Main Event Pros (2026)

19/10/2026

I wanted to share a little glimpse of what happens behind the scenes of Stripped Away.

When I started this project, I had a simple idea. I wanted to sit down with people, hear their stories, and create portraits that reflected something deeper than what we usually see on social media.

What I didn’t anticipate was how much these conversations would mean to the people participating.

I’ve had people tell me they felt comfortable sharing things they’d never spoken about publicly. Others have described the experience as therapeutic. And some of the feedback I’ve received has reminded me why I fell in love with storytelling in the first place.

There’s something special about giving someone your undivided attention. No agenda. No expectations. Just an opportunity to talk about life, the experiences that shaped us, and the things that matter most.

That’s what Stripped Away is about.

I’ve put together this short video featuring moments from a few sessions, along with some of the feedback participants have shared.

And I’d love to invite more people to be part of it.

Stripped Away is completely free. We sit down for a conversation, I create a portrait, and I share your story in a way that celebrates the person behind the public persona.

My calendar is currently open, although I’ll likely need to pause new bookings soon so I can catch up on the incredible number of stories waiting to be shared.

If I’ve already photographed you, thank you for your patience! Your portraits and stories are coming, and I’m excited for everyone to see them.

If you’d like to participate, send me a message. I’d be happy to tell you more about the experience and find a time that works for us.

You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to have an extraordinary accomplishment. You just need to be willing to share a little of yourself.

Because I believe everyone deserves to be heard.

This is Stripped Away.

16/10/2026

Allenownz

At eight years old, he met Brock Lesnar the night before Survivor Series 2002 at Fun Time USA. When Paul Heyman betrayed Lesnar the following evening, Allen was devastated. He barely remembers the first Elimination Chamber match.

Nearly 24 years later, he’s making content alongside wrestlers he once watched on television. Yet the boy who felt that betrayal so personally hasn’t left.

Allen grew up in Brooklyn before his family moved to Long Island. His parents were Ukrainian immigrants, and Russian was his first language. He remembers being the kid who talked too much in class, got into trouble, and once blew up a trash can. His brother and cousins introduced him to wrestling, often by practicing moves on him.

There’s an ease to the way Allen talks that makes you feel like you’ve known him for years.

He built a massive following through gaming, but eventually found himself playing 10 hours per day just to produce a few clips. Before that, he’d worked in sales and finance and hated it. He didn’t want to turn another passion into a miserable job.

So he made room for the thing he’d always loved: wrestling.

We talked about fame, access, and the distance fans sometimes place between themselves and performers. Allen told me he’s never really been starstruck. Wrestlers are people. Respect their boundaries, accept a no, but don’t be afraid to say hello.

“Shoot your shot,” he told me.

He doesn’t mind looking goofy on camera. He embraces it. He wants viewers to feel like they’re hanging out with him, not watching someone who’s forgotten what it means to be a fan.

Then our conversation turned to his family.

Allen calls himself a mama’s boy. One of his biggest dreams is to retire his parents, especially his mother, so she never has to work another day. For the son of immigrants, success isn’t only about how far he can go. It’s also about what he can give back.

His friends wonder how he can attend so many wrestling shows and still cheer like it’s his first.

His answer stayed with me: “I’m in a place that I love.”

After sitting across from him, I understood.

The audience grew. The opportunities grew. But the wonder never left.

This is Allenownz.

11/10/2026

“There’s no refunds in wrestling.”

When Nick Quiñones said those words during our Stripped Away conversation, I don’t think he realized how much they would stay with me.

We were talking about his journey into professional wrestling, the sacrifices he’d made, and the challenges he’d faced along the way.

Then he told me about his grandmother.

She believed in his dream enough to pay for his wrestling training. Unfortunately, circumstances surrounding the school eventually took that opportunity in a direction neither of them could have anticipated.

The money was gone. There was no getting it back.

As Nick remembered his grandmother’s sacrifice, he became emotional.

And suddenly, those words weren’t really about wrestling anymore.

They were about someone believing in you. About the sacrifices people make because they want to see you succeed. And about the disappointment that comes when something they gave you out of love doesn’t turn out the way anyone hoped.

