When it comes to professional basketball, no single player in the modern NBA embodies star power quite like Stephen Curry. His legacy transcends the hardwood. From revolutionizing the three-point shot to being the face of a franchise that transformed an entire era, Curry has earned every bit of attention—and income—that has come his way. As the cornerstone of the Golden State Warriors, his contributions to the team’s identity, success, and revenue cannot be overstated. But recently, a comparison began making rounds on social media and in sports commentary circles, one that has opened up deeper questions about economics, gender equity, and the financial structure of professional sports.
That comparison was this: Stephen Curry’s salary for a single season dwarfs the combined payroll of the entire Golden State Valkyries, the WNBA’s newest franchise based in the Bay Area and set to begin play in 2025. On the surface, it almost feels like a typo. How could one player earn more than an entire team? And what does that say about the broader landscape of men’s and women’s professional basketball in America?
Let’s begin by understanding the hard numbers. For the 2025-26 NBA season, Curry is projected to earn approximately \$55.8 million, the result of the massive four-year, \$215 million extension he signed in 2021. This deal made him the first player in NBA history to sign two separate contracts worth over \$200 million each. He’ll be 37 by the time that deal expires, still collecting record-breaking sums due to his unmatched marketability and impact.
In contrast, the WNBA operates on an entirely different economic model. The WNBA salary cap for the 2024 season was approximately \$1.46 million per team. That number is expected to rise slightly in 2025, but not by much. The average WNBA player earns between \$60,000 and \$130,000 a year, with only a handful of stars—like Breanna Stewart, A’ja Wilson, or Diana Taurasi—making the league maximum, which was \$242,000 in 2024. That figure may go up incrementally by the time the Valkyries tip off in their inaugural season, but even then, the team’s total payroll is unlikely to exceed \$1.7 million.
If you were to juxtapose Curry’s \$55.8 million salary against that \$1.7 million WNBA team salary cap, it becomes clear just how vast the gulf is. Steph earns over 32 times what the entire Valkyries roster will likely cost. That alone is a staggering stat, but behind that figure lies a complex reality shaped by history, market forces, TV deals, and systemic disparities in exposure and investment.
The first thing to understand is that the NBA and WNBA operate in very different business ecosystems. The NBA is a global behemoth, worth an estimated \$90 billion, with enormous revenue streams from ticket sales, merchandise, licensing, and billion-dollar broadcasting rights. Their 2023 media deal alone with ESPN and Turner Sports generated over \$2.6 billion annually. The players, under the current Collective Bargaining Agreement, receive about 50% of Basketball Related Income (BRI), which allows stars like Curry to sign such jaw-dropping contracts.
The WNBA, by comparison, is much smaller, still in its growth stage, with annual revenues estimated at around \$100 million. The league has historically been subsidized by the NBA, although that relationship has shifted as the WNBA continues to forge its own identity. Its media rights deal, signed in 2013 with ESPN, paid the league about \$25 million per year—a figure that is finally due for renegotiation as demand and viewership climb.
So, in that context, it becomes less surprising that there’s such a chasm in salaries. However, acknowledging that reality doesn’t negate the growing pressure from fans, players, and commentators for something closer to parity—or at the very least, equitable investment and opportunity.
Stephen Curry himself has never shied away from these issues. He has been a vocal advocate for women’s sports, often showing public support for WNBA stars and speaking candidly about the importance of visibility and investment in women’s athletics. In 2018, he even penned an open letter on wage disparities, expressing his concern about the message such gaps send to young girls, including his own daughters. His support was never performative; he backed it up by hosting girls’ basketball camps and partnering with brands like Under Armour to launch lines targeted at female athletes. His involvement has helped elevate conversations around equality, and the arrival of the Golden State Valkyries presents a significant opportunity to further this mission.
