it even hurts. But wrestling fans (known as “marks”) are asked to act like what’s happening is literally true.
That’s all Trump asked for, too. Well, that and votes. And money. But the defining characteristic of MAGA is that nothing is real and everything is real. Elections? Rigged. The criminal justice system? Also rigged. The news? Fake. COVID? Just take hydroxychloroquine (or bleach). Climate change? A Chinese hoax. Border wall? Trump built it, and Mexico paid. January 6th? Just tourists.
On the other hand, Trump’s promises aren’t supposed to be taken as true. Project 2025? Never heard of it. Dictator on day one? Didn’t mean it. Fight? Doesn’t mean fight. “You’ll never have to vote again if you elect me”? Misunderstanding—he meant you’ll never have to vote again if you elect him.
This blurring of reality and fantasy is essential to Trumpism. Trump himself returned to the topic of whether Hulk Hogan was indeed an entertainer or an actual tough guy during his acceptance speech: “They may call that entertainment. I know about entertainment, but when he used to lift a 350-pound man over his shoulders and then bench press him two rows into the audience, I say it may be entertainment but he is one strong son of a gun.”
What is he saying? That pro-wrestling is “real”? The message here is that fantasy and reality are one. This is core to the illusion that Trump himself, a flabby old man, is also a strong son of a gun.
But Hogan communicated this better than Trump. His speech was full of double meanings: “Let Trump-a-mania run wild,” he said, echoing his own catch-phrases and Trump’s pre-coup text to supporters to gather on January 6th, where “it will be wild.” Much like the term “real American,” Hogan repeated “running wild” over and over again, ending with “Whatchya gonna do when Donald Trump and all the Trump-a-maniacs run wild on you?” He made this statement, which seemed like a threat, but played it off as a nostalgic nod to his wrestling days. At least for those who understood the reference.
Hogan made a brief foray into policy during his speech. He invited his audience to act as if they believed he was for real. He actually said, “We never had it better than the Trump years. Back then, we had a thriving economy, we had strong borders, we had safe streets, we had peace and respect around the world.” If you’ve read this far, there’s a good chance you understand how absurd this statement is. But it also illustrates why Hulk Hogan was speaking at the convention in the first place. The term in wrestling is “kayfabe,” the fake reality that requires the audience to perceive the storylines as real both inside and outside the ring. Whereas theatrical performances ask the audience to temporarily suspend disbelief only during the performance, fully recognizing the fiction once it ends, wrestling demands that the audience continue to play along, even if on some level they know better.
Which brings us back to the 1980s. Hogan made multiple references to his glory days in the 80s. He mentioned that he had wrestled in front of Trump, and Trump—again, during his acceptance speech—hearkened back to watching Hulk Hogan wrestle. Ah, if only to return to those days. That, of course, would be impossible. But we can always pretend!