The idea that WWE has a glass ceiling, an extra barrier to break through to get to the top level of stardom for wrestlers that don’t look a certain way, is hardly new. In fact, it’s so well known that WWE has played with the idea in storyline. Daniel Bryan’s rise to the top had HHH label him a “B+ Player” on TV, and CM Punk’s infamous pipebomb promo included him talking about grabbing “Vince McMahon’s imaginary brass rings” and getting nowhere for doing so. But the truth is WWE doesn’t have a single glass ceiling, it has two. The first can be broken, and it happens from time to time, Sami Zayn being the most recent example. But the second glass ceiling? It’s never been broken, and last Saturday Zayn became the most recent example of that too.
Ever since taking the reigns of the company from his father Vince Sr. in the ‘80s, Vince McMahon had shown the world what he thought a main eventer looked like: Tall and incredibly muscular or just all-around huge. The proverbial “guy who turns heads at an airport” metric. The steroid era came into full effect and we saw the start of a pattern that would continue in WWE to different degrees to this day: Some wrestlers that weren’t that talented or over got pushes and chances they didn’t deserve because they were big, and wrestlers that were talented or over found themselves denied those same opportunities because they were small.
The original person to break WWE’s first glass ceiling was probably Bret Hart. He was the first WWF World Champion to rise up from within the promotion’s system, climbing the card year by year and finally getting the top title despite the fact that he wasn’t an absolute behemoth. Yet if you look at his career, you’ll see that second ceiling, the one he didn’t break, the one nobody like him does.
When Bret won the WWF Title, it was late 1992. Dr.George Zahorian had been convicted the year before of providing steroids to WWF wrestlers, and the specter of a coming larger steroid trial aimed at Vince McMahon himself hung in the air. The magic of the ‘80s Hulkamania boom was starting to fade. So WWE tried something different. They put the title on someone comparatively smaller than the Hogans and Warriors of the world, someone who was supremely talented, they put it on Bret. Yet months later, at WrestleMania IX, Hart was dumped in a double title change, as WWF rolled the dice on seeing if there was any more juice to squeeze from another run with Hulk Hogan.
When that fizzled out in a matter of months, WWF turned its attention not back to Bret, but to building a new Hogan in the form of Lex Luger. Was Lex completely talentless, as some would claim? No. Was he the most talented potential main eventer WWF had access to at that time? No. Was he as talented or as over as Bret? No. But he did have an incredible body, even in a somewhat reduced form from his ‘80s physical peak. So in 1993, WWF spent the summer trying to build its new Hogan. We got the “Lex Express” bus tour, his slamming of then-champ Yokozuna on the U.S.S. Intrepid, and a count out win over Yoko at Summerslam that set him up for a coronation as champion at WrestleMania X.
Somewhere along the way Vince realized that Luger was not going to work, wasn’t going to be his new Hulk, so he turned to the most talented guy he had. WrestleMania X turned out to be the coronation for Bret rather than Lex. History would repeat though before the year was out, as just like he had lost the title to Yokozuna so he could in turn drop it to Hogan, Bret lost the title to Bob Backlund so he could pass it on days later to Kevin Nash, Diesel. Nash was far from the least talented big man Vince had ever pushed, and he had a charisma that would come out more and more throughout the rest of his career, but prior to the WWF, he had done nothing but gone through one embarrassing gimmick in WCW after another, from being a Master Blaster, to Oz, to Vinnie Vegas. Nash wasn’t as close to as talented as Bret. But he was taller. One year later Vince was ready to end the Diesel as the new top star experiment and who did he run back to as champ? Bret Hart.
Bret was our first example of breaking the first glass ceiling, but he was also our first example of the second ceiling you can’t break. The WWF pushed Bret as a star, as a main eventer, as its world champion even, but they never really ran with him as “the guy”. They were always looking towards the next wrestler who actually fit the mold of what they thought a true top star of the promotion should look like, and so time and time again they abandoned him, for Hogan, for Luger, for Diesel. Every time it failed they came back to the safety of Bret. He was good enough to hold the fort while WWF looked for its next true ace, but did they ever really see him as an ace himself?
Some will point to the business being soft in the mid-90s under Bret as a reason why WWF never fully got behind him. That’s a valid point, but it’s worth noting that in the doldrums after a boom period, as the first “undersized” homegrown talent WWF put on top after a decade of telling their fans that only the biggest could be the best. Everyone in this period “failed” to some degree at the box office, many more than Bret. WCW’s business during these early Bret reigns was even worse.