Still, fans can’t help but notice the optics. A single superstar makes more than an entire women’s team, even when that team shares a geographic and branding identity with his own. It feels symbolic of a broader systemic imbalance—like putting a mirror to a distorted reality. The issue is not that Curry is overpaid; he isn’t. If anything, he could argue he’s underpaid given the revenues he generates. The issue is more about the WNBA and its players being underpaid relative to their value, potential, and cultural impact.
The Valkyries represent a fresh chapter in this evolving story. As the WNBA’s 13th franchise, they are stepping into a rapidly changing sports landscape. Viewership for the league is up. Attendance records are being shattered, especially with the arrival of college superstars like Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese, and Cameron Brink—who’s ironically expected to play for the Valkyries. Social media engagement has also climbed, and brands are finally waking up to the immense potential of women’s basketball as both entertainment and investment.
Already, Golden State Valkyries merchandise is in high demand. Their branding launch went viral. Their ownership group includes respected business leaders, former athletes, and Bay Area icons. The infrastructure is in place for them to succeed. But for them to close the financial gap—even slightly—they will need more than fanfare. They need robust broadcast deals, corporate sponsorships, and the same kind of strategic promotion that the NBA has mastered over decades.
Much of that responsibility falls on the league office, but individual NBA stars can and have played a part. Curry, for example, could amplify Valkyries content on his platforms, attend games, or work in tandem with the franchise to co-host events. When players like him stand in solidarity with their WNBA counterparts, it sends a powerful message that women’s sports are not secondary but integral to the future of basketball.
Another major factor influencing these salary disparities is the global economy of basketball. NBA players are not just American stars; they are international commodities. Curry jerseys sell in China, Europe, Africa, and beyond. His face is part of international campaigns for tech, fashion, and sportswear brands. The NBA has monetized that reach to perfection, while the WNBA is still building toward global scale. But that’s not to say it can’t happen.
If there’s one lesson to take from Curry’s career, it’s that transformation is possible—even if it starts small. Few thought a skinny, baby-faced guard from Davidson would change the way basketball is played around the world. Few believed the Golden State Warriors—once a league laughingstock—would become the NBA’s modern dynasty. Yet here we are, in an era where threes reign supreme and the Warriors are a household name from Lagos to London.
The Valkyries are at their own starting line, poised to embark on a similar trajectory. If the league, sponsors, and fans commit to long-term investment and visibility, then one day, comparisons like “Curry makes more than the entire team” might feel like a relic from a bygone era. The conversation shouldn’t be about reducing Curry’s salary—it should be about lifting up the entire ecosystem of women’s basketball.
What’s more, young girls and boys growing up in the Bay Area will have the unique privilege of watching both elite men’s and women’s basketball played under the same city flag. The proximity alone could inspire new waves of fans, players, and entrepreneurs. Imagine a girl in Oakland attending a Valkyries game on Friday, then watching Curry and the Warriors on Saturday, dreaming of her own shot at greatness—not as a distant fantasy, but as a tangible, visible, local reality.
This cultural impact is where the WNBA can truly shine. Sports is never just about the game. It’s about aspiration, representation, and transformation. And that’s where stories like Curry’s salary compared to the Valkyries become more than just numbers—they become opportunities to reflect on what kind of sports culture we want to build.
Do we want a culture that rewards only what already exists, or one that invests in what could be? Do we settle for the status quo, or do we challenge ourselves to imagine something more inclusive, equitable, and exciting?
Curry has always been about breaking the mold. The Valkyries are stepping into that same spirit, breaking new ground and demanding to be seen not as novelties, but as competitors. If the Bay Area can support both, it could be a model for the rest of the country—and the world—to follow.
The truth is, it’s not really a typo. It’s a symptom. But it’s also a starting point. And with the right vision, investment, and belief, it could become a footnote in a story that ends very differently. A story where the gap between Curry’s salary and the Valkyries’ team pay doesn’t represent inequality, but evolution. A story where greatness is measured not just by dollars earned but by doors opened.
