Professional wrestling has a problem: it’s not 1955 anymore. And I think now, more than ever, the ball is in the WWE’s court to turn things around.

Since Gorgeous George, wrestling has had its roots in essentialist ideas and characters, and it’s hard to dispute that the WWF/WWE has been at the forefront of this trend. From Russian bogeyman Nikolai Volkoff to cruel street gang leader Faarooq to good ol’ dog-rasslin’ country boy Hillbilly Jim to whatever the damn Mordecai was supposed to be (evil pasty preacher things are totally a traditional caricature, mang), the McMahon umbrella has been driven by stereotypical villains and prototypical grotesques. In some ways, the product has begun to even out. Just look at the Corre–a heel stable of four men from different countries, none of whom is a sneering, sadistic stereotype. You don’t think these guys would’ve been singing their respective national anthems in 1985? Or 1994?

Well, except Heath Slater. But Heath Slater’s always the exception.

So there’s been progress. For men. It also helps to be white, of course, but the discussion about grinning black babyfaces and stern-faced black villains will have to wait, because for every step forward WWE has made with its men, it’s been five steps backward for its women.

Excuse me. Its Divas.

A Division without Allies

I was afraid to broach this topic at first; Ray over at noted better wrestling blog than this one Wrestlegasm covers this issue frequently and with class, and as a well-known thing with a Y chromosome I don’t feel I can address the issue as completely as she does. Women live it. I watch it. And when I watch it I say, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, WWE?”

Much ink has been spilled about insulting storylines, about the way, for example, an angle involving an alleged weight problem was treated last year (Again, Ray covers it best.). I’m less interested in individual stories than I am in the branding and treatment of the division as a whole. The good news is that I think they finally have someone at their disposal who can save it. The bad news is that it’s going to take more than one incredible wrestler to do so. We’re in dire straits, folks.

Here we have a publicly traded entertainment soap opera wrestling action whatever entity in the year 2011 that promotes an entire gendered division with the degrading title of “Divas,” a word connotative in modern parlance with greed, selfishness, and imperiousness. If you’re a man who wrestles in the company, you’re a Superstar; if you’re a woman, you’re a Diva. There is no middle ground. All women are Divas. And no Divas are worth a damn.

The fans hold this division in the highest contempt. Theirs are the restroom break matches, the ones that prompt startling realizations of the emptiness of nearby Coke cups. Internet nerds groan when their segments open on TV, pounding into their keyboards for a return to “REAL” wrestling. When Internet Awesome Guy of the Week Kaval “Low-Ki” Senshi was paired with two women as “Pros” on an ultimately irrelevant rookie-training program, the evil glares could’ve chilled volcanoes.

And why shouldn’t the fans feel this way? It’s not like WWE takes its women seriously, either. In a world where giant gold belts are the top prize, theirs is adorned with a purty lil’ purple butterfly. On a website that plugs blood feuds and big matches, two of the top four stories on WWE.com’s “Divas” section right now are about clothing. And when they were given their own program to shine–the inept and insulting NXT Season 3–the show’s theme music was changed from a generic song about youth beginning a journey of self-discovery to a song about how hot all the girls on this show are.

The show opens with a dance contest. The show also happens to make Michael Cole an Internet hero as the former good guy announcer buries each and every competitor deeper than La Brea.

But it’s cool, guys; after all, he’ll be back on Monday to talk about how super-serious it is that Edge has kidnapped Paul Bearer and is shoving brownies in Uncle Paul’s ear. That women’s stuff is dumb. This men’s stuff? Mind games.

A Twisted New Force

It speaks to the larger sexism in the entertainment industry that this company gets away with it; on gender matters, sports are notoriously aggressive, and WWE tends to follow those old habits even as it seeks to rebrand itself as a broader “entertainment” venture.

Even so, at its core, WWE is still a wrestling company, and it’s women’s wrestling that’s broke. I hear fans lament the end of the so-called glory days, when Trish Stratus, Lita, Victoria, and Molly Holly roamed the Universe and wrestled five-star classics in feuds that were also about clothes and boys and fat asses, but it was okay because they could put on acceptable middling fare in the ring. I think it’s less about names than attitude, but one name more than any reflects what may be the key to turning the division around. WWE has her on hand. They’re plugging her. It won’t be long before she debuts.

WWE’s YouTube video calls her “a twisted new force.” The segment is straightforward with its symbols; it’s the first time I can remember in this incarnation of the women’s division where a pre-debut hype video was used to suggest not “this woman is attractive and loving life,” but “this woman will knock your freaking head off with her finger.” It’s ridiculous.

This is the way they plug men.

And now they are using this technique to plug the greatest women’s wrestler in the world: Awesome Kong.

Why Kong is Important

It’s not difficult to see how Awesome Kong breaks the mold in women’s wrestling in WWE. She’s very likely a legitimate 230 pounds (Wiki “bills” her at 272, but it’s wrestling, baby!). She trained not among the flashbulbs of fitness rags, but in the joshi dojos of Japan. She’s defined not primarily by how she looks, but by how she performs–a hard-hitting powerhouse style of the Big Van Vader persuasion. She’s also 33 years old–one foot in the grave as far as WWE’s women’s division is concerned. And yet she’s debuting. And she’s debuting not as a comical “lol look at the fat chick” character, but as someone who literally destroys the stereotypical “Diva.”

It’s remarkable. It’s everything Beth Phoenix should have been–and sometimes is (although saddling her with that ridiculous “Glamazon” moniker was the usual three steps back for WWE’s one step forward). Here is a wrestler who is everything the Diva stereotype isn’t, and she’s being brought into the fold as a monstrous villain–not to be the butt of LayCool jokes about her body type, but to tear people apart.

Why didn’t this happen sooner?

Why Kong Didn’t Have To Be Important

I am thrilled to see Awesome Kong finally wrestling in WWE. She is, without a doubt, my favorite wrestler working today–irrespective of gender. But wrestling is ultimately only as good as it’s presented on television. The best talent in the world means nothing in the face of terrible booking and presentation; just look at TNA. But a serious treatment of a mediocre lot can make all the difference in the world; just look at the way Santino Marella has taken off now that the booking has covered his weaknesses.

Wrestling bookers have conditioned us to believe that Rey Mysterio–who is four feet tall and weighs negative umpteen pounds–can stand tall against a hulking amateur wrestling machine like Jack Swagger. We were led to believe Kaval could kick Alex Riley’s teeth down his throat. We cheer when the hulking Sheamus gets put in his place by itty-bitty Evan Bourne.

Wrestling is perception. WWE has already mentioned on air that Eve Torres has a jiu jitsu background; why does this not come up on TV? Why does wrestling feature a variety of male villains, but every female heel is either a vindictive ice queen or a vapid Valley girl? Why can Beth Phoenix only eliminate the Great Khali from the Royal Rumble by kissing him? And–more to the point–why can’t Gail Kim eliminate the Great Khali from the Royal Rumble?

The chance has always been there for WWE to take a risk with its women’s division. Now that Awesome Kong has arrived, they seem ready.

But if you control the narrative–as strong wrestling bookers do–then there’s no reason why it had to take so damn long.