Of all the notes hit upon in CM Punk’s infamous June 2011 “Pipe Bomb” promo, one that stood out in particular was the threat that he would win the WWE Championship and take it to Ring of Honor or New Japan Pro-Wrestling. When he ultimately managed to escape from Chicago with the title at Money in the Bank a few weeks later, the thought of Punk showing up in either promotion did not feel unrealistic even if there was approximately zero chance of it ever happening. The mere concept that the WWE Champion might appear in another major wrestling promotion invited a degree of exciting possibility that hadn’t seemed possible in wrestling for some time, and it created a not-insignificant amount of interest in both the mainstream and among lapsed fans.

It cannot be considered a coincidence that fans were quick to get behind a professional wrestler who saw himself as being a big enough star that he could go work anywhere that he pleased. By acknowledging that the world of professional wrestling was not strictly limited to World Wrestling Entertainment, and by positing that the rest of that world might better utilize or benefit from his talents, Punk established himself as a hot commodity - both in storyline and in reality. For every way that WWE failed to capitalize on Punk’s ascendance from 2011 on, it at least never made the mistake of presenting him as a man who needed his job with the company to survive. Rather, it portrayed Punk as a man who had earned more accommodations and more money by simply being good at his job and winning the championship; a very novel concept indeed.

Now consider the promo between Stephanie McMahon and Roman Reigns on the first Raw of 2016. In an ill-advised attempt to perhaps get over the importance of the WWE title Reigns said that if he should lose the title, he would somehow no longer have a job, rendering him incapable of providing for his family. Where it may have been more effective to say that holding the championship allows Reigns to provide a better life for his family (much in the same way that Kevin Owens explained the importance of the NXT Championship), implying that being the champion is the only thing keeping him gainfully employed makes little or no sense. The thought that a famous entertainer/athlete would be completely unable to earn money anywhere else doing absolutely anything else whatsoever makes even less sense.

Stephanie responded by assuaging Roman (who she referred to as “the help,” no less) with the knowledge that he would not be fired after losing the title. Rather, she assured him that she would “use [him]” much in the same way that Vince used his father, forcing him to work a grueling schedule that would have him performing night after night up and down the road until his body eventually breaks down (or, in other words, the average schedule for a WWE talent). Stephanie finished by reminding Roman that once he was gone, once his body had failed him and his career ended, the fans would forget about him and embrace the next superstar to come along after him. Which is, of course, a great idea to float about a superstar whose footing as a main-eventer is still tentative.

In so many words, Stephanie echoed that same sentiment expressed by Punk about wrestlers merely being spokes on the great wheel that is WWE. For the most part, Punk undermined that sentiment by winning the championship and returning for a mostly-successful push as one of the company’s top faces, and eventually in stepping away from the company to pursue his ambitions in mixed martial arts. Stephanie’s words instead conveyed to the audience the belief that even the superstar that the company has spent nearly two years trying to get over as the top guy is still insignificant in the bigger picture.

This was just the latest in a long line of examples of professional wrestlers being presented as completely reliant on the benevolence of the McMahon family. Few are shielded from this notion, even when they very well should be: John Cena, in a promo that took place just four weeks ahead of Wrestlemania last year, was told by Stephanie that he was neither special nor unique. She posed the question of just where Cena would be without the WWE, essentially saying that the company would have thrived for the duration of his run whether he was with the company or not. She punctuated her point by saying that if Cena were to miss a Wrestlemania, it wouldn’t make much of a difference (a theory will likely be put to the test this year).

If the audience is led to believe that the man who has been at the top of the company for 10 years is not integral to the overall product or its biggest show of the year, then it says an awful lot about the standing of everyone slotted beneath him. It also says an awful lot about why with Cena’s probable absence, Wrestlemania’s star power will consist almost solely of part-timers like The Rock, Undertaker, and Brock Lesnar.

It’s well understood that the concept at work here is just another derivation of the McMahon vs. Austin dynamic, but it still somehow manages to completely miss the point of why it worked. McMahon never treated Steve Austin as though he was not special or unique, and he certainly never stated that belief in front of a television audience because he had the good sense to know that it was a bad idea. It was never once implied that if Austin lost his job he would be destitute and desperate, because it was simply common knowledge that Austin being terminated would result in him making considerably more money in WCW the next day.

The McMahon vs. Austin feud worked because it was clear that WWF needed Austin; the McMahon character spited him not because he was worthless, but because he was too valuable. Even if Vince had told Steve Austin that he was replaceable, it would have been rejected by the audience completely as the false rhetoric of a heel. They would understand it to be false because they were shown frequently enough that Austin was the star.