The WWF would eventually turn to a contemporary of Bret, another supremely talented but undersized wrestler who had risen slowly through the promotion, tag titles to Intercontinental Title to World Title, Shawn Michaels. Like Bret, he put on a great show in the ring but didn’t move the needle enough during a tough time for the promotion. Like Bret, he broke through that first glass ceiling but couldn’t break the second.
Next came Steve Austin, and you could argue he did break through the second ceiling. After all, he was not the size of a Hogan, and the WWF certainly did not initially see him as a top star, but eventually did, and pushed him as hard as they had Hulk. I’d point to Austin being big enough to get by the size bias, and I’d also point to Austin being a guy that was seen in many circles as a blue-chip prospect from very early on in his career. But even if you want to say Austin broke that second ceiling, I’d argue he’s the exception that proves the rule, as the Attitude Era was an aberration in WWF’s history, the one time where, with his back forced against the wall, Vince McMahon broke a lot of his usual habits. And if you do want to list Austin as the one example of breaking a second glass ceiling, then let the record show that the one time WWE has ever done that, it resulted in the highest popularity they have ever had.
From there we can see a ton of examples of the two ceilings. Chris Benoit got his WrestleMania main event win, but it was a reign that was like getting a gold watch at your retirement party. He had already been earmarked as the guy to “make” Randy Orton, a guy with the look and pedigree WWE valued, and months later at Summerslam, Benoit did just that. Years later, Rey Mysterio got his WrestleMania world title win, but like Benoit, WWE stuck him in a three-way rather than giving him a complete solo spotlight. Like Benoit, like Hart, his reign was just a transition from the jump, a placeholder given to a talented fan favorite while the company looked for the next star they could truly get behind with no reservations.
Rey is one of the most talented wrestlers who has ever lived. He has at times brought WWE nice chunks of the prized Hispanic fan demographic, to the point that so often when you hear WWE signing another Latin wrestler, word comes down that the company is hoping they can be “Their next Rey Mysterio”. Yet none of that talent or underrated drawing ability was enough for WWE to give him a fair opportunity to run with the ball as champ. His reign was just a few months, and saw him for a time lose on TV almost as much as he won. In his first month and a half as champion, Rey lost to Mark Henry, he lost to Great Khali, he went to a no-contest with Kane. Even with a top title, his size colored his presentation and booking. That first glass ceiling was broken, the second never showed a crack.
Then came CM Punk. Since the day he had signed with WWE, the climb had been all uphill. From very early on you heard how some of the power players in WWE felt he was overrated. His indie star reputation and his look worked against him, made WWE want to prove their existing biases right. You saw stories that WWE brass felt like he “Just simulated good wrestling”, that they resented him for dating women they thought were out of his league. But slowly, year by year, brand by brand, level by level, Punk’s talent proved to be undeniable. He gained fans, he rose up the card, and with his 2011 feud with John Cena, he was finally able to break into the upper levels of WWE stardom. The second ceiling remained.
If you want proof of that, look no further than Punk’s landmark year-plus reign as World Champion. Go look back at the PPVs during that reign and you might be shocked at on how many shows Punk’s title defences weren’t the main event, John Cena matches were. Even that year’s SummerSlam saw Punk play second fiddle to HHH and Brock Lesnar. From very early on in that title run, WWE made clear to the fans: Punk is our champion, Punk is a star, but he’s not THE star. That spot never changed and was never in danger of changing. No matter how many t-shirts Punk sold or how loud the cheers got, he was never going to fit WWE’s idea of what the top star should be, and so there was always going to be a limit to where he could go.
It’s telling that when Punk left WWE, two of his major gripes were the preferential booking of part-timers like Brock, and the fact he didn’t get to main event a WrestleMania. Punk as well as any wrestler saw the second ceiling. The main event of WrestleMania during the time period Punk was riding high was the ultimate honor, even above any title, it was what they gave to “the guy”. Even after achieving so much fame and fortune, Punk was unsatisfied, because he saw there was still a barrier put in place.
