Thinking Outside of the Boxing Ring
G.L.O.R.Y. founders Cheryl Couture and Esme East speak with Austin Woman about feminism, the indie wrestling world and the success of Austin’s first all-female and non-binary wrestling league.
Fighting patriarchy wasn’t always an important mission to Cheryl Couture. Growing up in the male-dominated environment of rural Alaska, Couture was subjected to the kind of systemic misogyny that women face every day, but it took moving to Austin to recognize the reality of her surroundings.
The way Couture sees it now, modern-day feminism isn’t about second-class citizenship, voting rights or contraceptives. It’s about helping women understand the long-reaching limbs of patriarchy. From her perspective, feminism means wrestling to define womanhood for yourself.
For G.L.O.R.Y., an Austin-based, all-female wrestling group founded by Couture and her business partner, Esme East, this fight for women’s rights has materialized into a physical reality.
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Teeth bared, two wrestling opponents mimic each other’s movements around the ring, tracing invisible circles beneath the bright lights. A grunt rings out and Slampax is lifted onto Queen Cup’s shoulders before crashing back down onto the padded floor. In the fight between Slampax, a character who represents tampons, and Queen Cup, a surrogate for menstrual cups, a clear victor has risen.
This match is one of many original wrestling acts performed by the Glorious Ladies of Rasslin, Y’all, or, G.L.O.R.Y., during its opening show in April. A relatively young organization, G.L.O.R.Y. was established seven months ago as Austin’s first all-female and non-binary wrestling league. The only group of its kind in Texas, G.L.O.R.Y. uses theatrical methods to introduce a traditionally male-dominated arena to women and non-binary people who might not feel welcome or safe watching or participating in traditional wrestling.
“The wrestling world is not a hospitable place to anyone who is not a heterosexual,” East says. “The world around us is very informed for the male gaze and influenced by what middle-aged white men want to see. We want to do something different.”
Outside the wrestling ring, G.L.O.R.Y. seeks to create a safe, inclusive space for people who identify as women to be heard and to create. East says the community aspect of G.L.O.R.Y.’s purpose transcends the significance of wrestling.
“Masculine voices dominate the conversation because there is male privilege and men are used to being heard. Because of this, women hold back,” East explains. “In order to have women feel comfortable speaking, it’s important to make a space where women don’t feel like they need to work harder to be heard.”
For the G.L.O.R.Y. founders, creating a welcoming space meant making the decision from day one that G.L.O.R.Y. would be run entirely by self-identified women from the ground up. The founders, the wrestlers and even the builders of the ring are female.
“All those times when we question ourselves on whether or not we can do this, we are buying into [patriarchy],” Couture says. “Men make certain things easier for us, but [through wrestling], we prove to ourselves that we don’t need them.”
Couture is quick to point out that the problem is not with pro wrestling. In fact, this year alone, the World Wrestling Entertainment renamed what was once titled its Divas Championships to the Women’s Championships and has booked two female matches on Wrestlemania for the first time in WWE history.
According to East, it is the indie wrestling community that may not be as accepting of female wrestling that deviates from the archetypal image of “sexy women in bikinis wrestling in oil.” G.L.O.R.Y.’s decentralized booking process allows its wrestlers to creatively control their wrestling acts and decide their personal definition of female empowerment.
“We can be as sexy as we want or as disgusting as we want,” Couture says. “Our performers are very attractive, but I love that we can be raw and human and as brutal as we want, and there is a great freedom in that, in not being geared toward men and doing things on our own terms.”
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While G.L.O.R.Y.’s inaugural show received praise from both its male and female audiences, East admits the show is meant to challenge male privilege and create an overtly female place where men in the audience wonder if they belong so they can “face those questions that women, gay and queer people cope with every day when they go places.”
“I’m not sure it worked,” East says, laughing.
But it wasn’t for lack of trying. From tampons soaked in fake blood to an anthropomorphic sex toy, the all-female league fully embraced taboo subjects.
While the controversial nature of the show may alienate some audience members, it’s crucial to Couture for G.L.O.R.Y. to “avoid falling in old tropes and to address real issues like power and class in Austin.”
For her, this “third wave of feminism” is about recognizing blasé micro-aggressions that continue to reinforce the harmful stereotypes and power dynamics of gender, race and sexuality in the 21st century.
“It’s not OK for men to tell women to not be so sensitive,” Couture says. “I no longer have the patience for men who say glib things, who have grown up with a life of privilege and think they know how the world works.”
Grappling with the scales of power and seeking equality for everyone are intrinsic to G.L.O.R.Y.’s core, a principle made very clear at the beginning of the show by G.L.O.R.Y.’s announcers.
With the first show finished and the plans for a second show in place, the next dream for G.L.O.R.Y. is sustainability. Building the infrastructure for G.L.O.R.Y. and creating an economic model that pays both the performers and organizers more will be the key to keeping G.L.O.R.Y. in Austin and bringing it to other cities.
“We think wrestling is great, but we don’t want to sit in an unsafe place to enjoy it. No one should have to,” Couture says. “There is a future for G.L.O.R.Y. here in Austin, and hopefully in other places as well.”
Photos by Brian Vomit.
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