Lack of Originality In Wrestling

 Once upon a time, professional wrestling was built on characters—larger-than-life personas who walked, talked, dressed, and wrestled in ways no one else dared to. You didn’t need commentary to tell you who someone was when they walked through the curtain. A silhouette alone was enough to identify a Randy Savage, a Dusty Rhodes, a Bruiser Brody, or a Great Muta. From their gear to their cadence, to their in-ring style and promo delivery—originality was everything.

Today, that originality seems to be vanishing.

Let’s be honest—look at most of the wrestlers on today’s independent scene, and even a large part of the major companies. Everyone’s wearing the same style of gear. Everyone’s doing the same move sets. Everyone's cutting the same kind of promo—talking tough, screaming into the camera, trying to sound like a badass. From the black trunks and kick pads to the denim jackets and wet-hair entrances, originality is the rarest gimmick in the business.

Can you tell the difference?
This is what pro wrestling has become.
Everyone is a clone of the next guy.

Too many wrestlers are either cosplaying their favorite wrestlers from the past or blending into a generic mold of what’s “cool” or “marketable” now. Instead of carving out their own identity, many are focused on fitting into what already works. But here’s the truth—if you're just a copy of someone else, you’re disposable. Once fans have seen the original, they don’t care about the carbon copy.

It’s not just the look—it’s the presence. Where are the wild eyes of Jake Roberts, the commanding voice of Ric Flair, the unpredictable chaos of Brian Pillman, the silent intensity of Sting, or the eerie charisma of The Undertaker? Where are the characters that can sell you on a match just by how they walk to the ring?

Wrestling has always needed its workhorses, sure—but it thrives on characters who break the mold. Those who dare to stand out. Right now, the business is overcrowded with talented performers who are indistinguishable from one another. And talent without identity is a recipe for mediocrity.

This isn’t a knock on the work ethic of today's athletes—most of them train harder and are more athletically gifted than ever before. But athleticism alone isn’t enough. If everyone can do a 450 splash or a Canadian Destroyer, then none of it feels special anymore. Wrestling is performance art. What fans remember isn't the crisp execution of a superkick—it’s who threw it and why.

Originality isn’t about reinventing the wheel. It’s about being memorable. It’s about knowing who you are and projecting that so boldly that fans can’t help but talk about you. Wrestlers today need to stop asking “What’s working for everyone else?” and start asking, “What makes me different?”

Because in wrestling—as in life—blending in is the fastest way to be forgotten.

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Promoters, reward uniqueness. Wrestlers, dare to be different. Fans, demand more than just flips and kickpads. Bring back the color, the character, and the charisma. Wrestling needs it now more than ever.