In the concrete jungle of professional wrestling, where giants stumble and fall like drunks in an alley fight, there exists a fighter who never needed to be the biggest dog in the yard—just the one with the most bite. Candice LeRae is that dog. A five-foot-nothing, cupcake-baking, elbow-dropping symphony of pain wrapped in glitter and grit.
Born Candice Dawson in Riverside, California—a suburban stretch of sun-drenched sprawl where little girls were more likely to dream of Hollywood or Disneyland than a steel cage—LeRae grew up not sipping tea at Barbie’s Dreamhouse but body-slamming her way through pickup football games with brothers and cousins. While the world told her to be pretty, she chose to be punishing. Her weapons? Guts, resilience, and a chip on her shoulder big enough to anchor a battleship.
Wrestling in the Shadows
LeRae started her career like most indie hopefuls do—wrestling in dimly lit gyms that smelled like liniment and broken dreams. Promotions like Empire Wrestling Federation and All-Pro Wrestling were her bootstrapped proving grounds. No pyro. No fancy entrances. Just pain and potential, traded like currency. She fought men twice her size and women twice as ruthless. By 2009, she was the AWS Women’s Champion, tossing bodies like laundry, her arms bruised with other people’s regrets.
But her real calling card came in the form of intergender warfare. In Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, LeRae waged war in the same way a cigarette burns—it starts small and soft, then suddenly you’re coughing blood. She wasn’t afraid to bleed, wasn’t afraid to fall, and sure as hell wasn’t afraid to win.
They called her the “Iron Pixie”—a nickname that sounds like it belongs on a candy wrapper but really signaled the arrival of a woman who could absorb a moonsault and then land a superkick that could shatter molars. She wrestled with and against men like Kevin Owens, Seth Rollins, and Johnny Gargano, the latter of whom she would later marry in a fairytale wedding at Disneyland—because every warlord deserves a moment in the Magic Kingdom.
A Tag Team Made in Hardcore Heaven
Teaming with Joey Ryan in PWG, they called themselves “The World’s Cutest Tag Team.” It was a name that dripped irony like blood from a busted lip. Together they took down The Young Bucks in a Guerrilla Warfare match—PWG’s version of hell on Earth—earning the tag titles in a bout that left more bodies on the mat than a barroom brawl during Fleet Week.
The dichotomy was delicious: pink gear, pigtails, and blood on the canvas. LeRae was like a killer with a Valentine’s Day fetish—adorable, brutal, and deeply effective.
Japan, Tournaments, and Broken Glass Ceilings
In Japan’s DDT and Tokyo Joshi Pro circuits, LeRae didn’t just hold her own—she became legend. She pinned men in dream sequences, won titles in comedy spots that turned violent at the drop of a hat, and proved she could go toe-to-toe with anyone wearing boots.
She appeared in Shimmer, CZW, WSU, ROH—you name it. A vagabond champion, drinking in wrestling the way Bukowski might’ve downed whiskey in a neon bar, knowing it would hurt in the morning but never giving a damn.
NXT and the WWE Machine
WWE came calling like the devil with a shiny contract, and LeRae signed on the dotted line in 2018. But make no mistake—this wasn’t a rags-to-riches fairy tale. The machine chews people like her up, especially if they’re too small, too nice, or too principled to play the politics game. But LeRae? She carved out her place like a woman punching through drywall with brass knuckles.
She aligned with her husband Johnny Gargano, playing the dark queen to his anti-hero prince. Together they formed “The Way,” a heel faction that brought theater to wrestling’s ruthless pageantry. She mentored Indi Hartwell, mothered a stable, and still managed to break hearts and jaws every time she laced up her boots.
She had marquee moments: a WarGames match here, a Royal Rumble entry there, and NXT Tag Team gold strapped around her waist like a war medal. She feuded with the best of them—Io Shirai, Dakota Kai, Shotzi Blackheart—and always walked away with a little more rust on the soul and a little more fire in the belly.
And when the spotlight dimmed—pregnancy, contract expiration, uncertainty—she didn’t disappear. She evolved.
Return of the Queen
LeRae returned in 2022, dropping opponents and pretense with equal force. Whether it was tearing through Raw, smacking around Maxxine Dupri in cold-blooded heel fashion, or winning WWE’s Women’s Speed Championship like it was just another day at the office—LeRae reminded the world that she wasn’t just back. She was better.
And even when the world tilted sideways—Indi Hartwell getting released, factions dissolving—LeRae stood tall. Hell, she was still standing when others sat down. She aligned with Gargano and Ciampa in 2025, forming a trinity of fire-tested vets who had nothing left to prove and everything still to burn down.
The Woman Behind the Bruises
Off-camera, Candice LeRae is a Disney-loving, Anaheim Ducks-cheering, pie-baking romantic who walked down the aisle at Disneyland and gave birth to her son in 2022. She has brothers, a husband, a life outside the ropes. But don’t get it twisted—this isn’t some soccer mom cosplay. She’s as fierce as a hornet in a shot glass, and when she steps between the ropes, she’s all business.
Her journey is proof that the industry doesn’t always reward those who yell the loudest. Sometimes, it rewards those who whisper—then scream through action. She never needed a crown to be queen, never needed a gimmick to be dangerous.
Final Bell
Candice LeRae is what happens when tenacity falls in love with talent, when glitter meets gore, when kindness kicks you in the face. She’s every underdog story scribbled in blood and wrapped in barbed wire. Wrestling didn’t make her—she made wrestling better. And in a world of giants, she’ll forever be remembered as the woman who punched up, kicked hard, and never blinked.
Hell, even Bukowski might’ve raised a glass to that.