Is Old School Wrestling Thought Hurting WWE’s Momentum?

World Wrestling Entertainment has never been more profitable. Record-breaking TV rights deals, sold-out stadium shows, and merchandise flying off the shelves suggest a company at the peak of its powers. Yet beneath the financial success lies a nagging creative question: is WWE clinging too tightly to old school wrestling thought, and in doing so, putting its long-term momentum at risk?

The Comfort of Tradition

Old school wrestling thought rests on familiar principles: slow-burn storytelling, strict character alignment, and heavy-handed creative control. It is the philosophy that built Vince McMahon’s empire in the 1980s—Hulk Hogan vanquishing cartoonish villains—and sustained John Cena’s dominance in the 2000s.

These traditions still have value. Cody Rhodes’ quest to “finish the story” was framed in pure old school fashion, paying off at WrestleMania 40 when he dethroned Roman Reigns. Roman’s Tribal Chief saga itself is a textbook example of protecting a champion to maximize the eventual payoff. WWE is right to recognize that not all lessons from the past are obsolete.

But when tradition becomes dogma, momentum stalls.

The Cost of Playing It Safe

The most obvious casualty of WWE’s old school instincts is spontaneity. In a media environment where authenticity rules, WWE continues to rely on overly scripted promos. Consider LA Knight, who caught fire in 2023 precisely because of his unscripted charisma. Fans rallied behind him with “Yeah!” chants that filled arenas, but WWE hesitated to fully capitalize, keeping him in the upper midcard rather than striking while the iron was hot. Old school logic said “slow build.” The modern audience said “now.”

Another cost is opportunity. Gunther, who carried the Intercontinental Championship to record-breaking prestige, should feel like a ready-made main-event player. Yet WWE’s reluctance to elevate him decisively reflects a traditional mindset that champions must climb methodically rather than leap into top billing. Compare that to AEW, which moved quickly to spotlight Swerve Strickland when fan buzz reached critical mass.

Then there’s Drew McIntyre. His heel run in 2024 generated genuine heat and revitalized his career, but inconsistent booking—rooted in WWE’s tendency to protect established babyfaces—has prevented him from cementing his momentum. The stop-start approach is old school in the worst sense: protecting too many assets at once leaves no one truly over.

A Global Spotlight, A Local Mindset

What makes WWE’s adherence to tradition more glaring is the context. This is a company with international reach, competing not just with AEW but also with New Japan Pro Wrestling, AAA in Mexico, and a global streaming culture where fans can watch cutting-edge wrestling any time. These promotions embrace athleticism, layered storytelling, and rapid elevation of new stars.

By comparison, WWE’s reliance on past formulas risks making the product feel dated—even as it markets itself as forward-looking. The irony is that WWE’s biggest cultural successes often come when it breaks from tradition. Daniel Bryan’s “Yes Movement” at WrestleMania 30, Becky Lynch’s “The Man” in 2018, and even Sami Zayn’s run alongside The Bloodline were all moments where fan demand, not old school planning, dictated direction.

The pattern is clear: when WWE listens, it thrives. When it defaults to tradition, it stagnates.

Why It Matters

Financial success masks the danger, but momentum is about more than money. Wrestling thrives on cultural relevance. The Attitude Era wasn’t just profitable—it was the watercooler product of the late 1990s.

Today, WWE fills stadiums and dominates rights fees, but its creative choices sometimes lag behind its cultural footprint. Fans on social media regularly express frustration with slow pushes, predictable finishes, and characters that feel overproduced. If left unchecked, WWE risks becoming a brand of stability rather than a force of innovation.

A Path Forward

The solution is not to abandon tradition but to modernize it. Let wrestlers improvise more, as LA Knight has shown the value of. Accelerate pushes when performers connect, as the company should do with Gunther. Build stories with layers that reflect the complexity of today’s fans, as Sami Zayn’s arc did during the Bloodline saga.

Tradition should be a toolbox, not a straitjacket. WWE’s greatest eras—whether the Attitude Era or the current Bloodline storyline—succeeded because they fused old school structure with new school risk-taking. That balance is the only way forward.

Until then, WWE risks answering its critics not with momentum, but with mediocrity disguised as stability.

The Call-Out

If WWE wants to remain more than just a profitable brand, it must stop hiding behind the safety net of tradition. The question isn’t whether WWE can fill stadiums—that’s already proven. The real question is whether it can continue to own the cultural conversation in an era where AEW, New Japan, and countless digital platforms are capturing fans by embracing risk and innovation. Unless WWE leadership modernizes its approach, the company risks becoming the Blockbuster Video of pro wrestling: dominant in profit one day, irrelevant in passion the next.