That moment stayed with me.

One thing I’m learning through Stripped Away is that you never really know what someone is carrying into a conversation.

Sometimes a few words can reveal an entire story, but only if you’re willing to listen long enough to understand them.

That’s why I’m introducing Words That Stayed With Me, a collection of moments from my Stripped Away conversations that have continued to resonate with me long after the portraits were taken.

These aren’t inspirational quotes pulled from the internet. They’re real words from real conversations, shared by people who trusted me with their stories.

And I think those words deserve to be remembered.

Thank you, Nick, for trusting me with yours.

WORDS THAT STAYED WITH ME | 001

Stripped Away | Portraits shaped by the stories behind them.

10/10/2026

When was the last time someone genuinely listened to you?

Not waited for their turn to speak. Not offered unsolicited advice. Not tried to fix you.

Just listened.

That's the idea behind Stripped Away, a portrait and storytelling series created through Main Event Pros and Hecht Media.

What started as a simple idea has quickly become something much bigger than I anticipated.

People have opened up about their childhoods, their struggles, their accomplishments, their insecurities, and the experiences that shaped who they are today.

Some have shared things they've never spoken about publicly.

More than one participant has described the experience as therapeutic.

I want to be very clear: I'm not a therapist or a mental health professional. I'm a photographer, a storyteller, and someone who believes that being heard can make a meaningful difference.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can offer another person is our undivided attention.

That's what I'm trying to do.

On World Mental Health Day, I'm making a commitment to keep creating space for these conversations. To listen without judgment. To photograph people as they are. And to remind them that their stories deserve to be told.

And I'd love to hear yours.

Interest in Stripped Away has been growing quickly, and as more sessions fill my calendar, my availability will naturally become more limited.

If you've been thinking about participating, please don't wait until the opportunity passes you by.

You don't need to be famous. You don't need a dramatic past. You don't need to have overcome something extraordinary.

You just need to be willing to have an honest conversation.

Participation is completely free.

If you'd like to be part of Stripped Away, send me a message. Let's find a time to sit down.

Because everyone has a story. And yours matters, too.

World Mental Health Day | October 10

Main Event Pros | Hecht Media

09/10/2026

Xenia Kozh.

Known to many as XeniaDidThat, she’s built a career helping people understand who they are and what they’re capable of becoming.

What struck me during our conversation was how much more there was to discover about the woman behind that work.

Born in Russia, with Romanian roots and a deep connection to Spain, Xenia has traveled to 20 countries and made Central Florida her home. What began as a visit became a life she hadn’t planned.

Her mother is an artist, designer, model and opera singer. Her father, a successful businessman, taught her the importance of commitment and seeing things through.

It’s difficult not to see both of them in her.

She’s creative, ambitious, outspoken and confident enough to take up space. But confidence doesn’t always mean feeling comfortable in every room.

She spoke about moments when she’d felt like an outsider, even among friends, and how growing older has taught her to stop chasing connections that aren’t mutual.

We talked about beauty, expectations and the complicated relationship between how others see us and how we see ourselves. Beneath her confidence, I found a warmth and openness that made our conversation feel effortless.

Wrestling has been one of her greatest loves, even though she understands that loving something doesn’t guarantee it’ll love you back.

In her work, she helps people discover what makes them different and turn that understanding into opportunity. She doesn’t want clients dependent on her forever. She wants to teach them enough to succeed on their own.

That kind of thing stays with me.

Because as we talked, I realized I was trying to do something remarkably similar: help Xenia recognize qualities in herself that she spends her career helping others see.

She has big goals for her future, but she also wants the freedom to enjoy the life she’s building. She’s learning that not every person or opportunity deserves a place in it.

Perhaps understanding yourself also means offering yourself the patience and encouragement you so readily give others.

This is Xenia Kozh.

Who do you want to see Stripped Away next?

09/10/2026

King of Battle Nick Quiñones.

Growing up in Jersey City, Nicholas could see the Twin Towers from his neighborhood. Especially at the top of the hill on Montgomery. He remembers the day they disappeared, just as he remembers being a little boy waiting by the door for a father who wasn’t always there.

