The ‘Mask’ of Performance
Professional wrestling, particularly in its most theatrical form as seen in WWE, is a world of pageantry, heightened drama, and athletic spectacle.
We all know there is a script, storylines are pre-written, rivalries are carefully orchestrated, and the winners are often decided before the bell rings. Yet, despite the scripting, the athleticism is real, the effort monumental, and the physical toll undeniable. Wrestlers are actors, athletes, and storytellers, also living breathing people with real lives, creating larger-than-life characters in a stage-managed arena where the narrative is everything. The audience suspends disbelief, and the performers live by an unspoken rule: never break character.
This is the essence of kayfabe, an industry-wide commitment to maintain the illusion at all costs. Often the costs are to the people involved.
- “Kayfabe” originated as carny slang for “protecting the secrets of the business.”
In many ways, competitive equestrian sport operates under its own version of kayfabe.
Disciplines such as dressage, showjumping, and eventing present themselves as celebrations of the horse–human partnership. The ‘story’ of a perfect harmony of athletic grace, mutual trust, and connection. Riders speak the language of “lightness”, “feel”, and “partnership” while guiding their horses through choreographed displays that impress judges and audiences alike.
The image is polished, elegant, and reassuring.
And is a illusion. We the audience suspends disbelief to follow that narrative.
But as with wrestling, the performance can mask a more complicated reality. Behind the white breeches, the braided manes, and the serene arena music lies a world where horses are trained to perform abnormal movements (from a species prospective), conditioned, and sadly often coerced to deliver on the promise of the spectacle for us humans to enjoy and partake in. Just as wrestlers perform through injury and exhaustion to maintain the illusion, horses often work through physical discomfort, mental stress, or suppressed behaviours to keep the narrative of harmony intact.
And just as in wrestling, those who challenge the narrative, who speak openly about the physical and psychological costs, risk being ostracised or blacklisted. Because they broke Kayfabe.
Equestrianism’s kayfabe is not about faking athletic feats.
The jumps are real, the dressage movements demand immense skill, as well as physical effort, and the cross-country courses are punishing feat of cardiovascular fitness. And just like with wrestling many suffer lifelong injuries, medical concerns and death for the sport.
The ilusion is instead not about the physical act but about crafting and protecting a story that the audience wants to believe that every piaffe, every perfect take-off, every gallop to the finish line is the product of pure partnership, rather than the result of an industry built on pressure, selective breeding, and sometimes invisible coercion. It is as ‘fake’ as wrestling.
Where the story we tell is false, but the fall out from it is very real.
The Performance of Consent
In WWE, the spectacle hinges on the illusion of ‘mutual combat’. Wrestlers enter the ring as rivals, ‘clashing’ in seemingly unscripted battles for supremacy. Yet both know the choreography, the planned sequences, and the ultimate outcome. This is not to say the pain or athletic feats are fake, wrestlers are body-slammed onto hard surfaces, endure repeated impact, and carry long-term injuries. They require physical fitness, endurance and skill to do these moves.
But the audience is meant to believe they are watching a real fight, not a rehearsed one, not one that required punishing training. The consent between wrestlers, agreeing to the script, to the moves, to the risks, remains invisible to maintain the drama.
In equestrian sport, the performance also hinges on a form of ‘perceived’ consent. We call it harmony and partnership. Emphasis on perceived here, this is why we call it harmony and partnership as this is more palatable.
The horse steps into the arena or onto the course, seemingly ready to work in seamless partnership & harmony with the rider. Judges, commentators, and spectators see an animal willingly offering its athleticism, as if every movement were an act of shared desire. We want to see it, so we do.
The language we use reinforces this:
- The horse “wants” to jump, is “excited” when they see the fence.
- They are “eager” to perform/please, they “want” to win.
- The “dancing” with its rider, two hearts are one.
It’s fucking nonsense, it is a illusion and a narative we tell our selves. I am here to break this kayfabe.
Unlike the wrestlers, horses do not consent to the choreography. They cannot agree to the risks, informed consent is impossible, they are unable to give it consent due to the primary training methods we use, or the demands placed upon them by us humans. Their “willingness” is shaped, often over years, through conditioning, often aversive with no means of saying stop or no.
When horse do say no or stop they are bold or naughty and are punished for their precieved act of defiance. Pressure is applied, sometimes subtly if they are lucky, mostly overtly. And the horse learns that compliance leads to relief, so I will comply. While resistance prolongs discomfort or leads to punishment, pain and increased pressure.
The absence of open defiance is interpreted by us huamns as agreement, when in behavioural science it may be closer to learned helplessness or suppression of natural responses. If a horse can never say no, then any yes is utterly meaningless.
