In The Dark Knight, Harvey Dent foreshadows his own downfall when he tells Bruce Wayne (Batman), “You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.” That quote perfectly captures the arc of one-time American hero Terry Bollea—better known to the world as Hulk Hogan.
For many of us born in the 1980s and raised in the 1990s, Hulk Hogan was larger than life. He was the main event, the must-see attraction. I had Hogan action figures and clothes, even though I personally leaned more toward Bret “The Hitman” Hart. Hogan’s storylines saw him conquer seemingly indestructible foes like Andre the Giant and Zeus the Human Wrecking Machine. He headlined legendary bouts against Ric Flair, The Ultimate Warrior, and “Macho Man” Randy Savage. When he turned heel and rebranded himself as Hollywood Hogan to lead the villainous New World Order (NWO), the wrestling world nearly exploded.
Before we knew wrestling was scripted—and long before the internet gave us a behind-the-scenes view—our perception of celebrities was shaped solely by the carefully curated personas we saw on TV and in magazines. And Hogan’s persona was crystal clear: a defender of good, a patriotic force, a “Real American” hero. Bollea used that persona to launch movie roles, television appearances, and endorsement deals. Through it all, he clung tightly to that image of truth, justice, and wholesome, old-school Americana.
Then I grew up—and learned who Terry Bollea really was.
In 1994, he admitted to steroid use, which was rampant in wrestling at the time. Over the years, fellow wrestlers have accused him of sabotaging careers, abusing his creative control, and blocking unionization efforts.
And then came the racism.
Looking back, the World Wrestling Federation (now WWE) regularly pushed racist caricatures and harmful stereotypes. Black wrestlers like Bad News Brown, Papa Shango, Kamala the Ugandan Giant, Akeem the African Dream, and The Nation of Domination were often presented through a distorted, offensive lens. But it wasn’t just Black wrestlers—other racial groups were exploited too. Characters like Razor Ramon, Tito Santana, and The Iron Sheik were walking stereotypes.
In that context, Terry Bollea being a racist shouldn’t have been surprising. And I don’t use the term “racist” lightly. In a leaked sex tape, Bollea was caught on camera angrily using the n-word while expressing disgust that his daughter might date a Black man. His words:
"I don't know if Brooke was fucking the black guy's son, Hogan reportedly said. “I mean, I don't have double standards. I mean, I am a racist, to a point, fucking niggers. But then, when it comes to nice people and shit, and whatever… I mean, I'd rather if she was going to fuck some nigger, I'd rather have her marry an 8-foot-tall nigger worth a hundred million dollars!" he reportedly said. “Like a basketball player! I guess we're all a little racist. Fucking nigger."
He also reportedly used the slur in a separate phone call with his son Nick in 2008. The audio was so damaging that the WWE temporarily removed Bollea from their Hall of Fame. Bollea later blamed his upbringing for his racist beliefs and went on an apology tour.
As if that weren’t enough, Bollea publicly aligned himself with Donald Trump, endorsing him in 2024 and speaking at the Republican National Convention that year. That alignment fits neatly with the old “Real American” persona he embodied—because one of the central tenets of MAGA ideology is exclusionary nationalism rooted in racism. It's a belief system that suggests some people don’t deserve to be citizens, don’t deserve rights, services, or opportunities—simply because of their skin color.
In Florida, where Bollea has long resided, Governor Ron DeSantis went so far as to declare August 1st “Hulk Hogan Day.” Flags at the state capitol were flown at half-mast—not to honor a fallen public servant, but a fictional character. Let’s be clear: honoring Hulk Hogan is akin to honoring Batman. Neither is real. And Terry Bollea, the man behind the mask, doesn’t deserve such reverence.
Bollea’s rise and fall is a cautionary tale about celebrity worship in the internet age. When we idolize public figures based solely on polished images, we set ourselves up for disappointment. None of these people are perfect—nor should we expect them to be. But if we stop worshipping celebrity personas as though they’re moral leaders, we won’t feel so betrayed when their real selves are exposed.