When Stephanie tells Cena and Reigns that they are not important, that they are not special, and that they will ultimately be forgotten, there is no reason to suspect that she is not explicitly voicing the opinion of the company. If there were even the faintest indication that these claims were transparent lies from a cartoon villain, it would be a different story. But it’s clear that this character means exactly what she says, and those sentiments are proven true if only because the most protected characters on WWE television for the past three years are Stephanie and Hunter and the company’s top-billed star is, in fact, the company.

When Stephanie told Cena last year that people didn’t want him at Wrestlemania, they cheered. When she told Roman that he was just another arrogant star stepping into her ring, there wasn’t a trace of dishonesty in her voice. Had the audience not hijacked the product after the 2014 Royal Rumble, her claims that Daniel Bryan was not good enough to be a main eventer would have never been disproven. Tell me again who all of this is supposed to put over.

Mere days into 2016, the landscape of professional wrestling shifted dramatically with the revelation that four top stars from New Japan Pro-Wrestling would likely be coming to WWE. Among these names: Doc Gallows and Karl Anderson, both of whom are almost certain to be members of the long-gestured Balor Club, and Shinsuke Nakamura and AJ Styles, arguably the two best professional wrestlers on the planet, fresh off putting on what will likely wind up being one of the best matches of the year at WrestleKingdom 10.

WWE will, no doubt, pay top dollar to acquire the services of Styles and Nakamura in particular, which in and of itself should suggest that they will be featured on the main roster at a level commensurate to their price tags (never mind their talents). With Styles’ contract up and presumable final bows made, and with Tokyo Sports reporting that Nakamura will be leaving NJPW by month’s end, both could even wind up playing major roles on a Wrestlemania card that will almost certainly be without Cena, Randy Orton, and Seth Rollins.

Despite their stature with wrestling fans who follow New Japan and Ring of Honor, Styles and Nakamura will be introduced to a large segment of the WWE audience for the first time upon their debuts. To make the most out of these first impressions, and to ensure that WWE gets the most out of its significant investment in those men, they must be shown in a light that is unlike the way the vast majority of the roster is seen: as special talent that the WWE is lucky to have in its employ.

This means that they cannot, under any circumstances, be portrayed as needing the WWE. If anything, they should be presented for what they are: two of the world’s best wrestlers who did not need to come to the WWE, but rather chose to. To be effective, the typical approach needs to be reversed almost entirely: while much can be made of WWE as the dream destination for both men, as much or more needs to be made about the two men being dream acquisitions.

It’s a novel concept, and given that it’s a true fact, it would likely prove an effective one. It’s not inconceivable to push the idea that Styles and Nakamura both walked away from lucrative offers from New Japan Pro-Wrestling in order to test their mettle on the world’s biggest stage. It actually makes for quite a good story, and one that firmly establishes WWE as the ultimate goal of the world’s best professional wrestlers. It’s hard to imagine, however, that the same ego that places the WWE brand before its own stars won’t ultimately interfere.

Building Styles and Nakamura to be main-event-caliber talent will require that a number of different things are done correctly, and not the least significant of those things is the WWE putting itself second to talent (and to talent who made their names outside of the company, no less). WWE will, in every respect, have to create the impression that these men are vital and important additions to the roster. The second that either man is presented as being dependent on WWE for income or expendable, any mystique they may have with the audience will dry up and they will fall in with the rest of the pack. With injuries running rampant and so few talents perceived as main eventers, WWE can’t afford to have this happen.

By introducing Nakamura and Styles in a way that promotes them as being special and important, WWE can set a new standard not just for possible inbound talent from other companies, but for both talent that rises through NXT and emerging talent already floundering on the main roster. When Finn Balor makes his debut on the main roster, whether it is as a singles star or as the leader of his Balor Club, he the audience should not be told that he is anything but special.

Should Dean Ambrose or Kevin Owens find themselves in line for a big push (and they certainly ought to be with so many others on the shelf and Wrestlemania quickly approaching), neither should be made to cut promos saying that they have nothing without their jobs. The problems that interfere with building new stars run quite a bit deeper, but not classifying them as "the help" is definitely a great start.

Does this ultimately mean that the heel authority figure should disappear from the WWE ecosystem altogether? Perhaps, but not necessarily. But at some point, the epiphany needs to be reached that continuously giving the audience the perception that the wrestlers on its programs are interchangeable and worthless is going to further contribute to the reality of no new stars being created and little new interest in the product.