The power of any ‘yes’ lies in the ability to also say ’no’. Research across psychology and ethics consistently shows that consent and commitment are only meaningful when refusal is a genuine option. If ’no”’ is never possible, then ‘yes’ is not a choice but compliance—and that strips it of meaning.
Lack of open defiance is not agreement
This is where equestrian kayfabe is at its most powerful: the rebranding of compliance as connection. A horse that tolerates a tight noseband, maintains a rigid outline, or continues a dressage test despite signs of muscular tension is praised for being “obedient” or “in harmony”. The reality is that these may be signals of physical strain or emotional stress, is often invisible to the untrained eye, or reframed as the mark of a highly trained athlete.
Regardless of the years of research in the field of animal/equine behaviour, that clearly detail these signals of stress and emotional strain. If you point this out, cite your sources and present a clearly argument… well you’ve broke kayfabe and will suffer the concequences.
The “performance of consent” in horse sport is not always born of cruelty. Many riders genuinely believe they have achieved a true partnership, because the industry’s kayfabe teaches them to read compliance as joy. Yet the cost is borne by the horse, whose body and behaviour are curated to fit the narrative. In the ring, a wrestler can tap out; in the arena, the horse can only comply or risk consequences.
The Cost of the Show
In professional wrestling, the match ends when the referee counts three or the bell rings,but the toll on the performers doesn’t stop there.
Years of training and repeated impact take a cumulative physical toll:
- Chronic injuries, broken backs, bones
- Joint degeneration, arthitis
- Concussions, brain injuries
- Misuse of drugs to sustain their career
- and long-term pain are common…
The relentless travel schedule, punishing training regimes, and pressure to “push through” injuries for the sake of the storyline mean that rest and recovery are rare luxuries.
Is this all sounding familiar?
For Wrestlers they live with the knowledge that their bodies are both their livelihood and their most expendable resource. Horses don’t undestand this.
The equestrian arena is no different in this respect, the cost are shockingly similar. A horse’s body is conditioned for the show, often at the expense of its long-term welfare, no athlete can escape this fact it is undeniable. Soft tissue injuries from repetitive strain, joint wear from years of collection or hard landings, back pain from poorly fitted saddles, and mouth trauma from strong bits or restrictive nosebands are rarely part of the glossy promotional material. However horses do not understand the risks, humans deny them and the horse is unabe to say no.
Just as in wrestling as with equine sports, the show must go on, and signs of discomfort are masked or reframed. A horse shifting weight unevenly or shortening stride might be described as “just a bit stiff” rather than signalling pain. A rider and horse fall at a jump “He did the rider dirty there!”.
The psychological cost is harder to see but no less real. For wrestlers, the mental strain of constant performance, the pressure to maintain persona, and the lack of personal agency can erode well-being. The same is true of the riders at the top of the sport, they also feel the pressure to maintain an aesthetic.
It is well documented in these athletes, but we fail to recognise this lack of agency in horse as we all follow kayfabe or risk being removed from our community. For horses, the constant exposure to aversive stimuli, the suppression of natural behaviours, and the inability to opt out can lead to chronic stress, behavioural shutdown, or stereotypies like weaving and crib-biting.
Yet, in both industries, these costs are often accepted as the price of participation. Injuries are “part of the game”. Behavioural issues are “just quirks”. The spectacle depends on hiding or normalising these consequences so that audiences see only the triumph, never the toll on the physcial and mental health. When we do see it, as the audience it is dismissed.
In wrestling, it’s the image of the victorious champion; in equestrianism, it’s the smiling rider saluting the judges as the horse obediently stands square (if we are lucky… just looks shut down, in pain or tired).
The kayfabe holds because acknowledging the cost would fracture the illusion, kill the industry and shatter our joy that our horse wants to be a wiling partner. The audience might have to ask uncomfortable questions about what they are watching and whether the price paid by the performer, human or horse, is worth the applause. So it is best keep kayfabe.
Audience Complicity and Enjoyment
The magic of wrestling and equestrian sport doesn’t just depend on the performers it depends on the audience’s willingness to believe in the nartative. In WWE, fans know on some level that the match outcomes are scripted and the rivalries are exaggerated, yet they suspend disbelief because the drama is too entertaining to pick apart.
The cheers, the boos, the collective gasp at a well-timed move, I get it, it’s a very human reaction to get caught up in the nartative. These reactions are part of the performance itself, being human and the audience’s enjoyment relies on ignoring the mechanics behind the illusion. The visual story is so compelling that most don’t look for, or know how to recognise or don’t want to see, the subtle signs of tension or discomfort. The pinned ears, tight lips, swishing tails, the whale eyes, the spurs/the whip, or stiffness in movement. Those who do notice may dismiss them as “just the horse’s way” or “normal in competition.”. None of it looks like harmony.