Let Hogan vs. Bollea serve as a final reminder: the image isn’t the man. And the man was never the hero we believed him to be.
For many of us born in the 1980s and raised in the 1990s, Hulk Hogan was larger than life. He was the main event, the must-see attraction. I had Hogan action figures and clothes, even though I personally leaned more toward Bret “The Hitman” Hart. Hogan’s storylines saw him conquer seemingly indestructible foes like Andre the Giant and Zeus the Human Wrecking Machine. He headlined legendary bouts against Ric Flair, The Ultimate Warrior, and “Macho Man” Randy Savage. When he turned heel and rebranded himself as Hollywood Hogan to lead the villainous New World Order (NWO), the wrestling world nearly exploded.
Before we knew wrestling was scripted—and long before the internet gave us a behind-the-scenes view—our perception of celebrities was shaped solely by the carefully curated personas we saw on TV and in magazines. And Hogan’s persona was crystal clear: a defender of good, a patriotic force, a “Real American” hero. Bollea used that persona to launch movie roles, television appearances, and endorsement deals. Through it all, he clung tightly to that image of truth, justice, and wholesome, old-school Americana.
Then I grew up—and learned who Terry Bollea really was.
In 1994, he admitted to steroid use, which was rampant in wrestling at the time. Over the years, fellow wrestlers have accused him of sabotaging careers, abusing his creative control, and blocking unionization efforts.
And then came the racism.
Looking back, the World Wrestling Federation (now WWE) regularly pushed racist caricatures and harmful stereotypes. Black wrestlers like Bad News Brown, Papa Shango, Kamala the Ugandan Giant, Akeem the African Dream, and The Nation of Domination were often presented through a distorted, offensive lens. But it wasn’t just Black wrestlers—other racial groups were exploited too. Characters like Razor Ramon, Tito Santana, and The Iron Sheik were walking stereotypes.
In that context, Terry Bollea being a racist shouldn’t have been surprising. And I don’t use the term “racist” lightly. In a leaked sex tape, Bollea was caught on camera angrily using the n-word while expressing disgust that his daughter might date a Black man. His words:
"I don't know if Brooke was fucking the black guy's son, Hogan reportedly said. “I mean, I don't have double standards. I mean, I am a racist, to a point, fucking niggers. But then, when it comes to nice people and shit, and whatever… I mean, I'd rather if she was going to fuck some nigger, I'd rather have her marry an 8-foot-tall nigger worth a hundred million dollars!" he reportedly said. “Like a basketball player! I guess we're all a little racist. Fucking nigger."
He also reportedly used the slur in a separate phone call with his son Nick in 2008. The audio was so damaging that the WWE temporarily removed Bollea from their Hall of Fame. Bollea later blamed his upbringing for his racist beliefs and went on an apology tour.
As if that weren’t enough, Bollea publicly aligned himself with Donald Trump, endorsing him in 2024 and speaking at the Republican National Convention that year. That alignment fits neatly with the old “Real American” persona he embodied—because one of the central tenets of MAGA ideology is exclusionary nationalism rooted in racism. It's a belief system that suggests some people don’t deserve to be citizens, don’t deserve rights, services, or opportunities—simply because of their skin color.
In Florida, where Bollea has long resided, Governor Ron DeSantis went so far as to declare August 1st “Hulk Hogan Day.” Flags at the state capitol were flown at half-mast—not to honor a fallen public servant, but a fictional character. Let’s be clear: honoring Hulk Hogan is akin to honoring Batman. Neither is real. And Terry Bollea, the man behind the mask, doesn’t deserve such reverence.
Bollea’s rise and fall is a cautionary tale about celebrity worship in the internet age. When we idolize public figures based solely on polished images, we set ourselves up for disappointment. None of these people are perfect—nor should we expect them to be. But if we stop worshipping celebrity personas as though they’re moral leaders, we won’t feel so betrayed when their real selves are exposed.
Let Hogan vs. Bollea serve as a final reminder: the image isn’t the man. And the man was never the hero we believed him to be.
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