Mike Lee: pro-wrestler to professor

It was the 1980s, and larger-than-life figures like Hulk Hogan enjoyed a cult following.

The dramatic theatre of body slams aired on low-definition TVs and, in Mt Roskill, Mike Lee and his brother took to the ring. Their setup was basic, but the danger was real: a steel framed trampoline with exposed springs and no netting.

A few minor injuries and many years later, after completing a BSc in psychology and a masters in industrial and organisational psychology, Mike craved a break from the academic grind.

“You get kind of sick of thinking intellectually, right? And so, the most logical thing you can do when you need a break is, of course, to become a professional wrestler,” Mike told the crowd at his inaugural professorial lecture in July.

The Killer Kowalski School of Professional Wrestling in Boston, Massachusetts, was where Mike took his well-deserved break. There, he spent nine months training, meeting some of his childhood heroes, and learning life-long lessons.

One of the lessons he’s learnt from professional wrestling is “the value of making the other guy look good”.

“You’re pretending to kill each other, but you’re actually doing everything you can to protect the other person,” he says. “Making the people you work with look good, and keeping each other safe by letting them know you won’t drop them – literally – helps to lift everyone’s game.”

To this day, when Mike needs a break from his packed schedule as the director of the Master of Business Administration and assistant dean of professional programmes, keeping active is a priority. He’s a member of a gym, goes to boxing class, does yoga and occasionally surfs.

“The ‘healthy mind, healthy body’ connection is important to me. We need to be healthy and fit so we’ve got the energy to think better, to be better for our students and families.”

An academic legacy

Mike was born to Singaporean parents in New Zealand in the 1970s. His dad, Dr Ho Huat Lee, studied organic chemistry as a doctoral candidate at the University of Auckland and was the first of his 15 brothers and sisters to graduate from university. Ho went on to have a long and impressive career at the University Cancer Society Research Centre.

“He was involved with 15 patents that collectively have probably saved hundreds of thousands of lives around the world in the battle against cancer,” says Mike.

Mike’s mum, Sim Ah Soon, who speaks four Chinese dialects, also had an impressive career in New Zealand’s real estate industry; she was named the top salesperson in 1992 and 1994 by the Real Estate Institute of New Zealand.

Meanwhile, Mike’s younger brother and sister-in-law also graduated from the University of Auckland, both with degrees in engineering.

Before his interest in marketing, Mike says he actually wanted to be a big-game zoologist.

“I used to love nature documentaries. I watched all the big game ones – cheetahs chasing prey, prides of lions, elephants, all those iconic African mammals. Then we moved to New Zealand, and I realised I needed to pivot,” he says.

“Surrounded by oceans, I thought, if I couldn’t study big game, I could still be a marine biologist or even an aquaculturalist. But stage two genetics put a stop to that.”

Mike then moved into psychology and was particularly interested in social psychology. The discipline also had another attraction – the ratio of women to men was favourable, says Mike, who met his wife, Christina, during their studies.

Together, they have a daughter, Amelia, who began studying at the University of Auckland this year – the same year Mike was made a professor and his dad retired after 38 years of service.

The impact of anti-consumption

When Mike returned to New Zealand from his wrestling stint in Boston in the early 2000s, Naomi Klein’s book No Logo was making waves. Until then, brands and capitalism were widely seen as positive forces, but Klein challenged that view, showing how corporations could grow too powerful.

Keen to explore the subject further, he looked into whether the University’s psychology department had space for a PhD in the area. It didn’t, but the marketing department did. At the time, the head was Professor Rod Brodie and the department was delivering a new course, Understanding Consumers, at the former Tāmaki campus. Dr Brett Martin, Mike’s first supervisor, suggested to Rod that Mike teach that course.

“It was a great honour for him to ask me. I was like, ‘wow, I could teach this course and really take ownership’. It felt like a huge responsibility, and an incredible opportunity,” recalls Mike. His teaching evaluations came back strong, “and the University hasn’t been able to get rid of me since”, he says.

While he was doing his PhD, Mike launched the International Centre for Anti-Consumption Research – a global network of academics and practitioners focused on understanding anti-consumption and consumer resistance.

About 15 years after his first lecture and a slew of research and teaching later, outgoing MBA director Dr Rick Starr asked Mike to take over. He reluctantly agreed.

“It wasn’t the students that worried me – I loved the students; it was the critically minded academic staff I’d have to manage that freaked me out.” Despite his hesitation, he has loved the role.

Research also remains central to Mike’s career. He’s currently supervising nine PhD students, each exploring unique facets of anti consumption.

“One of the big questions that really interests me is how we can measure the true impact of anti-consumption on a brand,” he says.

“It’s easy to point to a media storm after a crisis – say, a Tesla autopilot accident – and assume people will avoid the brand or its value will drop. But there are so many other elements that can play into it, so proving long-term cause and effect is difficult.”

Looking ahead, Mike says he wouldn’t mind taking on leadership at a higher level at some point in his career. “I’ve learned to dip my toe into new challenges, and to keep growing and learning with my colleagues.”

It’s a similar approach to the one he took in the ring. Wrestling, he says, demanded trust, support, timing and discipline.

Academia, it turns out, isn’t so different.

Sophie Boladeras