We normalise so much coercion and emotional destress as part of horse sport, because we don’t want to see it. To lift the curtain is not easy, it means you can’t watch any more, it means having less connection with your community and it means working with your horse in a way that is not ’normal’. The industry reinforces this selective vision. Commentators speak in glowing terms about “willingness” and “partnership,” or sadly reinforce horses ‘being bold’ or sadly ’naughty’ for their rider when they say no.
Very rarely mentioning welfare concerns unless a horse visibly refuses or breaks stride or has blood on them (even then it is faught); we dare not break kayfabe. Judging criteria often reward expressions that coincide with physical tension, such as exaggerated head carriage or LDR/hypercollection/ hyperflection, perpetuating a visual ideal that audiences come to accept as correct. In this way, the crowd’s approval becomes both a driver and a shield for the sport’s kayfabe.
There is also a feedback loop at play, in that the more audiences cheer for the image of perfection, the more pressure riders and trainers feel to produce it, a horrific cycle that wont end, even if it comes at a cost, to the horse. This mirrors wrestling’s demand for ever-more spectacular stunts to keep fans engaged, pushing athletes to take greater risks, bigger spectacle taking drugs to facilitate this and endure greater hardship to keep the crowd on its feet.
Is it any wounder that horse doping legislation is more robust then horse welfare?
In both arenas, applause becomes a currency and the welfare of the performer can become secondary to the show. If we really cared for the performer isn’t their welfare more important?
The truth is that both wrestling and equestrian sport survive, in part, because the audience doesn’t want to look too closely. To do so would risk spoiling the magic, reframing the spectacle not as a celebration of partnership or skill, but as a performance sustained by selective blindness.
Language and Euphemism
Kayfabe thrives on the language we use.
In wrestling, the industry has its own vocabulary designed to sustain the illusion and keep outsiders at bay. Moves are “sold” to make pain look worse (or better) than it is. Injuries become “setbacks” in a storyline rather than threats to long-term health. Losing is “putting someone over,” allowing another wrestler’s character to rise in status. Even the word kayfabe itself is a linguistic firewall, a way to talk about protecting the illusion without saying outright that it is an illusion.
Equestrian sport has its own lexicon that serves a similar function. Terms like “connection,” “submission,” “on the bit,” and “throughness” “braver” “honest” are presented as hallmarks of harmony, but they often describe a horse yielding to rein pressure, accepting a restrictive frame, or moving in a biomechanically demanding posture.
- “Partnership” becomes shorthand for compliance.
- “Encouraging forward” may mean the application of a spur.
- “Asking for collection” can mean sustained pressure that leaves no room for refusal.
This isn’t to say that all use of these terms is dishonest, many riders and trainers genuinely in the mistake belief that they are achieving the ideals these words represent. The euphemism works because it’s shared, repeated, and normalised within the horse community. Over time, the language doesn’t just describe the practice being show, it shapes the perception of what is correct and acceptable.
A tight noseband isn’t restricting the jaw; it’s “providing stability.” A horse that ceases to resist or spook, isn’t shut down; it’s “well schooled.”
By rebranding pressure as partnership and submission as softness, the industry inoculates itself against critique. To question the terms is to question the shared reality of the sport, just as challenging wrestling’s vocabulary risks breaking the spell for fans and performers alike. And those who do question the language, whether they are equine behaviourists pointing out signs of stress, or former wrestlers speaking about the physical toll they suffered, are often dismissed as bitter, overcritical, or “not understanding how the game works”.
Language doesn’t just maintain the kayfabe; it polishes it. It turns hard realities into palatable stories, transforming coercion into artistry and making the audience feel they are witnessing something pure, even when the truth is far more complex.
The Breaking Point
Every performance that relies on illusion risks the moment when the mask slips. In wrestling, it might be a botched move that leaves a performer genuinely injured, breaking the rhythm of the match. The audience shifts uncomfortably as referees and medics rush in, and the commentary team scrambles to fold the incident into the storyline without acknowledging the reality. Sometimes, though, the injury is too obvious to disguise… The kayfabe fractures for a beat, and for a brief moment the crowd sees the cost of the spectacle.
In 1999 Owen Hart died for the cost of the spectacle. It was tragic and left a family grieving. That was 26 years ago, yet the audience did not stop their need for WWE, why? Because we told ourseleves it was part of the risk. We forgot the very real loss of life.
In equestrian sport, the breaking point can come in the form the infamous meltdown during the Tokyo Olympics of a German modern pentathlon coach punching a horse during competition, or Jet Set who was euthanized after suffering a serious injury on the cross-country cours… or the sad death of a child… Jack de Bromhead, aged 13, dies at Glenbeigh Races in 2022, “Tiggy” Hancock, aged 15, died in June 2021 after a fatal training accident.
