Porn, Performance, And Power: Reassessing The Legacy Of WWE’s Chyna In A Shifting Cultural Landscape

As of June 2024, the digital echoes of Chyna—Joan Laurer—continue to reverberate through both the wrestling world and the broader conversation about gender, performance, and autonomy. Long after her final televised appearance in WWE, the discourse around her legacy has evolved, especially in light of her post-wrestling career choices, including her work in adult entertainment. What was once dismissed as a scandalous footnote is now being reevaluated through a more nuanced lens, one that considers agency, the commodification of female athletes, and the double standards that persist in celebrity culture. Chyna wasn’t just a wrestler who crossed into pornography; she was a trailblazer who defied categorization, challenged gender norms, and paid a steep personal price for doing so.

In an era where figures like Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion openly discuss their past in stripping and use it as a platform for empowerment, Chyna’s narrative feels tragically ahead of its time. While they command mainstream stages and Grammy Awards, Chyna was effectively exiled from professional wrestling after her departure from WWE, with Vince McMahon reportedly blackballing her from the industry. This contrast highlights a troubling trend: society often celebrates reclaimed narratives of female sexuality when they align with current empowerment rhetoric, but historically punished women like Chyna who lived those truths before the cultural climate was ready to understand them.

Chyna’s transition into adult entertainment wasn’t merely a career pivot—it was a reflection of the limited avenues available to her after being ostracized by the wrestling industry. Unlike male counterparts such as Hulk Hogan or The Rock, who seamlessly transitioned into acting and mainstream media, Chyna faced a glass ceiling reinforced by gendered expectations. Her muscular physique, once her greatest asset in WWE, became a liability in Hollywood and traditional media. In contrast, her authenticity in adult films—where physicality and control are central—allowed her to reclaim her narrative, even if on society’s margins.

The broader entertainment industry has long struggled with the duality of female empowerment and exploitation. Compare Chyna’s fate to that of Pamela Anderson, another figure whose career spanned mainstream television and adult content. Anderson has recently seen a renaissance in public perception, thanks to documentaries like Pamela, a Love Story, which frame her choices within a context of resilience and manipulation by powerful men. Chyna deserves a similar reckoning. Her story isn’t about scandal—it’s about a woman navigating an industry that celebrated her strength until it threatened the status quo.

Today, as WWE promotes a more inclusive era with stars like Becky Lynch and Bianca Belair headlining pay-per-views, it’s imperative to acknowledge the path Chyna paved. She wasn’t just strong; she was revolutionary. And while her post-WWE choices may discomfort some, they underscore a deeper truth: autonomy over one’s body and career, however unconventional, is the ultimate act of defiance in a world that polices women’s power.