Finally, we got Daniel Bryan. Yet another hall of fame level talent that had to work twice as hard, get twice as over, and wait twice as long to rise to the top than others who were six inches taller or carried an extra 30 pounds of muscle. Yet another guy whose talent eventually made him undeniable. Yet another guy who broke that first ceiling, but only when WWE’s hand was forced. The fans had to hijack shows. They had to reject people like a returning Batista. Bryan had to be one of the hottest acts WWE had in years. CM Punk had to leave suddenly without warning. Only when all those stars aligned did Bryan get to break his first ceiling, begrudgingly get the thing that even Punk couldn’t get: the main event of Mania.
But as soon as Bryan became champion, the end of his story had already been written for him. It’s been said that the slot John Cena occupied, getting destroyed by Brock Lesnar at Summerslam to finish his rehabilitation as a top star that had started with his ending of Undertaker’s streak? That was originally Bryan’s role. It’s a role we had seen many times by this point, from Bret, from Rey, from Benoit, Bryan was to be the guy who held the fort as the next real star got made, the man who would be sacrificed to make them. Bryan could not have gotten more over, done more right in the months prior, and yet from the start of his reign, there was already an end game. There was that second ceiling.
There are so many examples I’ve left out. Great wrestlers who WWE dragged their feet on or never got 100% behind because of their size or image, and wrestlers who got undue opportunity after undue opportunity because they filled that superficial mold so well. The point isn’t that any of the wrestlers I’ve mentioned haven’t had great runs. They have all had careers that most wrestlers would kill for, become huge stars beloved by millions, made a lot of money, and had great moments of glory. That’s what breaking the first ceiling gets you. And it’s possible to do that, even if you don’t fit WWE’s ideal. You might have to get denied again and again first, you might have to work so much harder than others with so much less to offer, but it’s possible to get there.
No, the point is that the second ceiling is a push without limits. It’s a push at the absolute top where there is no set end in sight or goal other than seeing how big a star you can possibly be. It’s absolute faith in a talent, to the level where if there’s a speed bump in their rise, if half their audience even chants that you suck when you’re supposed to be the company’s top babyface, WWE works to fix it rather than to abandon the wrestler. It’s a push reserved only for people at a certain size, with a certain look, with a certain pedigree. It’s saved for the Hogans, the HHHs, the Cenas, the Romans. The people that are handpicked to be the top star before they ever prove that they are one.
Sami Zayn has broken the first glass ceiling. He’s the hottest rising star the company has had in years, since Nia Jax broke Becky Lynch’s nose, maybe even since the rise of Daniel Bryan. Sami’s storyline with Roman Reigns is the most over thing WWE has had in years. It’s a huge moment for Sami, something that he will always be remembered for, and will likely guarantee that he will never fall below a certain level of push ever again. Down the road he might even get a world title reign for a little while.
What Sami likely won’t get is what the fans want most, which is him beating Roman Reigns in the main event of WrestleMania. Sami has made himself the hottest babyface WWE has had in years, and is at the center of a fairy tale storyline, but he probably won’t get the fairy tale finish. No, he and Kevin Owens will likely beat the Usos in a major match on Mania weekend, and get a huge reaction. It’ll likely be a great moment, but not the moment he deserves.
People have argued that Sami wouldn’t work well as champion, that in the long term, Cody Rhodes is the better option. That he wouldn’t be as good a public face for the promotion. That all might very well be true, but maybe not. Theories only become fact when you test them, and when it comes to people who look like Sami Zayn, WWE is never willing to truly try. They lack the faith. In wrestling you only truly know how big a star can be if you push them with no end in mind, with no hesitation, with no restrictions. If Sami won the main event of Mania, if he beat Roman for the title there, and it all didn’t work out, if a month later it became apparent that Sami’s run was a flash in the pan, or that he was better as a chaser than a champion, would that really hurt WWE? If they quickly changed course, put the title back on Roman, or Cody, would it do any damage to WWE at all?
I think we’re never going to know. One of the most fun parts of wrestling is seeing the rise of someone, of seeing them catch on in a way no one ever expected, and not knowing how hot they’re going to get. For months in WWE, you’ve been feeling that excitement. But if you’ve followed WWE’s history, that excitement has been tempered by the knowledge that for the Sami Zayns of the world, there’s a limit to where he can go. A high one, but a limit nonetheless. If he was a few inches taller, more muscular, a second or third-generation suave handsome American wrestler rather than a lanky ginger Syrian-Canadian, this would be just the start of Sami’s story, instead this is likely the peak. In WWE if you’re a Roman Reigns, the sky’s the limit. If you’re a Sami Zayn, the limit’s the sky.
