In an age of gimmicks and hashtags, Winona Makanji—known to wrestling fans by the single, hard-edged syllable “Kanji”—wields her craft like a broken beer bottle in a parking lot fight. She doesn’t come to the ring to inspire your Instagram captions. She comes to hurt you. Beautifully. Technically. Thoroughly.
A silent storm out of Nottingham, Kanji isn’t cut from the same cloth as the usual divas or queens. She’s more rust than rhinestone, more headbutt than handshake, and every time she steps into a ring, she does it like it’s the last time anyone’s going to remember her name.
That name, Kanji, written in sweat and scars across the British indie circuit, has become synonymous with survival, defiance, and a kind of cruel grace—like ballet in combat boots.
FROM SWE TO THE ASHES OF EMPIRE
The early days weren’t about fame or fortune. They were about reps. About getting beaten up in cold gyms with loose ropes and busted heaters. Kanji cut her teeth with Southside Wrestling Entertainment (SWE), where she became the last woman to hold the Queen of Southside title before the promotion was swallowed whole by Revolution Pro Wrestling in 2019. Fitting that she’d be the final chapter in that book—Kanji is a closer, not a placeholder.
While others maneuvered for likes and merch deals, Kanji was fighting in matches that felt like knife fights without the knives. Her grappling style isn’t flashy, but it hurts. Her strikes aren’t exaggerated, but they sting. If wrestling is storytelling, Kanji writes in all-caps, carved into flesh and canvas.
A BRIEF FLIRTATION WITH THE MACHINE
WWE came calling, of course. They always do.
She showed up once in NXT UK, June 14, 2019. A battle royal. A mosh pit of hopefuls and hardened vets alike—Candy Floss, Rhea Ripley, Piper Niven, Isla Dawn. In the chaos, Kay Lee Ray walked out the winner. Kanji walked out unknown. One of many.
But the machine couldn’t hold her. Not then. Not yet. She wasn’t made for the corporate conveyor belt. Kanji wasn’t ready to paint within the lines. She wasn’t ready to wear a smile unless it came after breaking someone’s jaw.
So she went back to where blood still mattered more than branding.
REVPRO AND THE WAR FOR RECOGNITION
RevPro was where Kanji became dangerous. She defended her Southside Women’s Title like a back-alley dealer guards turf. Her 2021 victory over Bobbi Tyler was more than a title defense—it was a statement: I don’t need your spotlight. I’ll make my own.
She held the belt for nearly two years, through pandemic interruptions, industry reshuffling, and an ever-growing queue of challengers hungry to take her head off. She finally dropped the title to Dani Luna at Uprising in December 2022. But by then, Kanji had already set fire to the map and danced through the ashes.
She didn’t just lose matches. She made sure the woman who beat her had to remember it every time she looked in a mirror. Bruises are temporary. Legacy is permanent.
PROGRESS: THE CROWN OF STORMS
If RevPro was her proving ground, Progress Wrestling became her kingdom.
She arrived at Chapter 105, a #1 contender’s match dressed as a demolition derby—Taonga, Lana Austin, Millie McKenzie, Mercedez Blaze, Gisele Shaw. Kanji came out on top, fists first, no apologies.
But fate twisted the plot. COVID clipped the wings of reigning champion Jinny, who was forced to vacate. What followed was a best-of-three series with Gisele Shaw, the Canadian firebrand with flash and flair. Kanji beat her 2–1. Cold. Efficient. Like a surgeon with a grudge.
Then, as if time looped, Shaw won the vacant title again. Kanji beat her again, this time in front of a roaring crowd at Chapter 135’s Super Strong Style 16 Tournament.
It was the kind of win that tells you everything about a wrestler’s soul. Shaw wrestles like she’s auditioning for the main event at WrestleMania. Kanji wrestles like she’s trying to erase your name from the record books.
Her second reign didn’t last forever. Lana Austin clipped her wings at Chapter 146. It happens. Even fire goes out eventually. But Kanji wasn’t built for permanent thrones—she was built for war.
And war doesn’t need titles. It needs warriors.
AGAINST MERCEDES MONÉ: THE WORLD WATCHED
In April 2025, Kanji squared off against none other than Mercedes Moné at RevPro’s High Stakes. It wasn’t just another match—it was a measuring stick, a spotlight, a reminder to the world that British wrestling still breeds killers.
Kanji didn’t win. But she damn sure didn’t lose quietly.
She fought like a woman possessed. Like a woman with every chip stacked against her. Like a woman tired of hearing that other women were “the future” while she’d been holding down the past, present, and future with a busted knee and an unforgiving schedule.
She gave Mercedes a clinic in endurance and earned something better than a title: respect.
THE STYLE, THE STRUGGLE, THE SILENCE
Kanji doesn’t cut many promos. She doesn’t live online. She’s not a viral clip. She’s a full-length match with a slow burn and a brutal ending. Her aura isn’t cultivated—it’s survived.
She fights like a Bukowski character drinks—desperate, lonely, and with absolutely no time for phonies. She moves like she has something to prove and nothing to lose. You don’t cheer Kanji because she asked for it. You cheer her because somewhere in that ring, she made you believe again.
Believe that wrestling matters.
Believe that pain has a purpose.
Believe that quiet fury is louder than a thousand chants.
EPILOGUE: WRITTEN IN BRUISES
Kanji is still out there. Still swinging. Still bleeding for this. She doesn’t have a big-time contract. She doesn’t show up in WrestleMania video packages. But in the church halls, the indie pits, and the Progress rings of the world, her name is spoken with reverence.
Because she’s earned every inch.
Winona Makanji. Kanji.
Two-time Progress Women’s Champion. Former Southside Champion. Reluctant star. Relentless storm.
She never needed a catchphrase. Just give her a ring, an opponent, and a reason.
She’ll take care of the rest—with fists like sermons and a stare that knows exactly where you’re vulnerable.
And when the bell rings?
She’ll still be standing.