She went by Bambi, which sounded like trouble wrapped in lace if you only read the name. But make no mistake—Selina Majors wasn’t some doe-eyed ingénue. She was the girl who brought a shotgun to a beauty pageant and smiled for the cameras while doing it. Raised on Southern wrestling and trained under The Fabulous Moolah, she came off the Georgia red clay like a freight train headed for a broken promise.
At 5-foot-7, she wasn’t a towering monster, but she carried herself like one. In the ’80s, when the ring was still a boys’ club and women were expected to slap and hair-pull their way through filler segments, Majors hit like a goddamn grudge. She wrestled with grit, the kind of in-ring snarl you can’t teach—only live. Her style? Southern-fried stiffness with a backhand of defiance. Her timing? Just slow enough to make it hurt.
From Moolah’s School to McLane’s Stage
She broke in during 1986 under David McLane’s Powerful Women of Wrestling—the original chaos carnival of big hair and bare-knuckle femininity. Back then, they called her Bambi, and it felt like someone had named a chainsaw “Cupcake.” She wrestled Madusa Miceli in a feud soaked in animosity and Aqua Net. Madusa was the polished ice queen; Bambi was the heat lightning in cutoff jeans.
By the time SuperClash III rolled around in 1988, she was already a known quantity, brawling in a lingerie battle royal while looking like the only one in the room who didn’t give a damn about satin. Later that year, she joined Continental Wrestling Federation and backed Tom Prichard against the greasy-fisted Dirty White Boy and his valet, Lady Mystic. It was trailer park Shakespeare, and Bambi played the part like a steel magnolia with a shiv in her boot.
WCW and the Vanishing Women’s Division
In 1990, WCW pretended to care about women’s wrestling for a hot second. They handed the Ladies Professional Wrestling Association title to Susan Sexton and let her defend it against Bambi at Clash of the Champions XII. That match could’ve been a launchpad, but WCW’s commitment to women’s wrestling had the staying power of a motel marriage. She feuded with Peggy Lee Leather, Madusa, and Leilani Kai—hellacious veterans who knew how to make it look like a mugging—and then the whole division folded like a cheap lawn chair.
By 1992, women’s wrestling in WCW was gone. Not phased out. Evicted. But Bambi didn’t sit still. That’s the thing about women like her—they don’t wait for doors to open. They kick the damn hinges off.
Independent Hell-Raising
Throughout the early ‘90s, Majors bounced between LPWA, LMLW, and any indie promotion crazy enough to book her. At the LPWA Super Ladies Showdown, she teamed with Malia Hosaka in a losing war against The Glamour Girls—Leilani Kai and Judy Martin. Those were bruising matches, all grit and grab, the kind of fights that happened in the corners of smoky VFW halls and bingo hall basements where the fans didn’t want stars—they wanted fighters.
In 1993, she took the fight to Smoky Mountain Wrestling where she locked horns with Tammy Fytch in six-person tag matches that turned family-friendly Appalachian towns into hotbeds of hair-pulling violence. The Rock ‘n’ Roll Express backed her up, but make no mistake—Bambi was never the sidekick. She was the hammer in a world of nails.
Women of Wrestling: The Return of the Veteran
In 2000, David McLane launched Women of Wrestling, a neon-colored fever dream of comic book camp and genuine athleticism. Bambi dropped the gimmick and went by her real name—Selina Majors. She became the matriarch of the locker room, schooling greenhorns while still throwing elbows in the ring. Her feud with Thug was the main course, a blood-stained love letter to every southern street fight that came before it. They capped it off inside a steel cage at WOW Unleashed, a match that felt more like a prison riot than sports entertainment.
Behind the curtain, Majors trained the next generation of women who came in with ambition but no experience. She taught them how to bump, how to sell, how to survive—and how to do it with some damn pride.
Still Swinging in the 2000s
Even after the limelight dimmed, she kept showing up. At Wrestle Reunion in 2005, she joined forces with Wendi Richter, Malia Hosaka, and Jenny Taylor in an eight-woman tag that screamed “legends don’t retire—they reload.” Later that year, she captured the CCW Tag Team Championship with Lisa Moretti (aka Ivory), beating Team Blondage in a match that was more brawl than ballet.
By then, she’d become a relic in the best sense of the word—someone from the era when the only way to get respect was to bleed for it.
Legacy in Bruises
Selina Majors doesn’t have a Hall of Fame ring. She doesn’t have a Netflix documentary or a line of Funko Pops. What she does have is a legacy built on scraped knees, bruised ribs, and stiff right hands. She was there when women’s wrestling was an afterthought, and she stayed long enough to see it matter again. She took every booking. She fought every fight. She mentored anyone who showed up on time and didn’t flinch.
She’s not one of the women wrestling became famous for. She’s one of the ones it was built on.
In a business that eats its past and forgets its pioneers, Bambi is still a name whispered by the lifers. You won’t see her face carved on Mount Rushmore, but you’ll see it in the scars of every woman who stepped through the ropes without asking permission.
Selina Majors didn’t just survive wrestling. She outlasted it. And in this business, that’s the biggest damn win of all.