Valkyries President Jess Smith Rejects Work-Life Balance at $1 Billion Franchise

By Olivia Hart

The Golden State Valkyries are worth an estimated $1 billion, the most valuable franchise in the WNBA, and the executive running the business side says she has no interest in work-life balance. President Jess Smith, 41, told Fortune she rejects the framework outright — because in her view it sets people up to fail.

"I don't subscribe to work-life balance, because it makes you try to set something up for failure versus I really try to live in gratitude," Smith said. "How fortunate am I that the fix that I would want in this life is to actually be with my kids more, work more, be with my partner more, more time in self care. If that's my biggest problem, that's a great problem."

The framing is tidy. It is also easier to sustain when the problem is an abundance of things you love, rather than a shortage of things you need. Smith does not address what the philosophy means for employees who lack her autonomy, though she does claim she extends it to her staff.

What has Smith actually built?

The record is concrete. Smith joined the Valkyries as president in 2024, months after the expansion franchise was created, and has overseen the operation from the ground up — business operations through fan experience. The team sold 10,000 season tickets before its inaugural season and became the first WNBA expansion team to reach the playoffs in its debut year.

Her résumé spans Major League Baseball, the National Hockey League, Major League Soccer and women's soccer, including a stint leading revenue at Angel City FC. Two decades in professional sports, in other words, precede the philosophy. The takeaway: the schedule she refuses to balance was built over 20 years of accumulated capital, not overnight.

How does motherhood fit the picture?

Smith says her approach came into focus when she had her two children and began reconciling motherhood with a demanding career. She refuses to compartmentalize the professional and the personal, and she has been direct with her kids about it.

"It's been very freeing—especially in becoming a mom and having to figure this out—to just be honest like, 'I love to work.' And I tell my kids that I don't apologize to them for that," Smith said. "I tell them, 'I love working, and someday you're gonna love working, and it's really fun. You get to come to the game.' I explain it to them, but I'm not apologizing for what brings me joy."

What she does not say is how the math works on any given week — only that she is deliberate about weekends at her kids' soccer games and about carving out vacation.

What does she demand of her staff?

Smith says self-care is non-negotiable, and she applies the standard beyond herself to roughly 88 full-time Valkyries employees, from star players to front-office staff.

"You absolutely have to take care of yourself—period, full stop," Smith said.

The mechanics are specific. Smith has instructed people managers to remind staffers they receive two work-from-home weeks, and she has flagged November and December — the offseason months — as the window for genuine recovery. A team that travels and plays year-round leaves narrow margins for rest, which is presumably why she frames time off as something that requires advance planning rather than spontaneous disconnection.

"That means the work that needs to be done, I'm committed to, I'm going to get done," Smith said. "I'm going to be where I need to be, and I'm going to find those wins to make sure that I'm being a full human being as well for other constructs in my life."

Note what is missing: no metrics on whether employees actually use the time, and no detail on enforcement. Policy on paper is the easy part.

What happens next on the court?

The philosophy faces a live test. The Valkyries trail the Atlanta Dream 2-1 in the WNBA Finals after facing off in game three, with game four scheduled for this afternoon. A win evens the series and sends the Finals back to San Francisco for game five on Monday night.

For a franchise that reached the playoffs in year one and sold out its season-ticket base at launch, a championship would cap the debut season — and give Smith's no-balance grind its most marketable proof point yet.