It is utterly heart breaking… lives cut short is such a tragic way. I mention them here, to ensure their names are not forgot and to honour their memory, so that we can do better and never forget them.
A horse might plant its feet before a fence, bolt out of a dressage arena, or simply stop responding to the rider’s aids & rear. In those moments, the narrative of perfect harmony falters, and the reality, that the horse is an autonomous being with limits, forces itself into view.
Why would harmony lead to injury and/or death? Surely that breaks the narative we tell ourselves.
The industry’s response is often to contain the damage as quickly as possible. In wrestling, the match might be to pretend it did not happen and the next matches is pushed on (so the audience forgets), the injury reframed as part of a feud, or quietly erased from highlight reels. In equestrianism, a horse’s outburst may be attributed to “naughtiness,” “loss of focus,” or a “training issue,” or a tragic accient rather than recognised as a possible signal of pain, stress, or confusion. The framing protects the kayfabe, keeping the audience aligned with the performance rather than the reality.
Again I ask, if it was true harmony why would it lead to injury? Harmony is = ’the quality of forming a pleasing and consistent whole.’
Sometimes these moments spark outrage, viral videos of excessive use of the whip, footage of horses collapsing mid-competition, or whistleblowers revealing abusive training footage. But, as in wrestling and equitation, the outrage is often temporary… dismissed, ignored and forgotten. Fans and insiders alike are invested in the return to business as usual, so the narrative is too valuable to abandon; the spectacle too alluring to dismantle.
The breaking point, then, becomes not a catalyst for systemic change but a temporary glitch in the matrix, smoothed over, explained away, and eventually forgotten. In this way, both wrestling and equestrian sport are able to sustain their illusions, even in the face of evidence that the performance comes at a cost.
Reclaiming Authenticity and Welfare
If kayfabe is the art of maintaining illusion, then breaking kayfabe, whether in wrestling or equestrian sport, requires courage, honesty, and a willingness to disrupt the spectacle. In WWE, performers who step outside the script risk alienating fans, damaging storylines, and facing repercussions from promoters. In equestrianism, riders, trainers, and even veterinarians who challenge the prevailing narrative risk being sidelined, losing sponsorship, or being branded as troublemakers. But without these truth-tellers, the status quo remains unchallenged, and the cost is borne by the bodies and minds of the performers, human or horse.
Reclaiming authenticity in equestrian sport starts with recognising the horse not as a character in our story, but as a sentient individual with needs, limits, and a voice of its own. This means redefining “partnership” in ways that can be measured through welfare indicators rather than aesthetic ideals. Judges could be trained to reward relaxed facial expressions, soft gaits, and freedom of movement over hypercollection or rigid frames. Spectators could be educated to spot signs of tension or distress, making welfare part of the spectacle rather than something hidden from it. It’s not hard to do, it just doen’t fit the current narrative.
Training methods must also be reframed in the light of equitation science, prioritising learning theory over tradition or competitive fashion. This might mean loosening nosebands to allow natural jaw movement, reassessing bit use or allowing bitless, using food during competitions or giving horses more agency in training sessions (saying no is fine!). In wrestling terms, it’s the equivalent of performers setting boundaries, refusing unsafe spots, and having their well-being factored into the booking process—not as an afterthought, but as a core principle.
WWE effectively banned chair shots to the head around 2010, with fines or suspensions for violations of the policy. This policy was implemented following concerns about the long-term effects of repeated head trauma on wrestlers.
Transparency is another essential step. Just as some wrestling promotions have begun pulling back the curtain with documentaries and candid interviews while still loving their work and sport, equestrian sport could benefit from open discussions about training pressures, injury management, and the real workload behind the glamour. Breaking the illusion doesn’t have to kill the magic—it can deepen respect for the skill, care, and mutual trust required to produce moments of genuine brilliance.
Because loving a horse is magic. Loving your horse is magic, that is enough beyond the ribbons.
Ultimately, the post-kayfabe vision for equestrianism is one where the audience still marvels at the performance, because horse are amazing and beuatiful, just by being horses who are amazing and beautiful, but with the knowledge that the horse’s welfare has not been sacrificed for the sake of appearance/specitcal. The show can go on—but only if it’s a show grounded in reality, respect, and consent (in it’s truest form) rather than an illusion sustained at the animal’s expense.
The choice lies with the industry and its audiences: keep the mask firmly in place, or lift it—just enough—to let authenticity, ethics, and welfare step into the spotlight.
Written with a deep love for horses, and the future of horses
