Therefore, Japanese wrestlers wear kimonos. They are supposed to wear kimonos, just as Polynesian tag teams are supposed to wear sarongs. This is absurd, but in insisting on things like that, wrestling creates a paradox. It says this is the way things really are. Consequently, they're not absurd.

This gives wrestling advantages over the docudramas, political rallies and news shows. What is, is what is; great creative works determine their own reality. A few years ago, Dan Rather wore a caftan while he did a news report from the Khyber Pass. He looked foolish because in his world there was no room for caftans. People made jokes about Gunga Dan. Hillbilly Jim, who is supposed to be from Mud Lick, Ky., wears bib overalls in the ring. We accept this, just as we accept his grandmother, who plucked a chicken on ''TNT.'' For viewers who make even the smallest leap of faith, everything falls into place.

Thus, it is clear why wrestling is booming. It has been faithful to itself, and audiences have responded. In the last year, wrestling has gone from random televised bouts to shows on at least four cable networks, including MTV. Celebrities are showing up at ringsides. Gloria Steinem has been interviewed. Mr. T is getting into the act. CBS is preparing a Saturday morning cartoon series based on characters like Sergeant Slaughter and the Iron Sheik. Bloomingdale's beach towels cannot be far behind.

Does this mean wrestling will now lose something? Almost certainly it does. Shabby charm will quietly expire, and the circus will be done in by its own success. The Ugandan Giant and all his colleagues will move on to other arenas. Be of good cheer, however; it hasn't happened yet.

''The Most Beautiful Girl in the World'' was a milestone of sorts for both television and beauty contests. The contest, broadcast live over NBC on Monday night, was in Sydney, Australia. Viewers could vote for the young woman of their choice with a 50-cent phone call. More than 800,000 viewers did vote, and selected, presumably to no one's suprise, the contestant from the United States.

Milestones aside, however, what was most striking about the two-hour program was its vacuity. At the opening, an Australian military band played ''Waltzing Matilda.'' The 21 contestants, all in sarong bottoms and skimpy tops, wheeled about the stage, bouncing and marching in time. Later, in what seemed to be the talent part of the competition, they did aerobics.