The music world is exciting, but it can also be tough to navigate, especially for women. From hidden barriers to outright gatekeeping, the path isn’t always straightforward.

Victoria Kimani has lived through every aspect of this journey

An award-winning Afrobeats artist, singer, songwriter, and performer, she’s spent over 20 years honing her craft, breaking into new markets, and holding her own on some of the biggest stages in Africa and beyond.

From writing for international stars in the U.S. to reimagining her sound for African audiences, Victoria has learned what it takes to build a name and keep it. She has seen the wins, fought through the challenges, and collected lessons she now wants to pass on to the next generation of female artists through her course, Strategy to Stage.

We sat down for a candid conversation about her career journey — the early roadblocks, the defining moments, and what it really takes to build longevity as a woman in the music industry.

Watch it here or read about it below!

Q: How long have you been in the music industry?

Victoria: Over 20 years. My African journey began in 2013, but before that, I was in the United States working as a songwriter. I wrote for other artists and had to figure out how to navigate the industry as an African woman outside of Africa, and that’s a whole different ball game.

Q: You’ve been in the entertainment industry for over 20 years now. What’s one thing that still surprises you to this day?

Victoria: Plagiarism. When someone takes your idea, your song lyrics, or a concept you created, and you don’t get credit for it. It’s happened to me more than once, especially in the early years of my career. It’s frustrating because your intellectual property is your currency as an artist. 

Seeing it borrowed or outright stolen without acknowledgement is still something I can’t fully get used to.

Q: Let’s talk about when your career first started. A lot of creatives have the vision, the drive, and even the talent, but they don’t know where to begin. How was it for you in those early days?

Victoria: I was completely alone with my ideas and my thoughts. I knew how I wanted to look, how I wanted to sound. I had songs ready, but I didn’t know how to get them heard.

One of the first things I had to learn was how to network. I’ve never liked asking for help; I hate it, honestly. But sometimes, just sharing your work with friends is the first step.

For example, if you have a friend who’s a DJ, ask them to listen to your track and give feedback. It’s vulnerable because your music is personal, and you have to be ready for whatever they say. But those conversations can open doors.

For me, one of the most important early moves was finding an African DJ I could trust — someone who understood what was popular and could help plug my music into the right spaces. That guidance was priceless.

Q: How did you find your sound? Has it always been Afrobeats?

I started with gospel music because of my church background. I learned how to sing by singing along to Yolanda Adams, CeCe Winans, and legendary gospel singers. I’d practice what they were doing and try to sound like them, or even better.

Eventually, my dad noticed and said, “I can see you can sing, so let me get you a keyboard.” That’s how I started playing the keyboard and recording myself on a tape recorder. I was about eight years old. 

When I started taking music seriously, it was as a songwriter. I wanted to write the kind of songs I loved — R&B and neo-soul — but I kept getting the feedback, “Sis, we’re trying to get your songs placed on a Britney Spears album. You need to know how to write pop music.”

That’s when I learned pop is simple on purpose. R&B and neo-soul are complex — deep lyrics, intricate melodies, riffs that go up and down. Pop is direct; it cuts through instantly. My first understanding of my sound came from blending R&B’s richness with pop’s simplicity.

Then in 2013, I moved back to the continent and had to start all over again. I wasn’t singing to Americans anymore. Most people didn’t care about my English; they wanted melodies and rhythms they could dance to. I even studied the psychology behind it,  how we, as Africans, are kind of escapists. We don’t want to dwell on problems; we want to dance them away.

So redefining my sound was adapting it to the people in front of me. It’s been evolving ever since.

Q: A lot of women step into the music industry without really knowing what they’re getting into. What are some specific things female creatives should look out for before taking that leap?

First, you need to know that your presence as a woman will be welcomed by some and rejected by others. There are still people with very primitive ideas who believe a woman’s place is to stay quiet. You have to be ready for those unspoken biases, because they will come up.

You also need to understand patriarchy, how it shapes the African music industry, and the ways you can still cut through despite it. Unfortunately, that same system means you might be sexualized. You might approach a producer or manager for help, and they see you as bait instead of talent.

One of the earliest lessons I learned was: never go to the studio alone. Always have someone with you. And how I dress on stage is not how I dress in the studio. Tems once mentioned wearing baggy clothes to the studio to avoid distractions — that reminded me of my strategy. It’s sad that in 2025 this is still necessary, but safety comes first.

Another big one is learning how to have allies and how to give. Nobody owes you anything. If someone supports you, show up for them in return. Attend other people’s events. If you’re being interviewed, show up early, maybe even bring a gift. Especially in the early days, most people are doing you a favour unless you’re already famous or funding everything yourself. Reciprocity goes a long way in building genuine relationships.

