John Morrison brought a whole new dimension to professional wrestling.
He flaunted the beauty of the male form — his own beauty — in a way it hadn’t quite been done before. He actually called himself the “Shaman of Sexy.”
He basked in that virile beauty. Entering the arena…every movement sensuous, carefully designed to emphasize “masculine wiles.” Outlandish, ultra-wide shouldered clothing exaggerating the male physique…exposure of muscled chest and ripped abs…tightness of pants…sexy shades…excessive roominess inside the garment, as if to invite others in.
Climbing up the ring ropes and doing a virtual strip tease. Black bands around exposed arms and wrists suggesting bondage. His phenomenal manly athleticism in the ring, aggressively twisting, flipping, flying through the air. And his willingness to subject that gorgeous, hunk body to repeated beatings and pummeling — all for his adoring fans.
He knew what they really came to see — and he gave it to them.