If you blinked in the ‘80s, you probably missed Desiree Petersen. That’s not your fault—that’s pro wrestling’s. See, in a world where women were often treated as intermission acts between Hillbilly Jim and a midget battle royal, Petersen wasn’t given the spotlight. But she damn well earned it, even if the booking committee kept putting her on mute.
Born in Calgary but billed from Copenhagen (because, hey, foreign accents always pop ratings), Petersen was a blend of prairie toughness and Viking mystique. She was billed at 5’7″, 165 pounds—a brick house in boots. And no, she wasn’t there to smile pretty for the cameras. She was trained to fight. And unlike a few of her contemporaries who fumbled into the ring like deer on roller skates, Petersen could go.
FROM CALGARY TO THE WORLD (SORT OF)
In 1982, a young Desiree met Stu Hart. Now, when most people met Stu, they either limped away or came out with a lifelong fear of basements and arm bars. But for Desiree, the dungeon door never opened. Stu didn’t train her himself—maybe he didn’t want to risk her snapping one of his boys in half—but he sent her down the rabbit hole that was The Fabulous Moolah’s training camp.
That’s like being handed a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory and finding out the chocolate’s made of broken dreams and withheld paychecks.
Petersen survived the Moolah grindhouse and debuted in January 1983 against Velvet McIntyre, a woman who’d later become both her tag team partner and the yin to her yang in the ring. They were the wrestling version of peanut butter and dynamite.
THE TAG TITLES AND THE GREAT EGYPTIAN VANISHING ACT
In late 1984, Princess Victoria was out with an injury, and the WWF needed a warm body to plug into the women’s tag team scene. Enter Petersen. She joined forces with McIntyre, and in the great tradition of kayfabe shortcuts, they were just handed the WWF Women’s Tag Team Championship. No tournament, no gauntlet, no ladder match. Just, “Here you go, ladies—try not to drop these on the way out.”
But Petersen didn’t treat it like a hand-me-down. She got to work. Between 1984 and 1985, she wrestled everyone from Moolah to Mad Maxine—yes, the mohawked tower of terror in spandex. Desiree didn’t blink. She just threw forearms and hoped the paydays didn’t bounce.
She even got some solo heat, trading shots with Judy Martin in a feud that carried enough real tension to light a pack of Newport shorts. They tangled in rings from Peoria to Poughkeepsie, and Petersen even got a feature interview on Tuesday Night Titans, where Vince McMahon tried to conduct a serious conversation while looking like a car salesman trying to upsell a Pontiac.
And then came the mysterious case of the phantom title loss in Egypt. According to lore, McIntyre and Petersen dropped the tag belts to The Glamour Girls (Judy Martin and Leilani Kai) somewhere near the pyramids in 1985. But here’s the twist: that match never happened. It’s wrestling’s version of Bigfoot—everyone swears they saw it, but nobody has the footage. In reality, Petersen left the company, and the belts were just handed over to Martin and Kai like participation trophies at a Little League game.
If this sounds shady, welcome to the WWF in the ’80s. Booking decisions were made like mob hits—behind closed doors, and always with plausible deniability.
THE RETURN…AND THEN THE FADE
Petersen briefly returned to the WWF in 1988 and found herself squaring off with Sherri Martel, who at the time was chewing up opponents and spitting them out like nicotine gum. The matches didn’t last long, and neither did Petersen’s return. It was the wrestling equivalent of texting your ex and realizing you made a huge mistake.
Desiree bounced to the Ladies Professional Wrestling Association, one of those ambitious startups that tried to give women real matches and real storylines. At the LPWA Super Ladies Showdown, she squared off against Shinobu Kandori—a shooter with all the subtlety of a buzzsaw in a china shop. Petersen lost the match but walked out with her credibility intact, which is more than we can say for half the roster by the end of that night.
MORE THAN A FOOTNOTE
Desiree Petersen wasn’t flashy. She didn’t do moonsaults or cut fiery promos about destiny and redemption. She was meat-and-potatoes wrestling—shoulder blocks, dropkicks, and enough grit to pave a driveway.
She didn’t chase stardom—hell, she barely had the chance. But when called upon, she held up the division, no questions asked. She kept the tag belts warm. She helped train future wrestlers. She laid down when told and stood tall when needed. In short, she did her damn job, which in pro wrestling is rarer than a straight finish at a house show in Memphis.
Petersen retired in 2007, long after the cameras stopped rolling and the checks stopped bouncing (hopefully). Her name doesn’t get mentioned on documentaries, and you won’t find her action figure in the clearance bin at Target. But make no mistake—she’s part of the foundation. Without women like Desiree, there’s no Trish, no Lita, no Becky, no Bianca. She kept the door open even as the company tried to quietly close it.
A HALL OF FAME NOD—AND ABOUT DAMN TIME
In 2025, Petersen was inducted into the Women’s Wrestling Hall of Fame—a move that only took four decades and two generations of women to scream about the oversight. No matter. The plaque’s nice, but Petersen was never in it for the applause. She was in it because she could wrestle.
And she could.
So here’s to Desiree Petersen—Calgary’s quiet storm, Copenhagen’s borrowed daughter, and the woman who got tagged in when no one else would step up. She didn’t need a push. She just needed the match.