Q: You’ve worked in a male-dominated space for a long time. What’s one experience that really tested your resolve as a woman in the industry, and how did you overcome it?

One of my earliest wake-up calls came when I was just 19, living in Los Angeles. A friend of my uncle’s said he knew a big producer and offered to take me to the studio. I went, and that day, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony’s Layzie Bone happened to be there working on his solo album. They asked me to record a chorus for him, and I did. I was over the moon.

The producer told me to come back the next day. I agreed, thinking this was a breakthrough moment. But then he said, “Yeah, when you get here, be ready to give me a massage.”

I kept my cool and told him, “I’m not a massage therapist, but I can help you arrange one.” I wasn’t going to explode in that moment; I still had to protect my dignity and my career prospects. But that’s when I learned: not every bridge is meant to be crossed. Some bridges you burn without regret.

When I declined, he tried to pressure me: “I’m going to put you in front of Snoop Dogg and all these people. Why should you get an easy ride? This is what it takes.”

That was my cue to walk away. I hung up, never went back, and never spoke to him again.

Some opportunities aren’t worth the cost. People will try to take advantage when they see you’re hungry for success. But the gift you have, the one God gave you, will make room for you without compromising who you are. Every closed door isn’t a dead end; sometimes it’s just divine protection.

Q: Let’s talk about your course, Strategy to Stage. It’s a power-packed bundle for female artists. What inspired you to create it? Was there an “aha” moment?

The “aha” moment came from my DMs. I’d get constant messages from young women asking, “How do you navigate this industry? How do you make certain moves look so effortless? How did you connect with that brand? Can you be my big sister and guide me?”

I’d share bits of advice here and there, but it was never deep or structured. Around that time, I’d already released five albums and was in between projects, so I asked myself: What can I create that’s useful, impactful, and truly helpful?

That’s when I decided to package my knowledge. In the digital space, people always say what’s in your head has value, and I wanted to turn that value into something tangible. Strategy to Stage became my way of being of service while giving women the practical tools I wish I’d had when I was starting out.

Q: So what exactly does Strategy to Stage cover?

It’s everything I wish someone had handed me on day one — a step-by-step toolkit for navigating the music industry as a woman.

We start with the business side, because that’s where most creatives get lost. How to register your music. How to protect your intellectual property. How to set up your brand so it’s not just pretty, but profitable.

Then we go deep into performance, how to prepare for shows, connect with your audience, and leave an impression that makes promoters want to book you again.

It’s also about relationships. I teach you how to network without feeling fake, how to spot genuine opportunities versus time-wasters, and how to maintain those connections long after the first meeting.

At its core, Strategy to Stage is designed to help female artists move with confidence, clarity, and strategy, so you’re not just talented, you’re also impossible to overlook.

Q: Your course also talks about power dynamics and helping women take charge in the entertainment industry. What’s one power move you think every female creative should be using right now?

Strategic collaborations — hands down.

Where I live, in Kenya, there’s still a huge fascination with international talent. People often support outsiders more than their own. That can work to your advantage if you collaborate with artists outside your immediate market.

It’s like going over your boss’s head in a corporate job; you’re signalling that you take your brand seriously by aligning it with other established brands and collaborators.

Also, don’t shy away from doing a few things for free in the beginning. Whether it’s a high-profile collaboration, a brand partnership, or a performance, sometimes the credibility you gain is worth more than the check. You’re not just selling your art but also the company you keep, and when those associations are respected, your value grows.

Q: Since you mentioned brand partnerships and deals, how did you navigate that? In entertainment, so many artists sign with labels or partners who don’t support them, or worse, exploit them. Especially without a big team or a lawyer on hand, how did you handle contracts and partnerships?

You have to have a lawyer always.

Even if you can’t afford one upfront, some lawyers will negotiate your deal and take their payment on the backend. That’s how I handled all my first deals — record, publishing, and licensing. I’d bring in a lawyer to cross my T’s, dot my I’s, and strip out any language that didn’t align with my goals.

And if you can’t get a top entertainment lawyer, get creative. Law school students can read contracts; tap your network.

Now, tools like ChatGPT make it even easier. You still need a lawyer, but for simple one-page contracts like ambassador or influencer agreements, you can upload them to AI to break down the terms in plain English. Many contracts are written in intentionally complex language, with clauses like “for the whole universe” that lock you in far longer than you realise.

Be smart with legal language. Partner with up-and-coming lawyers who believe in your potential. The big names won’t look your way until they’re sure you’ll make them money, but the hungry ones will, and they’re usually more affordable.

