WWE’s self-described workhorse is heading to Glasgow and Manchester next year. Before the UK dates, he talks to Soundsphere about the mask, Chad Gable, the Intercontinental Championship, music, and why the way you treat people may matter more than the titles you win.
Ethan Page in WWE
Ethan Page arrives at the interview with his face hidden behind a glittering mask and his patience already wearing thin. I call him the “workhorse of WWE”, pointing to a career built across TNA, the independent scene and other major promotions. Page accepts the label, but is quick to clarify what he means by it.
“Yes, I am the workhorse in the WWE,” he agrees, emphatically. Page says his work ethic helped get him here, but he is also keenly aware that this interview is part of his work too. “At this very moment, I am the one promoting these UK events,” he says. “I am the one being asked to exploit my image for your show and my face, so you can get views.
“Do I want to allow you or TKO to exploit my face for views? No, that’s why I’m going to take a little power back.”
It is a pointed opening, but Page is not about to walk away from the conversation. Instead, he sets its terms. He says he is tired of always saying yes, frustrated with what he sees as unfair treatment, and ready to reclaim some control over how much of himself the company gets. “I’m going to do things my way,” he says.
That defiance runs through the interview. Page speaks like someone who knows exactly how he wants to be seen, and is irritated when other people get to decide the story. He can be funny, cutting and unexpectedly candid, often within the same answer. When I compares him to classic WWE heels such as Rick Rude and The Miz, Page accepts the comparison as a compliment, then puts his own spin on what makes him different.
“I refuse to dim my light to make others feel comfortable,” he says. “Ultimately, I will always be the villain in the room because I’m the most genuine, honest, real person in the WWE.”
It is a bold claim, and Page delivers it with the confidence of someone who expects to be challenged. But whether you take his words as sincere frustration, heelish self-mythology or some combination of the two, he has no interest in making himself smaller for the room.
A mask, and a message
The mask is more than a shiny accessory, specifically for today’s chat. Page describes it as a way of taking back control of his likeness and joining what he calls a “stupid popularity contest”. He argues that masked wrestlers can keep their identities hidden from the scrutiny that comes with a recognisable face, while he has spent his career putting his own image forward. “I’ve said a lot of profound things with my face and nobody seems to care,” he says. “So why don’t I hide my identity like all these other guys?”
He makes a show of testing the mask’s comfort, assuring me that he can see perfectly well. But the deeper message is clear: Page wants to decide when the audience gets access to his face. “You get this beautiful mask, and you get my voice,” he says. “My face, right now…you guys can all kiss my ass. It’s mine.”
For Page, the mask is both a prop and a protest. He says he is tired of feeling that his talents and image are being used without giving him the recognition he believes he has earned. He lists the jobs he says he can do – commentary, backstage interviews, wrestling anyone on the show, and asks whether everyone else can make the same claim. His answer is emphatic: “Absolutely not.”
There is a tension in all of this. Page objects to the machinery of promotion, but he understands how to use it. He is here to talk about the UK dates and makes sure the ticket information gets covered. When I ask about the support Page receives from fans, Page pauses the interview to check that the interviewer knows where the shows are. “Do you know where the tour is, where the shows are, and the details of the tour?” he asks.
The dates he gives are Monday Night Raw in Glasgow on January 18 and Friday Night SmackDown in Manchester on January 22. He points fans towards Ticketmaster and encourages them to buy tickets. He also notices that Manchester is likely the closer show for Soundsphere. Even in an interview he says he never wanted to do, Page is alert to the practical details, and determined to get his message across.
His pitch to supporters is characteristically confident. “You are just investing in the right stock,” he tells them. “In the long run, you will be right, and I will make sure that you are right.” The deal, as Page describes it, is simple: fans say he is the guy, and he keeps working until he becomes the guy.
Chad Cable and WWE’s Luchador problem
Page’s sharpest criticism is reserved for Chad Gable. He takes issue with the way Gable is being presented and celebrated, arguing that the public perception of Gable does not match Page’s own view of his history. Page also accuses Gable of seeking support by associating himself with popular wrestlers and lucha libre performers, naming Rey Mysterio, Dragon Lee and Penta.
Those are Page’s claims, delivered from the perspective of a rival who believes he is being overlooked. He sees a double standard: Gable, in his view, is celebrated, while Page is criticised despite doing whatever work the company asks of him. Page is not trying to make the accusation sound neutral. He calls the masked performers “bozos” and complains that they can avoid media appearances while he puts his face, and now, pointedly, his masked face is firmly forward. He says: “Chad Gable’s running away from Ethan Page, and everyone’s cheering him on like he’s some kind of hero. ‘Oh, let me just go pat on the back, Rey Mysterio, one of the most beloved wrestlers of all time, and his protégé, the pet dragon, Dragon Lee. Oh, and then Pentagon, you know, the Penta, the guy that’s becoming the most popular wrestler around the world. Why don’t I just stick myself with him [now]?’”
His frustration is not simply that another wrestler is popular. It is that Page believes he has done everything asked of him and still has not received the attention or opportunities he wants. “I come into this company with every single talent,” he says. “Anything that this company needs, I’m able to provide to them.”
The mask, then, becomes a way to challenge the rules as Page sees them. If visibility is part of the bargain, he wants to decide how much of himself he offers. If other performers can conceal their faces, he is willing to join them, and make the gesture impossible to miss.