Bullied early on in school and raised primarily by his mother, Nicholas spent much of his childhood trying to find his place.

At 19, struggling through community college, he answered an Army recruiter’s call. He wanted a way out.

By 21, he was serving in Iraq.

His 15-month deployment changed him. After medically retiring in 2010, he struggled to adjust to civilian life. Friends had moved forward, he was starting a family, and the effects of PTSD were becoming harder to ignore.

Eventually, professional wrestling became something more than entertainment. It became an outlet.

But even there, the road wasn’t easy.

Nicholas told me about a wrestling school he attended that later became surrounded by controversy. He faced criticism simply for having trained there, and opportunities became harder to find.

Then he told me something that stopped our conversation.

His grandmother had paid for his training upfront. As he remembered her sacrifice, he became emotional.

“There are no refunds in wrestling.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about that.

He kept going anyway, spending countless hours traveling to shows, often without pay, determined to earn his place.

The King of Battle wasn’t born from imagination alone. Nicholas told me he’s never really been playing a character. His military experience, his struggles with PTSD and his determination to survive are all part of what audiences see.

Mental health awareness matters deeply to him because he knows what those battles feel like.

I asked what his children would say about him.

Caring. Strict. But above everything else, they’d never be able to say he wasn’t there.

I thought about that little boy waiting by the door.

Near the end of our conversation, I asked Nicholas whether his younger self would be proud of the man he’d become.

He said yes.

And after everything he’d shared, I believed him.

This is Nick Quiñones.

09/10/2026

Joey Minneci.

I first knew Joey as Lucca’s dad. Our sons met at the House of Champions kids camp last year.

What I didn’t know was how much of his life had been spent trying to become the kind of father he once took for granted.

Joey grew up in Union, New Jersey, surrounded by family, lifelong friends and a father he could depend on.

Then, at 15, an injury introduced him to painkillers.

What followed was a life he’d never pictured for himself.

He tried to get sober more than once. He lost time, opportunities and pieces of himself. What hurt most was knowing he came from love and stability, yet still found himself somewhere he believed was beneath the man he was supposed to be.

His life changed course along the way. A path toward teaching disappeared, and a friend suggested barbering. Fifteen years later, it’s become his career and craft. You can find him

Shame can make people disappear.

Recovery has asked Joey to do the opposite.

Approaching 40, he’s learning to be honest, vulnerable, and present. His three boys, Santino, Lucca and Nico, are at the center of that work. He knows what it meant to have a father who showed up, and he wants them to feel that same certainty.

Joey spoke about his family with a lot of love, but also regret. There are things he wishes he’d done differently and relationships he hopes his actions can strengthen. He isn’t looking to erase the past. He’s trying to build something better through consistency instead of promises.

His uncle, who recently passed, was like a second father and the glue that held everyone together. Even Lucca’s wrestling character carries a piece of him forward.

During our conversation, Nico stayed close. At one point, his little hand rested on his father’s shoulder.

I keep thinking about that.

Joey can’t reclaim the years he wishes had gone differently.

But he can decide what his children remember next.

Recovery isn’t pretending the past never happened.

It’s becoming someone the people you love can trust in the present.

This is Joey Minneci.

06/10/2026

Isys, soon to be known in wrestling as “Encore Icon” Diana Lane.

Three months into this journey, Isys is already defining this chapter of her life by stepping outside of her comfort zone.

She grew up in Palm Bay, a place that may not be small on paper, but the world she describes feels much smaller than the one she’s discovering now. Same people, shared histories, long memories. Compared with the greater Orlando area, it feels worlds apart.

She was a good student, worked with kids from a young age and learned that being kind doesn’t always protect you from being misunderstood.

It also taught her to push back.

She hates bullying. She’ll defend a friend. She can be playful, sarcastic and a little bit of a smartass, but underneath it is someone who cares deeply.

At s her 23rd Birthday approaches, she describes herself with one word: hopeful.

Before House of Champions, Isys barely drove on the highway. Now she makes a 90 minute trip each way for training, stays late to help and earns her place. She’ll tell you she isn’t the most athletic person in the room.

