Hulk Hogan, born Terry Bollea, was the face of pro wrestling for much of the last half century. His dedication to his larger-than-life persona was such that he wore a formal black-tie bandanna to tuxedo affairs. This devotion is characteristic of the image he cultivated as an artist, one that fans bought into wholeheartedly. The real life behind the legend has often come under fire for his love of hyperbole and outright lies, not just in 2023 but over his career.
Hogan’s real pitch was in his short-term populist appeal, his ability to really get through to the “Hulkamaniacs,” the rabid fans that drove his popularity and success. It was this private relationship that enabled him to pull off otherworldly magic tricks like the ones seen inside the squared circle. Wrestling’s enchantment often takes care of that reality vs. performance distinction itself. Hogan, or rather the character Hogan played, was a true master of this art form, called “kayfabe.” This term refers to the feeling created around staged events in pro wrestling, where the audience is encouraged to suspend their disbelief.
As time went on, Hogan’s relationship with his fans started to fizzle. The growing sophistication of a new audience, one more familiar with WWE’s theatricality, led to the wrestling boom’s bust. By 1988, Hogan’s skills in mobilizing the masses had hit their highs. With an increasingly sophisticated audience, the curtain began to drop on the wizardry of his routine.
Yet in recent years, Hogan has made news for his actions outside of the wrestling business. One notable moment was his presence at the Republican National Convention in 2024, which underscored his evolution from wrestling icon to a figure in political discourse. Unsurprisingly, this transition was a repeat of another, even more controversial challenger, Donald Trump. Trump mastered these carefully curated, TV-tested communication styles from the best — Vince McMahon. He elsewhere polished these skills by learning from Hogan’s expertise in speaking to the audience.
Hogan’s talent for controlling narratives went far beyond the wrestling mat. Almost every time he said something, he fibbed in a major way. He claimed, for example, that he’d been invited to join Metallica — an accusation the band vehemently disputed. His assertion that Andre the Giant weighed 700 pounds when bodyslammed is another example of his tendency to embellish facts.
The duality of Hogan’s identity is further highlighted by his reference to “Terry Bollea” and “Hulk Hogan” as distinct individuals during the Gawker trial. The resulting separation poses complex questions of authenticity and truth, especially in the public personas we create. His intransigence in retracting false, misleading or inflated claims has led several to label him as a guy who lives in his own reality. It’s this reluctance that truly shapes how others see him.
Regardless of these controversies though, there is still a subsection of fans who want to combine their identities with Hogan’s larger-than-life persona. The phrase “say your prayers and eat your vitamins,” often attributed to him, encapsulates the ethos he promoted and continues to resonate with many.
As Hogan navigates his post-wrestling career, the challenge lies in maintaining that connection amid a society that demands authenticity and transparency. Some of Hogan’s claims are completely ridiculous. More importantly, they illustrate the disturbing societal trend we are currently experiencing with celebrity culture and the meaning of truth.