Wrestling isn’t built for grace. It’s a traveling circus on barbed wire wheels, a stage where fairy tales go to die and hard truths get suplexed into the floor. But every now and then, in the middle of a thousand promo-puffing phonies and gear-flashing gimmicks, someone walks the ropes like a tightrope artist and punches with the gravity of grief. That’s Alex Windsor.
Born Alice Olivia Walker on November 9, 1993, in the coastal ghost town of Happisburgh—where the sea eats away at the land the same way this business eats at souls—she was a teenager when she fell in love with the pain ballet. She began training in 2009, still shy of her 16th birthday, under the bruised fists and boot-stomped wisdom of Jason Cross, Ricky Knight, Sweet Saraya, and Zak Knight—Britain’s first family of busted dreams and stiff forearms.
From the start, Windsor didn’t wrestle like she was hoping to be discovered—she wrestled like she’d already been forgotten and wanted to be remembered. She didn’t scream in promos or wear enough sequins to blind a cameraman. She let her work do the talking. And her work talked like Charles Bukowski after six pints of gin and a heartbreak.
Her roots ran deepest in Pro-Wrestling: EVE, where she began in 2010 and remained until 2025—a fifteen-year crucible of war, heartbreak, and every high spot earned with blood under the fingernails. She wasn’t handed anything. She scraped. Scratched. Watched others pass her by on the hype train while she quietly stacked bodies and match-of-the-night awards like unpaid debts.
She dipped into Progress Wrestling—a promotion that always felt like an indie rock club with a wrestling ring stapled in the middle. There, she mixed it up with the likes of Toni Storm and Jinny, and while she never grabbed the top spot, she made sure whoever held it knew she was only ever one clothesline away from changing the weather.
But it was in Revolution Pro Wrestling that Windsor leveled up. Debuting in 2021, she walked in like a footnote and walked out with the Undisputed British Women’s Championship. Two matches. That’s all it took. Gisele Shaw got folded like laundry. Then Shaw got beat again for the belt. Boom. New queen.
She didn’t waste the crown. Windsor defended the title like it owed her rent. She took down Kylie Rae at Epic Encounter 2022, battering the American sunshine out of her. But as is tradition in wrestling and bad love stories, all reigns end. She lost the belt to Dani Luna at Uprising 2023. A match as brutal as it was poetic, a slow car crash in reverse, every moment snapping like tendon under tension.
In EVE, Windsor climbed the mountain and planted her flag atop it—defeating Jetta for the title at Wrestle Queendom 5. Only to lose it the same damn day to Miyu Yamashita. That’s wrestling. You win in the morning, cry into your beer by nightfall. But Windsor never complained. Never tweeted cryptic bullshit. She took it. Ate it. Came back hungrier.
She traveled to Japan—where wrestlers are treated like gods or sacrifices, depending on the crowd. On 9 July 2022, at TJPW’s Summer Sun Princess, she beat Maki Itoh and won the International Princess Championship. It was the moment British fans had whispered about for years: Windsor had made it across the ocean, and she wasn’t just surviving—she was conquering.
Three months later, she dropped the belt to Miu Watanabe. Another lesson in fleeting glory. But she kept going. Teamed up with Ava White at Royal Quest II, bested Gabert and Kanji. She didn’t need a mouthpiece. She didn’t need smoke machines. She needed a ring and someone dumb enough to get in it with her.
And just when the indie faithful started to whisper about her ceiling, she broke through it.
On 24 May 2024, Windsor debuted in All Elite Wrestling, tagging with Anna Jay on Rampage. They lost, sure. But she was on the damn screen. AEW didn’t sign Windsor because she was the loudest. They signed her because she was inevitable.
On 6 June 2025, she officially joined AEW. A promo package aired on Collision. Windsor staring down the camera like it owed her money. And then All In. July 12. The Casino Gauntlet. She didn’t win—but the crowd noticed. You could feel it in the noise. There was a hum when she walked out. A kind of low recognition: “Oh, this one’s real.”
Behind the gear and grind, though, is a life that reads like a tragedy with chapters still unwritten.
She was married to Ryan Smile—a fellow wrestler and one of the scene’s brightest sparks. He took his own life in 2020. They had a son. Windsor didn’t mourn on Twitter. She just kept going, the way real warriors do. She carried that pain into every lariat. Every stomp. Every damn match.
And life, in its twisted symmetry, gave her another chapter. In 2025, she got engaged to Will Ospreay—a man who knew Ryan, who knew the business, and who damn sure knows what Windsor is made of. They say wrestling’s fake. Then explain how something so scripted leaves scars this deep.
Now, Windsor stands at the precipice. AEW is her new home. The independent scene? She ruled it. Japan? She conquered it. Britain? She was it. And AEW? It’s not ready for her. Not really.
Because Alex Windsor isn’t coming to play. She’s coming like a storm rolling over the countryside. Quiet. Relentless. Cold. Beautiful in its destruction.
The truth? Wrestling didn’t make Windsor.
Windsor made wrestling better.