If Roman emperors once governed with thrones of iron, and today’s moguls rule with Instagram reels and burner phones, then EC3 – Ethan Carter III – is the wrestling world’s princeling turned insurrectionist. Born Michael Hutter in Cleveland, Ohio, the man who would be Carter was once molded in WWE’s sterile performance labs to be the perfect, glistening gym-sculpted face of tomorrow. But in a tale befitting a boardroom Shakespearean drama, EC3 didn’t just fail to inherit the throne – he set the whole empire on fire, and then built a new one in its ashes. Kind of.
The Corporate Creation
Michael Hutter’s wrestling career began with the DNA of disappointment. After working the independent circuit under the moniker “Derrick Bateman” and a less-than-memorable run in WWE’s now-infamous early iterations of NXT, Hutter was the guy fans forgot while trying to remember who wasn’t Husky Harris. He played a dweeby game show version of a wrestler, less gladiator and more Nickelodeon host. He was funny, he was likable, and he was released in 2013. Just another casualty of the WWE developmental thresher.
But like any good Carter – or Bond villain – Hutter refused to die quietly. Emerging from WWE’s ashes, he rebranded in TNA (Total Nonstop Action Wrestling) as “Ethan Carter III,” the kayfabe nephew of then-TNA president Dixie Carter. It was nepotism weaponized. He strutted in as an entitled blueblood with enough smugness to choke out a hedge fund manager. He wasn’t the best wrestler in the world – hell, he wasn’t even the best wrestler in catering – but he looked the part, and that was enough.
The King of TNA’s Sinking Ship
From 2013 to 2018, EC3 was arguably the face of TNA – which, like EC3’s hairline, was fighting a losing battle. He remained undefeated in singles competition for over 600 days, a reign of terror rivaled only by local DMV wait times. Along the way, he defeated Kurt Angle, Matt Hardy, Lashley, and a slew of opponents who took his boot to the face and his smarm to the soul.
EC3’s gift wasn’t in-ring brilliance – though he was more than capable – it was his commitment to the character. He was Vince McMahon’s id made flesh: a protein-shake politician wrapped in a tailored suit, shouting into mirrors about destiny and dominance. His promos were delivered like TED Talks by Gordon Gekko on cocaine. He was delusional, maniacal, and infinitely entertaining.
TNA, meanwhile, was creatively floundering like a fish in a power outage. EC3 became the lone candle in an ever-darkening hallway, a polished protagonist in a storyline mosh pit of gimmick matches and disbanded factions. He eventually won the TNA World Heavyweight Championship twice, becoming the flagbearer of a company that no longer knew what its flag looked like.
Back to the Big League (and Right Out Again)
In 2018, EC3 re-signed with WWE, this time as a refined, fully-formed character, with years of TV main-event experience under his belt. He debuted in NXT to considerable hype, a man who had built himself outside the WWE system now returning to conquer it. His music hit hard. His body looked carved from marble. His name rang with dignity and disdain.
And then… nothing.
On the main roster, EC3 became a mute prop in a series of increasingly embarrassing skits, including a stretch where he was chased through hallways with a plastic championship belt like a third-grade recess monitor. He was paired with a red Solo cup, a suspicious lack of dialogue, and a level of creative neglect typically reserved for burnt toast. Vince McMahon supposedly “didn’t get him”, which is ironic, considering EC3 was basically what Vince saw in the mirror every morning – just with a better jawline.
EC3’s WWE return lasted two years. He won no titles. He cut no memorable promos. He spent more time staring blankly backstage than wrestling in the ring. In April 2020, during the pandemic layoffs, WWE released him. Again. It was the best thing that could have happened.
The “Control Your Narrative” Revolution
Reinvention, thy name is EC3.
Post-WWE, EC3 re-emerged as a darker, edgier anti-hero, drenched in cinematic lighting and existential monologues. No longer just the pompous heel, he now preached control – over story, over identity, over life. This wasn’t a gimmick, he insisted, this was a philosophy. He launched “Control Your Narrative” (CYN), a quasi-wrestling promotion, part Fight Club, part YouTube manifesto, and part abandoned CrossFit gym.
CYN promised anarchy. Wrestlers would write their own promos, craft their own stories, and be free from corporate censorship. It was also deeply weird, featuring rules like “you are in control” followed by “you are not in control.” Fans were intrigued – then confused – then mildly concerned. Co-founded alongside fellow former WWE star Braun Strowman (rebranded as Titan), CYN attempted to redefine wrestling structure with heavy doses of stoicism and spoken-word rage.
It was part passion project, part fever dream. The matches were real. The promos were soliloquies. At times it felt less like pro wrestling and more like a rejected Zack Snyder pilot about tortured philosophers with gym memberships.
Despite the confusion, EC3 had built something undeniably unique. And in a world of sameness, that counts for something.
The Latest Chapter: NWA and Beyond
In 2022, EC3 turned up in the National Wrestling Alliance (NWA), one of the oldest surviving promotions, as the philosophical heel invading a traditionalist’s paradise. There, he challenged the very fabric of the promotion’s identity, clashing with the likes of Tyrus and Thom Latimer. In August 2023, EC3 finally captured the NWA Worlds Heavyweight Championship, defeating Tyrus at NWA 75. The man who had once been fired twice by WWE now stood as world champion of the oldest wrestling lineage in America.
He wasn’t just a parody of corporate success anymore – he was the real thing. Only this time, he built the kingdom himself, brick by brick, cryptic tweet by cryptic tweet.
Final Thoughts: The Carter Legacy
EC3 remains one of wrestling’s most fascinating personalities – part performance artist, part megalomaniac, all ambition. He is the wrestler who came from the system, was rejected by it, then tried to burn it down and build something stranger. Whether he’s shouting about freedom, quoting Marcus Aurelius, or choke-slamming the disillusioned, EC3 represents a rare breed in modern wrestling: someone who genuinely wants to say something.
He might never be the face of WWE. But as the CEO of his own madness, Ethan Carter III has etched his own legacy – not with titles, but with rebellion.
And in wrestling, sometimes that’s more powerful than gold.