Page’s certainty is what makes the exchange compelling. He says he is tired of being exploited, yet he knows how to turn a promotional interview into a platform for his own argument. He objects to the way the industry tells stories about people, while making sure his own version is heard in full. He may resent the machinery, but he knows how to work a microphone.
Ambition on his own terms
One of Page’s goals is the Intercontinental Championship. He addresses fans who questioned why he would want to pursue that title after competing for a place in the Money in the Bank match. To Page, the criticism misses the point. He does not believe fans should decide whether his ambitions are impressive enough, or dictate the order in which he pursues them.
“Before I die, I plan on achieving all of my goals and dreams,” he says, naming the Intercontinental Championship as one of them. He argues that people judging his goals have not put in the work or reached the position he is in. His challenge to fans is blunt: look at your own to-do list before criticising what he wants to accomplish.
It is a revealing distinction. Page is not only saying he deserves a championship; he is defending his right to want it. His ambition does not have to satisfy a fan’s idea of the perfect career trajectory. The title matters because it matters to him.
That insistence sits alongside a more reflective view of achievement. Asked when he last felt real joy, Page first jokes that it might have been when he broke a wrestler’s jaw, then immediately admits, “You know what? That is a lie.” He recalls smiling after NXT wrestler Miles Bourne gave him credit, describing the pleasure of being proved right by someone who had previously told him he was wrong.
He also remembers sharing championship moments with his children: handing the NXT Championship to his daughter backstage in Toronto, and the North American Championship to his son in Orlando. Those memories matter, but Page describes the feeling of winning less as uncomplicated joy than relief. He sets a goal, works towards it and feels the pressure lift when he reaches it. Then, he says, the sadness of having nothing new to chase can begin to settle in, and he sets another goal.
“Career-wise, nothing,” he says when asked what brings him happiness. The answer sounds bleak, but Page softens it with a joke: “I mean, cookies do sometimes, donuts, stuff like that.”
He compares the chase to pursuing a relationship, getting what you thought you wanted and then realising you may have been chasing the wrong thing. It is an unusually open moment from someone who has spent much of the interview insisting on his own certainty. Page knows how to name the next target; he is less sure that reaching it will make him happy.
Legacy
That uncertainty shapes Page’s answer on legacy. He says he once believed that failing to accomplish particular milestones would mean his career was not successful. The recent deaths of friends have changed his perspective. “Ultimately, the way people talk about you is the real legacy,” he says, “and then the way you treated people.”
He is not arguing that titles are meaningless. Page recognises that championships can shape a performer’s career and future. But he draws a line between professional achievement and personal worth. A career may be measured in titles; a life, he suggests, should not be reduced to them. “Anything could stop us from wrestling tomorrow,” he says. “And then, what do we have if we’re not in the ring?”
For Page, that perspective does not cancel ambition. He still wants to accomplish what he promised his younger self he would do. He is proud of the championships and records he has earned, and he still has goals ahead of him. But he does not want those achievements to define him as a person.
There is a tension here that seems to suit him. Page questions the value of the chase while continuing to chase. He says wrestling’s measures of success can feel arbitrary, yet he is determined to succeed by them. Rather than resolve that contradiction, he seems to accept it as part of the job: the goals are there, and he will pursue them on his own terms.
He also wants supporters to share some responsibility for believing in him. “If you support me, and you tell people that I am the guy, I will make sure that you’re not wrong,” he says. It is a boast, a promise and a challenge at once. Page knows plenty of people will disagree. He seems to regard that as further evidence that they have not yet caught up.
A playlist without one lane
Away from the arguments about titles and recognition, Page’s music taste is as varied as he is willing to make it. He listens to hip hop, house music, dubstep, rock ballads and emotional alternative rock. Sometimes, he says, he will put on a show tune: “A little Phantom of the Opera can really, you know, pump your heart up a bit.”
His favourite artists include Kanye West, Drake and Eminem, particularly music in the motivational rap lane. Page likes the confidence and self-belief in those artists, and says what you put into your mind can shape what you do with your life. He describes the appeal as “just feeding my ego, song by song by song”.
It is an answer that fits the person across the table. Page is happy to jump between genres, but knows what he wants from the music: confidence, momentum and a boost of affirmation. When I observe that his choices are (also) self-assured artists, Page agrees. “What you pump into your brain really kind of dials you into what you’re going to do with your life,” he says. “It’s always nice to hear some affirmations of support.”
By the end of the interview, Page has made sure the promotional point is clear: Glasgow gets Raw on January 18; Manchester gets SmackDown on January 22. He has defended his ambition, criticised the way he believes Gable is being celebrated, explained why he is wearing a mask and offered a more personal account of success, one that includes his children, the fleeting satisfaction of being proved right, and the thought that a legacy may have more to do with how you treat people than with the belts you win.
Then, I ask whether they might speak again. Page’s answer is characteristic: he does not actually have a choice. He has been told to do the interview; today, this is what work requires. “Welcome to my world, pal,” he says. “I do whatever they say.”
It is a final reminder of the gap between the performer who insists he is taking control of his image and the employee who knows he has obligations to fulfil. That gap may be exactly where Ethan Page is most compelling. He can resent the machine and still know how to perform for it. He can say that none of this matters, then fight to have his goals respected. He can cover his face and make the whole room look at him.
For these UK dates, he will bring that contradiction with him: strong opinions intact, and very much convinced that the right stock is only waiting for the rest of the sports entertainment world to catch up.
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