In the land of spandex and steel chairs, where backroom politics cut deeper than any blade job and character arcs often last about as long as a cup of coffee, Brittany Fetkin’s WWE career didn’t break the internet—but it damn sure left a smarter fingerprint than most.
Let’s be real. Nobody remembers Devin Taylor for main-eventing TakeOver or dropping a moonsault from the rafters. But she wasn’t brought in to break tables. She was brought in to hold a microphone with the kind of poise that said, “I have a master’s thesis on this circus, and I’m still asking your goofball self a question.” And for a brief, weird, underrated window in the mid-2010s, Fetkin was the best thing on WWE’s NXT television product that didn’t involve Sami Zayn bleeding emotions or Finn Bálor’s demon paint.
Born in San Diego, raised in Temecula—better known as that hot, dusty place halfway between LA and Vegas where dreams go to either bloom or shrivel—Fetkin was the kind of overachiever you normally only meet at your high school reunion, after she’s already lapped you twice in life.
Of Japanese, Lithuanian, and Ukrainian descent, she was a soccer prodigy with a broadcast journalism degree from Loyola Marymount. She played in the Youth World Cup in Sweden, which is like the Super Bowl of “I’m better than you at 15.” While most future WWE hopefuls were bashing heads on independent circuits or falling off ladders in flea markets, Fetkin was starring in HP commercials and charming NASCAR fans on primetime TV. She looked like she walked out of a Guess catalog and talked like she was ready to host 60 Minutes.
So, naturally, WWE signed her.
Because nothing screams “pro wrestling” quite like turning a beauty queen brainiac into a glorified microphone stand. Enter: Devin Taylor. Backstage interviewer. Resident smile machine. Human post for Dana Brooke to pat condescendingly like a dog who just crapped on the rug.
Seriously, that became a whole bit. Brooke would smirk and pat Devin’s head after interviews like she just house-trained her. And Taylor, bless her, sold it like she’d rather be anywhere else—including grad school finals or a colonoscopy.
But there was more to the woman than just throwaway segments and crowd pops. Behind the scenes, Fetkin was training to wrestle. She laced the boots, hit the ropes, and learned how to bump in a warehouse full of hopefuls and headlocks. She worked tag matches at live events, played her role, paid her dues. She even dodged the injury bug for a while—until the injury bug stopped being a bug and became a damn infestation.
By 2015, WWE cited “injury concerns” as the reason for her release. You didn’t need a master’s in journalism to read between those lines. In a Performance Center stuffed with CrossFit freaks, bikini models, and aging indie warriors, Fetkin’s training progress didn’t match the TV-ready look and verbal polish she brought to the table. And in a business that’s always been “what can you do for me next?”, sometimes a busted knee means a closed door.
Her release aired on WWE Breaking Ground, a kind of Hard Knocks for people who enjoy watching dreams die in high definition. The moment was brief. Bittersweet. And telling. She took it with grace. Smiled. Thanked the system. It was the kind of exit that proved she had more maturity than half the main roster and better career prospects than most.
Post-WWE, she dabbled in the indies, appeared as a backstage interviewer for Pacific Coast Wrestling, and did a little more of what she always did—smile for cameras, elevate those around her, and leave you wondering why the hell WWE let this one go.
Because here’s the kicker: while the wrestling world kept spinning on a loop of part-time legends, botched pushes, and social media thirst traps, Fetkin quietly did what very few in this business ever manage.
She leveled up in the real world.
She returned to school and earned a master’s degree from the University of Miami in 2018. Then she went back again and secured a doctorate from USC in 2021. A doctorate. While half the NXT locker room from her era now works in a gym or sells T-shirts on Etsy, she was writing dissertations. You can’t make this up.
She didn’t need a Hall of Fame ring to prove her worth. She earned her cap, her gown, and eventually, in 2023, a husband too—announcing her marriage in the kind of fairytale conclusion that wrestling rarely gives its characters.
And yet, here we are. Talking about her in 2025. Why?
Because there’s something admirable—hell, honorable—about someone who dipped their toes into the shallow pool of pro wrestling and swam back to shore with her dignity intact. No scandal. No shoot interviews crying foul. Just a short career, a few memorable bumps, and a graceful exit.
Not everyone needs to become a champion to be remembered. Sometimes it’s enough to be the one person in the room who kept their head when everyone else was cutting promos on their own shadow.
So here’s to Brittany Fetkin—a woman who tried the pro wrestling life, realized it wasn’t built to value people like her, and walked away smarter, stronger, and probably happier than most.
And to WWE: next time you’re looking for a backstage presence with intelligence, poise, and a spine—maybe give Dr. Fetkin a call.
But don’t try to pat her on the head this time.
She’s not that girl anymore.
