Jennifer Blake didn’t just dip her toe into professional wrestling—she dove in headfirst, lit the fuse, and detonated the whole damn pool. Known across North America and deep into the tequila-drenched madness of Mexico’s lucha libre circuit as “Girl Dynamite,” Blake was the kind of wrestler who could manage your match, wrestle your match, and then valet your ass right out of the arena if you didn’t pull your weight. Born in Canada but forged in the heat of AAA’s chaos machine, Blake’s story is one of hustle, high spots, and hair extensions that defied gravity.
She debuted in 2004—not with a splash, but with a microphone. That’s right: the future spark plug of AAA started off as a ring announcer. If this were a Jim Cornette promo, it would go something like: “She was holding the mic before she was dropping people with headscissors—now that’s what I call career progression, you goofs!”
By 2006, Blake transitioned into the classic valet role—playing eye candy and hype girl for Canadian indie bruisers like Derek Wylde and Cody Deaner. But here’s the thing about Blake: she watched, she listened, and she trained. While other valets were perfecting their spray tans, she was perfecting the arm drag.
Then came Shimmer Women Athletes, the all-women’s promotion that’s basically grad school for female wrestling talent. Blake debuted in 2008 and, predictably, got her clock cleaned. Losses to the International Home Wrecking Crew, Allison Danger, and Cheerleader Melissa read like a who’s who of women’s wrestling hitting her like a welcome mat to the face.
But “Girl Dynamite” wasn’t built to fizzle out. By 2009, she picked up her first singles win over Amber O’Neal and started developing into something far more than just a blonde with boots. If Bobby Heenan were on commentary, he’d have said, “She may look like Barbie, but she fights like G.I. Joe with a grudge.”
Then came the most bizarre twist of her early career: Wrestlicious. Yes, that Wrestlicious—the fever dream of Jimmy Hart where gimmicks went to die in a cotton candy-colored vortex of failed ’80s revival. Blake showed up as “Autumn Frost,” the Ice Princess. She won matches, danced in JV’s Crib segments, and got thrown out of a Hoedown Battle Royal. It was bad. Really bad. But Blake walked out the other side with her dignity and possibly a concussion.
Then—boom—she went to Mexico.
Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide isn’t just a promotion. It’s Mad Max with masks. And in 2009, Jennifer Blake took her Canadian firecracker spirit straight into the furnace. She started off wrestling in dusty gyms for EAW, picking up wins and bumps in towns with more tacos than people.
But it was at Verano de Escandalo in 2009 where Blake made her official AAA debut, initially under the name Jennifer Blade. That didn’t last long. She went back to Jennifer Blake, joined La Legión Extranjera, and dove headfirst into lucha libre politics, hair-pulling, and absurd match stipulations. In AAA, they don’t just book you to lose—they make you scrub a locker room in defeat. And yes, that happened to Mari Apache in a maid-for-a-month angle Blake was part of. Cornette would’ve screamed, “Are we booking wrestling or Downton Abbey on peyote?!”
She wasn’t just a player—she was in the mix. Blake teamed with Rain, Sexy Star, and Christina Von Eerie in full-on lucha faction warfare, brawling against the Apache sisters in six-woman cluster bombs where the rules were about as clear as AAA’s accounting system.
And then, in 2011, Blake captured gold—the AAA Mixed Tag Team Championship alongside Alan Stone. It wasn’t just a feel-good win. It was a signal. A Canadian had come to Mexico, adapted, evolved, and walked out with one of the company’s most dynamic titles. Somewhere in Ontario, a maple leaf burst into flames out of pride.
The next couple of years were the kind of career rollercoaster most indie wrestlers would kill for. Blake wrestled in Japanin 2012, competed in a AAA co-promoted Reina de Reinas tournament in Tokyo’s legendary Korakuen Hall, and got beat by Sexy Star in a match that probably included more heel antics than a used car dealership.
By 2013, she turned tecnica—the Mexican equivalent of a babyface—after being jumped by her own heel cronies. Faby Apache, Lolita, and La Jarochita came to her rescue like some lucha-powered Charlie’s Angels. The crowd loved it. Jennifer Blake wasn’t just a heel foreigner anymore. She was one of them.
Her final stretch in AAA saw her lose to rival Taya Valkyrie (with interference, of course—this is lucha libre, after all), but Blake had already cemented her place in the culture. She wasn’t just some tourist with a passport and a moonsault. She learned the craft, learned the language, and learned how to work the crowd without needing to say a word.
After that? She stepped away. No drama. No scandal. No broken Twitter tirades. Just a fade into the sunset, Canadian flag draped over her shoulder and maybe a little tequila in her system.
Girl Dynamite never blew up the mainstream. But she exploded where it mattered—on the road, in the ring, in the chaos of AAA, where every show feels like a fever dream inside a piñata factory. She proved that toughness doesn’t come with a contract—it comes with the willingness to get on a plane, fight in a foreign country, and take a powerbomb from a guy dressed like a psychotic clown.
Jennifer Blake may never headline WrestleMania. But she main-evented the hearts of lucha fans, earned her place in the Shimmer legacy, and pulled off one of the hardest things in wrestling:
She made her own name.
And she made damn sure you remembered it.