Mercedes Benson On ‘For Women Who DJ’, Building From Scratch and No Longer Waiting for the Industry to Catch Up

It’s 2pm on a Monday, and Mercedes Benson enters our scheduled call, full of sweet words and sincere apologies. Our chat was originally scheduled for 9am.

“I don’t know why I put this in for 9am,” she laughs, clearly rethinking her own optimism. We joke about how intense her weekend had been, and it’s immediately clear that she’s someone used to constantly being on go but still, somehow, allergic to pretending the labour is effortless.

Benson’s been DJing for nearly a decade now. She’s played clubs, weddings, festivals, warehouse raves, press events, and, most likely, your baby cousin’s christening. Her career has been built on instinct and real stamina, not accidentally, not purely through co-signs, and certainly not through nepotism. But even now, with years of experience and undeniable skill, she’s only just starting to say she’s “a real DJ.”

It’s not a result of her own self-doubt; it’s more contextual. The ‘DJ’ title still feels gatekept, even from someone who’s been doing the job longer than many of the names booked ahead of her. Which tells you a lot about how this industry works.

“I had to go through the trenches. I’ve done every kind of party. I was DJing before I had decks. Just pulling up with my laptop and aux cable. No one taught me. I just figured it out.”

For Mercedes, DJing started as a workaround. At the time [2016 energy!], she was running events, and hiring DJs was expensive. So she played her own warm-up sets to cut costs. She didn’t know then that the side hustle would eventually become the main event. “I realised I actually enjoyed it. The selection, the energy, the fact that it’s just you and the music and a room full of people.”

Still, it took years for it all to feel legitimate. Legitimacy, in the music world, is rarely about time served or actual technical ability. It’s about connections, co-signs, access. You need to be seen in the right spaces, booked by the right people on the right lineups, and aligned with the right brands. And for a while, that just wasn’t happening.

“I’d be at events thinking, I could’ve done this set. But the bookings weren’t coming in. I wasn’t on the radar.”

Even if you’re not immersed in the space, it’s likely you’ve heard the name Mercedes Benson. She has long been visible, in the club, online, or on brand campaigns. But visibility doesn’t necessarily equal power, and it definitely isn’t the same as support. She shares that, for years, it felt like she was on the guest list…but not really in the room.

Nine years in, she’s building her own.

“People think if you’re in the scene, you’re supported. That’s not the case. There are a lot of us that are doing the work, but we’re still on the outside. Still trying to get in.”

The ecosystem seems purposefully small; the names are often recycled and there’s still a sense that only one or two black women can rise at a time. Everyone else has to wait their turn. “It’s exhausting,” she says. “And it’s boring. Like, we’re out here. There are so many of us. So much talent. But you’d never know that from the bookings.”

Mercedes started For Women Who DJ in response. Not as a pretty brand, or a performative empowerment space, or even a curated talent showcase; but to be a practical solution. The platform is designed to support women in the industry, not just with solidarity, but with actual resources, real names, and real contacts. It’s a way to bypass the ceiling and connect women directly with paid opportunities.

It started with a story post. She asked for warm-up DJ recommendations and ended up with a list of 100 names she’d never heard of. “And some of them were better than people getting booked every week.”

“It made me realise how much talent is just floating around. And how little infrastructure there is to support it.”

That stark gap between the talent and their access is exactly what she’s trying to fix.

There are already platforms for women in music, but this one is intentionally essential.

“It’s not about trying to become some global superstar [unless you want to]. It’s about having a space where you don’t have to explain yourself.”

It’s simple. A Patreon, a WhatsApp group, and a database of women ready to work. 

“For Women Who DJ is for the girl who DJs on weekends. The girl who’s just starting out. The girl who’s been DJing for years and still isn’t getting proper rates. I wanted something functional. Something that actually moves the needle.”

There’s a persistent myth in the industry that you need to quit your job to be taken seriously creatively; that your dream only counts if you go all in. Mercedes isn’t buying it.

“I think we need to stop romanticising the struggle. Most DJs I know have other income streams. They just don’t talk about it. And that’s fine.”

She didn’t quit her day job until year six. Even now, she approaches it like a portfolio career. It’s not just DJ’ing; it’s music, content, partnerships, community building. It doesn’t have to be a straight line. That's the point.

“You don’t have to starve for it. You don’t have to lose your mind to prove you’re legit. It’s okay to want stability. It’s okay to take your time.”

In fact, that kind of binary thinking [either you’re a global act or you’re nobody] is part of what burns people out. Mercedes is clear that For Women Who DJ isn’t necessarily just about the exposure. It’s about survival, and sustainability. It’s about being able to DJ without feeling like you have to sacrifice your rent, your wellbeing, or your actual life.

“I made this for the bedroom DJs, the part-timers, the weekenders, the ones with full-time jobs who still want to play one night a month. All of it counts.”

When we talk about the music scene more broadly, she doesn’t sugarcoat it. “There’s still a lot of tokenism. I’ve had moments where I’ve felt like the diversity booking. And I can feel when I’ve been added to the lineup last minute, to make things look better on paper.”

She’s learned to let those feelings pass. “I’m not going to say no to the bag. But I always clock what’s going on.”

And while she appreciates how far the industry’s come, she still sees the structural gaps: the gatekeeping, the recycling of the same names, the fake community branding from platforms that don’t even pay properly.

“I think the most radical thing we can do is just be honest. About how hard it is. About how expensive it is. And especially, about how tired we are.”

There’s a sense that Mercedes is entering a new chapter. She’s done the work and the next era isn’t about proving herself anymore.

She wants to travel more; DJ further out. “Not just New York or Lagos. I want to go somewhere I’ve never even thought of. Small cities. Places I have to research on Google Maps. That’s where the magic happens.”

She’s also thinking about what comes after DJing, or at least, what can sit alongside it. Building her own label…maybe a music residency…founding a proper creative community? She’s open to it all, because she can envision doing it all.

There’s no rush and there’s no pressure to put herself in any one box. The goal isn’t the big shiny announcement.

At the end of our conversation, I ask her how she defines success now. She pauses, then shrugs. “Being able to live well, work on my own terms, and not beg people for opportunities.”

She’s not trying to be an industry darling. She wants to work, and be respected on her own merits. To stay beautiful, not just physically, but internally, in that way that seeps from your pores and consumes the space around you. And definitely, to make the path less complicated for the ones coming up after her.

The industry is obsessed with visibility, Mercedes is focused on legacy.

It’s not as glamorous [although she’s never had a problem in that aspect]. But it lasts longer. And more than anything, it matters.