CHERYL STIXX IS STILL HERE — AND SHE’S NOT APOLOGIZING FOR IT

 

The wrestler, pop-cultural lightning rod, and former showgirl talks about coming back, standing her ground, and becoming The Real Miss Cheryl.

 

By Riana Betts

Photography Alasdair McLellan

i-D, Cover Story

 

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Cheryl Stixx doesn’t flinch when she talks about the year she’s had. There’s no defensiveness, no manufactured redemption arc, no neat bow tied around the mess. Instead, there’s calm. There’s resolve. And there’s the unmistakable energy of someone who knows exactly why they’re still standing.

 

“I didn’t come back because it was easy,” she says. “I came back because it felt right.”

 

For many, Cheryl’s return was framed as a resurrection of the vicious showgirl — the headline-grabber, the spectacle, the girl who once blurred the line between celebrity and chaos. But the Cheryl sitting in front of me isn’t interested in recreating a past version of herself just to satisfy nostalgia.

 

“Am I still that girl? Yeah, I could be,” she admits, half-smiling. “But I’ve become more than that.”

 

This year, Cheryl found herself at the center of one of the most polarizing stories in the wrestling world. Her feud with Marisa wasn’t just about competition — it became a referendum on image, ambition, and what women are allowed to look like when they take up space.

 

“People tried to turn it into something ugly,” Cheryl says. “But for me, it was simple. I was standing my ground. I was standing up for what I believe in.”

 

She’s careful with her words, but firm. What happened wasn’t a breakdown. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a boundary.

 

“I wasn’t being vicious for the sake of it,” she explains. “I was being honest. And honesty isn’t always pretty.”

 

Cheryl is aware of the narratives that trail her — the think pieces about reinvention, the obsession with “eras,” the insistence that she’s somehow become unrecognizable.

 

“People talk about me like I’ve been through a million transformations,” she says, laughing softly. “But honestly? I didn’t change that much. I was just a scared loudmouth before. And then I found strength in being the real me. That’s the only change.”

 

That clarity extends to how she shows up for others. She pauses when Quartz’s name comes up, choosing her words with care.

 

“Quartz is someone I genuinely respect,” she says. “As a leader, as a man, as a person. I cheer for him — loudly. He’s the kind of presence that reminds you this space can still be about integrity, not just optics.”

 

And then there’s Marisa — a chapter Cheryl refuses to flatten for public comfort.

 

“Yeah, I stood up for her once. And I’d do it again,” she says, without hesitation. “Because what’s wrong is wrong, regardless of who it’s aimed at. There doesn’t need to be a ‘perfect victim’ for us to act. Marisa was treated unfairly in that moment, and I stood up for her.”

 

She doesn’t rush to soften the point.

 

“That never meant I was okay with her ways, or the things she stands for,” she adds. “That’s a whole other conversation — and one we’re allowed to have.”

 

She smiles, already anticipating the discourse.

 

“But naysayers gonna naysay,” she shrugs. “Right?”

 

That honesty extends to her relationship with fame — something she’s navigated in more forms than most. Reality TV, music, wrestling. Public scrutiny at every turn.

 

“I know some people still put air quotes around everything I do,” she laughs. “Celebrity. Wrestler. Whatever. But here’s the truth: I am all of it. And I belong.”

 

It’s that sense of belonging she’s fought hardest for since returning. Cheryl doesn’t pretend the landscape hasn’t changed. She knows the division is deeper, sharper, more competitive than ever. She welcomes it.

 

“I knew coming back wouldn’t be easy,” she says. “But I don’t want easy. I want real.”

 

That’s where The Real Miss Cheryl comes in — not a rebrand, but a reclamation.

 

“It’s not the safest choice. It’s definitely not the easiest way out,” she says. “But it’s the one that feels true to me. And once my mind is set, I’m not backing down.”

 

She speaks with gratitude — for the OCW Galaxy, for the women’s division, for mentors and rivals alike. For people who trained her, challenged her, stood beside her. Even for the people who hurt her.

 

“They all shaped me,” she says quietly. “And I’m thankful for that.”

 

As for what’s next? Cheryl isn’t rushing to define it. There are whispers of new music. There’s unfinished business in the ring. There’s a sense that this chapter is still being written.

 

“I’m not done,” she says. “I’ll keep grinding. I’ll keep getting better. I’ll keep showing up.”

 

Then she looks straight into the lens.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

She smiles — soft, stubborn, unbreakable.

 

“This is who I am now,” she says. “And I’m proud of her.”

 

Stixx up!

 

 

Cheryl Stixx, photographed outside Los Angeles. Dress by I’m Sorry by Petra Collins. Photography Alasdair McLellan

 

Cheryl Stixx, photographed outside Los Angeles. Dress by I’m Sorry by Petra Collins. Photography Alasdair McLellan