There’s something inherently cruel about pro wrestling. The way it smiles at you with pearly-white promises, then body slams you onto a concrete floor when no one’s watching. For Millie McKenzie, the cruelty came early—and came often.
She wasn’t a slow burn. She wasn’t built for patience. She exploded onto the scene at 17 with a German suplex that snapped necks and turned heads. They called her a phenom. A prodigy. A future. But what they really meant was: fresh meat.
And the sport chewed her up like nicotine gum.
PROGRESS AND PAIN: A TEEN IN A GROWN-UP’S GAME
Millie debuted for Progress Wrestling in October 2017. She was still in braces when she walked into a locker room full of snarling wolves and preening queens. The indie scene wasn’t a cradle—it was a bar fight with ring ropes.
She lost to Sierra Loxton. Then Jinny. Then beat five women in a six-way scramble that should’ve been a coronation—but felt more like a warning shot. This girl had it. But did she know what it would cost?
Nobody told her the toll wrestling takes when your body’s still figuring out what it wants to be.
They just handed her boots and said: “You’re on next.”
REVPRO, TOURNAMENTS, AND THE LONG SHADOW OF JINNY
In early 2018, McKenzie rolled into Revolution Pro Wrestling, slinging suplexes like a punk band slings demo tapes—loud, fast, and without apology. She beat Charli Evans in the first round of the British Women’s Championship tournament.
Then Jinny struck again.
It was like trying to outrun your own shadow. Jinny beat her in Progress. Beat her in RevPro. Beat her in WWE. If McKenzie was the rising sun, Jinny was the cloud that wouldn’t move.
But every loss sharpened her. Hardened her. You could see it in her eyes. Less sparkle. More steel.
THE WWE SEDUCTION—AND THE REFUSAL
In 2018, WWE came sniffing around like a billionaire’s talent scout in a thrift store. And why not? Millie was marketable. Athletic. That babyface fire with the indie edge Vince’s machine loves to sanitize.
She joined NXT UK, their Brit-branded side hustle, and entered the tournament for the inaugural Women’s Title.
Again, Jinny.
Again, the L.
Then—shockingly—she turned WWE down.
No thanks. Not yet.
At 18, she did what seasoned veterans don’t: she walked away from the world’s biggest promotion. Maybe she felt the leash tightening already. Maybe she saw what the others didn’t. Or maybe, just maybe, she was trying to outrun something worse than Jinny.
SENDAI GIRLS: ESCAPE TO JAPAN, BECOME A CHAMPION
Japan welcomed her like rain on scorched earth.
In 2019, McKenzie debuted for Sendai Girls’ Pro Wrestling, defeating Ayame Sasamura and winning the Junior Championship. A new country, a new style, a new chapter. It was pure wrestling: no politics, no character fluff. Just bell-to-bell brutality.
She was growing—physically, professionally, emotionally. You could see it in her posture. Her moves had weight. Her strikes had intention.
In 2023, she returned and beat VENY to win the Sendai Girls World Championship in Tokyo’s famed Korakuen Hall. A coronation on foreign soil. A symbol of rebirth.
She lost the title in September to Mika Iwata. But it didn’t feel like a step down.
It felt like she finally belonged.
WWE PART II: EMILIA MCKENZIE AND THE SATOMURA RUN
In 2021, Millie gave WWE another chance.
This time as Emilia McKenzie—a name as sanitized as a hotel towel. She teamed with Meiko Satomura, a legend who’d forgotten more about wrestling than most had ever learned. And for a while, it worked.
But WWE doesn’t do slow burns anymore.
They want fireworks. Fast food. Faces that fit neatly into merch designs. Emilia McKenzie didn’t play that game. She was all fire and fight, no flash. The kind of talent who wins matches, not Instagram followers.
She was cut in August 2022.
No angle. No storyline payoff. Just another name on the “future endeavors” list.
TRAVIS BANKS AND THE WOUNDS THAT DON’T HEAL
Behind the headlines and the matches, a darker narrative ran beneath the surface like a cracked gas line.
When Millie was 17, she began a relationship with her trainer at Fight Club Pro—Travis Banks, a man 13 years older. What followed was abuse. Manipulation. Emotional wreckage masquerading as mentorship.
She spoke out.
Publicly. Courageously. Raw and unfiltered.
She didn’t just name names—she set the house on fire. Banks was fired. Others fell too. Her story wasn’t a cry for sympathy. It was a war cry for accountability.
Because Millie McKenzie wasn’t just fighting opponents.
She was fighting the entire damn system.
THE FUTURE: STILL SWINGING, STILL HERE
Today, Millie’s not on primetime TV. She doesn’t have a million followers. No major belts. No All Elite contract. But she’s still wrestling. Still suplexing souls into oblivion. Still showing up.
And in an industry built on artifice, there’s something revolutionary about that.
She’s only 25.
She’s already lived three careers, burned bridges, rebuilt new ones, and carried the weight of abuse survivors on her shoulders—all while being expected to smile for the camera and sell the T-shirt.
Millie McKenzie is more than a wrestler.
She’s a reckoning in boots.
EPILOGUE: THE GIRL WHO REFUSED TO BREAK
If wrestling had a conscience, Millie McKenzie would be its bleeding heart.
She’s the embodiment of resilience—the girl who went toe-to-toe with giants, turned down the biggest company in the world, took down her abuser, and still came back for more.
She doesn’t need a belt to be legitimate. She doesn’t need pyro to be explosive. She’s forged in a different fire—one that doesn’t go out when the lights do.
So the next time someone asks you who Millie McKenzie is…
Tell them she’s the kid who survived the machine.
And still had enough soul left to suplex it.