She’ll also tell you she’s going to grind until she gets there.

I believe her.

One detail I kept thinking about was the peace sign necklace she wears. She found it at an antique shop, and when the chain broke during training, she said she almost didn’t feel whole without it. She replaced the chain and put it right back where it belonged.

The most emotional part of our conversation was her mother. Raised by a single mom who worked hard and put her children first, Isys became emotional talking about the dreams her mother never had the chance to pursue.

She wants girls to see women chase things that once seemed unrealistic and kids to understand that potential isn’t reserved for somebody else.

For someone who likes control, wrestling has asked her to surrender a lot.

And she keeps showing up anyway.

Maybe that’s what hope looks like.

Not knowing exactly how far you can go, but finally being willing to find out.

This is Isys.

Soon, the wrestling world will meet Encore Icon, Diana Lane.

06/10/2026

Justin Morales, soon to be known as Jin Mora.

Some people find wrestling because they’re looking for a career.

Jin found it when he was looking for a reason to keep going.

He grew up moving from place to place, losing friends, starting over and learning early that stability wasn’t guaranteed. Home carried its own pain, and by adulthood he had spent years wrestling with questions of worth, belonging and whether the things he loved could ever become something real.

Creativity was always there. Dance. Music. Cooking. Video. Performance. He went to culinary school, worked in his mother’s restaurant and kept finding opportunities that excited him.

Then, too often, he ran from them.

The night before he decided to try professional wrestling, that battle with himself had become frighteningly serious.

Then he walked into House of Champions.

Not long after starting, a car accident and spinal injury took him back out of the ring. Physical therapy gave him a path back, and he returned.

That matters, because Jin’s story isn’t really about wrestling.

It’s about someone slowly learning not to abandon himself.

I see it in the videos he creates from training, funny and self-aware on the surface, but filled with the thoughts underneath. I hear it in the way he talks about the people who’ve helped him, and in the story of the night he ran into a neighboring apartment fire to rescue a newborn.

When someone spends years wondering what value they bring to the world, it can become difficult to recognize the evidence.

Sometimes that evidence is everywhere.

Jin asked me one simple question: could he participate in Stripped Away?

Absolutely.

We sat down and talked, and for a little while some of the weight seemed to leave his shoulders.

I hope he remembers this: people around him see his value even when he has trouble seeing it himself.

Maybe wrestling isn’t the answer to every question he’s carrying.

Maybe it’s simply the first place he stopped running long enough to start answering them.

This is Jin Mora.

06/10/2026

Dhanya Mercado, better known as Ivy Mercer.

Family seems to sit at the center of almost every part of Dhanya’s story.

Her parents met as teenagers at a wrestling school in Puerto Rico. Her father’s career later ended suddenly after a serious injury, and the heartbreak of watching that dream disappear changed the way her mother felt about wrestling too.

Years later, their daughter stepped into the ring.

Dhanya became House of Champions’ first Women’s Champion, and I was there to photograph her celebrating with her family, Puerto Rican flags surrounding the moment.

The road there carried more than most people in the crowd could see.

Her mother raised her through difficult years, often working two jobs. Her brother Dennys became her protector. Her twin sisters were raised in Puerto Rico by an aunt who became another mother to them. Her father was absent for much of Dhanya’s young life, but they eventually found their way back to each other.

Then wrestling created another reunion.

At Dhanya’s debut, her parents were together again for the first time in years. She told me that when she watches the video back, she can see them talking, laughing and setting everything else aside for her.

That memory brought her to tears.

So did talking about her mother and everything she carried for the family.

Dhanya describes herself as kind and funny. Both fit.

She told me kindness is something she refuses to let circumstances take from her. And behind the quiet, sometimes deadpan delivery is someone discovering that she’s much funnier and more outgoing than she once believed.

Confidence has always been one of her biggest battles.

But when I asked what happiness looks like, her answer was simple: being with family, consistently and as much as possible.

Maybe that explains why so many of the most meaningful moments in her wrestling story aren’t really about championships.

They’re about who was standing beside her when they happened.

This is Ivy Mercer.

Main Event Pros

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