Pro wrestling doesn’t care if you came from glitter or gravel. Either way, it will chew you up, spit you out, and ask for a rematch. Julia Hart came from glitter. Six years of competitive cheerleading. National titles. Bows bigger than her face. Smiles rehearsed to perfection. But by 18, she was already burning out like a sparkler at the end of a homecoming parade.
So she traded pom-poms for fists. And the crowd? They kept clapping.
Born in Cambridge, Minnesota in 2001, Hart could have followed the pastel path. College. Coaching. Safety. Instead, she walked into a ring in 2019, barely legal and already trying to find out how pain translates into purpose. Her first match? A win. That was enough. The hook was set. Wrestling had her by the jaw.
She trained at Ken Anderson’s Academy in Minnesota, then took her bruises down south to Cody Rhodes and QT Marshall’s Nightmare Factory. There, under the hot Georgia lights, she polished the edges off her offense. But make no mistake: Hart came in soft. The business would teach her how to bleed.
By 2021, she landed in All Elite Wrestling—only nine matches into her career. AEW saw something in her: youth, potential, and the kind of doe-eyed charisma that draws cameras like moths to fire.
They slapped a cheerleader gimmick on her and paired her with Brian Pillman Jr. and Griff Garrison. The Varsity Blondes. She was their sideline sparkle. A babyface from central casting.
It worked—until it didn’t.
Because deep down, Julia Hart was something darker.
The Mist
It happened on December 8, 2021. Malakai Black, dressed like death’s stylist, spit black mist into Julia’s face. In wrestling, mist is metaphor. Poison. Transformation. She wore an eyepatch after that—and never smiled the same again.
That was the beginning of the end. Or the start of something better.
She drifted from the Blondes. Turned inward. The pastel shrank into black velvet. At Double or Nothing, she made it official: Julia Hart joined the House of Black. One heel turn, and the cheerleader became a curse.
Gone were the high ponytails and pep rallies. In their place: witchy robes, vacant stares, and quiet fury. Fans called her “Stevie Nicks meets The Undertaker.” That was generous. Hart wasn’t singing. She was snarling.
The Climb
She lost to Jade Cargill. She lost to Hikaru Shida. But she learned. She took the losses like communion—swallowed them, let them fester, got meaner.
Then the winning started. 25 straight matches. A streak stitched together with curses and suplexes. In October 2023, she challenged Kris Statlander for the AEW TBS Title at WrestleDream and lost. But she was close. Closer than anyone expected.
At Full Gear, she came back and won. Pinned Skye Blue in a three-way dance and left with the gold. At 22, Julia Hart became the youngest champion in AEW history.
She held the belt for 155 days. Defended it against Abadon, Anna Jay, and more. But in April 2024 at Dynasty, Willow Nightingale took it from her. A shoulder injury followed. Surgery. A hiatus. Real pain, not the scripted kind.
But like every good horror story, she came back.
The Return
In December, vignettes started airing. Static. Shadows. Warnings. And then, there she was, on Winter Is Coming, attacking Jamie Hayter like a banshee in boots.
January 2025. Fight for the Fallen. Hart returned to the ring and beat Hayter clean. No mist. Just fists.
Soon after, House of Black disbanded. Hart, alongside Brody King and Buddy Matthews, rebranded as the Hounds of Hell. New name. Same chaos.
She entered the Owen Hart Cup in April and lost to Mercedes Moné. But the match was stiff, tight, and carried a tone that said: This isn’t over.