There are women who enter the wrestling world like comets—bright, fast, gone too soon. Then there’s Stephanie Vaquer, who didn’t fall from the sky. She clawed her way out of it, dragging her battered bones across three continents and into immortality.
If you’re looking for a clean Cinderella story, turn the page. This isn’t that.
This is the story of a woman who once waited tables in Veracruz with a nose broken in three places, who would later hold two WWE titles simultaneously while staring down the same ghosts that tried to bury her in Chile, in Mexico, in Japan.
Born Ana Stephanie Vaquer González in San Fernando, Chile, 1993—she grew up in places tourists don’t visit. By 15, she was already in a ring, under the name Dark Angel, trying to throw punches that mattered. Chile’s wrestling scene was a graveyard of forgotten ambitions, but she stayed anyway, because she didn’t know how to quit.
She moved to Mexico at 19 with nothing but a spine full of stubbornness and a passport stained with hunger. In Veracruz, she trained under the hard-nosed doctrines of Ricky Marvin, Último Guerrero, and Gran Apache. These weren’t coaches. They were demolition experts. They took her apart and put her back together like a ticking bomb.
She made her Mexico debut in 2013, promptly got her nose shattered in three places, and disappeared for two years. Most people would’ve retired. Stephanie waited tables and healed. But the fuse was still burning.
By 2018, she was in Japan, wrestling in Stardom—a place where the style is stiffer than the beer and the crowds stare like stone. She fought five matches, went home with bruises and perspective. She didn’t speak the language, but she understood pain, and that was enough.
The big break came in 2019. CMLL—the Vatican of lucha libre—brought her in. She was their first South American female signee. That alone could’ve been the story. But Vaquer never did anything halfway. She didn’t want to be in the promotion. She wanted to own it.
Over the next five years, Vaquer became the grim reaper of Mexico’s women’s division. She wasn’t flashy. She was surgical. You could hear her kicks from the cheap seats. She’d slap the fillings out of you if you disrespected the canvas.
In 2023, she formed a tag team with Zeuxis—two walking nightmares in boots. They won the CMLL World Women’s Tag Titles. Then Vaquer beat La Catalina for the World Women’s Championship. For a while, she ruled with both belts clenched in her fists like brass knuckles.
Then, quietly, she left.
CMLL said it was personal reasons. The smart ones knew better. Vaquer was too big for one ring, too mean for one continent.
In Japan, she lit a fire under New Japan Pro-Wrestling and Stardom, winning the Strong Women’s Championship after beating Giulia, defending it against AZM and Alex Windsor, and eventually losing it to Mercedes Moné. But the message was clear—this Chilean wasn’t a visitor. She was an invading army.
In the middle of all that, she even popped up in AEW, dragging the same rage into a feud with Moné that felt like a knife fight in a hurricane. AEW didn’t sign her—but they damn sure remembered her.
Then came WWE.
Signed in July 2024, Stephanie Vaquer walked into NXT like she already owned it. Her debut wasn’t a promo. It was a scalpel. Within months, she’d beat Fallon Henley for the North American Championship, then challenged Giulia in a Winner Takes All match and won, becoming the first woman to hold both the NXT Women’s and North American Titles at the same time.
And she defended both on the same night.
Twice.
It wasn’t dominance. It was vengeance. She hadn’t forgotten the doors that shut on her. She remembered every promoter who said “You’re good, but…” She remembered choking on cheap meals in Tokyo apartments, the broken Spanish of contract negotiations, the ache of lonely nights in Mexican motels while blood dried on her gear.
You don’t forget that stuff. You wear it.
And Vaquer wore it well.
But here’s the thing about fire—it doesn’t last forever. After a 77-day reign, Vaquer dropped the NXT title to Jacy Jayne, thanks to interference. But by then, the war was over. Vaquer had already razed the place. The house was hers.
She moved to Raw and stepped straight into a match with Iyo Sky. No easing in. No fanfare. Just fists. Just fury. At Evolution, she outlasted 19 other women to win a shot at the world title. There are rumors she’ll face Rhea Ripley, and if that happens, somebody’s neck is getting tested.
But all of this—all the gold, the accolades, the flags she’s planted across continents—pales next to the war she fought off-screen.
In 2023, Vaquer filed a criminal complaint against former partner Rogelio Reyes for choking her and slamming her against a wall. He was arrested and charged with attempted murder.
Most would hide.
She showed up for the next match.
That’s Stephanie Vaquer. Made of scars. Powered by rage. Not just fighting for herself, but for every woman who’s ever been told to shut up, sit still, smile pretty.
She once said in an interview: “I’m not a star. I’m a problem.”
That’s putting it mildly.
She’s not here for merch sales or talk show appearances. She’s not a brand. She’s a reckoning. The kind of wrestler that reminds you why wrestling exists in the first place.
Not to entertain.
To endure.