From Body Slams to Ballots: Roland Barthes, Hulk Hogan, and the Spectacle of Trumpism

Years ago, I took a course at Teachers College, Columbia University with the late Dr. Frank Moretti, who was a brilliant media theorist who challenged us to think deeply about how myth, media, and culture shape public consciousness. One of the thinkers we studied was Roland Barthes, whose 1957 essay “The World of Wrestling” has stayed with me ever since. I never imagined that an analysis of professional wrestling would one day help me make sense of American politics. But here we are.

Barthes wrote that wrestling is not a sport--it’s a spectacle. The outcomes are fixed, the pain is exaggerated, and the characters are larger-than-life. But the point isn’t who wins. The point is that the audience gets a mythic performance of good vs. evil, justice vs. injustice, in which every gesture, every grimace, and every fall is a piece of symbolic theater.

Enter Hulk Hogan.

Hogan was never the best technical wrestler. Actually he stole so much from Superstar Billy Graham!! But that didn’t matter. He played the Hero—the musclebound, flag-waving, “Real American” who leg-dropped his enemies and flexed for freedom. He wasn’t a man so much as a signifier, a walking symbol of American exceptionalism, masculinity, and white innocence. He was, as Barthes might say, a myth. And the fans bought in--not to Terry Bollea the person, but to the performance of Hulk Hogan.

Even when Hogan’s real-life racism and misogyny came to light, many fans struggled to reconcile the myth with the man. That’s Barthes again: in the world of spectacle, the truth is less important than the narrative it upholds.

Which brings me to Trump.

When someone recently described Hulk Hogan as a “precursor to Trump,” it clicked. Trump, like Hogan, isn’t defined by policy, logic, or even consistency. He is a character, performing a role for a devoted audience that craves spectacle. The red hat, the bluster, the finger-pointing--all of it functions like a political version of pro wrestling. Trump’s rallies aren’t campaign stops; they’re moral performances, where he casts himself as the eternal underdog-hero fighting the deep state "villains."

As Barthes would say, Trump’s appeal isn’t rooted in truth. It’s in mythology. He doesn’t need to be right, he just needs to look like he’s winning. And his followers don’t require facts. They want the satisfaction of seeing someone perform their rage, their nostalgia, and their grievance.

What Barthes taught me and what Dr. Moretti helped me see, is that in the age of media saturation, meaning is constructed not through accuracy but through performance. Whether in the ring or on the debate stage, the line between myth and man has blurred.

Spectacle thrives when we stop asking questions. But injustice hides behind costumes all the time. Let’s not confuse loudness with leadership, or patriotism with power. Strip away the myth, and maybe we can see the truth.