Q: Interesting. How was that for you, specifically in your own journey?

I won’t talk about my first two record deals. I’ll speak about the one that really shaped my career in Africa — Chocolate City.

It was kind of magical. I’d just moved from Los Angeles to Atlanta, which is Black Entertainmentville in America. At the time, I was lost as a songwriter and asked God what my next career move should be.

I started going out more, and one night at an African club in Atlanta, I met DJ Eu — Davido’s DJ. He told me, “I like your voice. Why don’t you do a remix to Oleku by Ice Prince?”

I recorded it immediately and sent it to him. He began playing it in his sets and pushed it to Nigerian blogs, which I didn’t even realize had so much influence. The remix spread quickly, and eventually, someone at Chocolate City heard it.

They emailed me saying they were expanding from Nigeria to Kenya and thought I’d be a great fit. They asked if I’d sign and move back from the States. I knew it was an answered prayer.

About a month and a half later, I signed, and for the next five years, I split my time between Kenya and Nigeria — sometimes a month in each, sometimes longer, depending on work. The two industries are worlds apart. Nigerians are incredibly patriotic, and I knew I couldn’t expect them to push me as if I were their own completely. But good music cuts through anywhere, and that’s what I held on to.

Q: Would you say the music scene in Nigeria is more interesting than the one here in Kenya?

Victoria: Whoa, don’t get me cancelled. Nigeria’s scene is alive. Ours in Kenya is not dead, but it’s definitely on oxygen support.

The ecosystem is the difference. In Nigeria, when DJ Edu sent out my remix, he had a portal for a coalition of DJs. He blasted it out, and they all started playing it. There’s this collective unity, especially for emerging sounds. Industry people, even those at MTV Base or Trace TV, are always out at events like Industry Night, scouting fresh talent.

When I came back home, it was the opposite. Unless you had an international co-sign, nobody cared. For example, Trace TV Nigeria had a guy named Phil who was out every night, always asking, “Victoria, what’s new? What’s your latest release?” Meanwhile, his equivalent in Kenya told me in a meeting, “I don’t want Kenyan artists to know me. Don’t send me your music. I don’t care.”

I told him, “The guy with your job in Nigeria is in the streets putting Nigerian music on the map, and you don’t even want people to know your email?”

I’m rebellious, so I gave his contact to some Kenyan artists based in the UK. Next thing I knew, he called me, furious. That’s the difference. One side works for you, the other works against you. And I had to figure out how to navigate both.

Q: In Africa, Afrobeats can sometimes sound similar, but the best artists still stand out. How did you find your niche, grow your community, and define your brand?

Consistency, both in visuals and in sound. I wanted people to hear my music and instantly say, “That’s Victoria’s voice.”

With visuals, I took the lead from day one. For almost every music video I’ve released, I either co-directed or was deeply involved in everything — from the fashion to the overall quality. That level of consistency meant people had a clear expectation whenever they saw me.

Q: What was the defining moment in your career — the point where you went from under the radar to everywhere?

There’ve been a few, and honestly, many were tied to controversy.

One early moment came from an interview on the Churchill Show — the biggest TV show in Kenya. I’d just returned from the U.S., rocking a red wig, bright yellow shoes, and a tight leather jacket. I thought I nailed it.

Then I went home to over 10,000 tweets dragging me for my look, my accent, and the fact that I didn’t speak Swahili fluently. Everything except my music.

It was defining because they were attacking the exact things that made my brand unique. In Kenya, makeup wasn’t a huge part of the culture. In Nigeria, it was. My makeup journey started in America as a makeup artist, so I’d always show up in full glam. People teased me for it, but it later landed me a brand ambassadorship with Maybelline.

The same things people criticise often set you apart. Sometimes your haters are just confused fans pointing out what’s different about you.

Q: Your course, Strategy to Stage, is all about helping female creatives win in Africa. Why should someone get it right now?

If you’re a female artist feeling lost and unsure where to start, or if you’re struggling mentally, which I also addressed, this course is for you. It’s packed with strategies, plays, and advice from someone who’s been through the fire and found a way to stay.

It’s for any woman who wants to get a foot in the door and have longevity. Part of that is realizing your career path doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s. One of my goals is to model my career after Sade — release an album every 5–10 years, then disappear until the next one. I’m not chasing clout. I want my music’s quality to speak so loudly that I can live my life between projects.

Lauryn Hill once said it took her a lifetime to make The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, and she needed to live more life to write the next one. I believe the same — as a creative, you owe it to yourself and your audience to be authentic.

Your path can be different. You’re not failing just because it doesn’t match someone else’s timeline. Even if you’re not an artist, share the course with one you know. It’s full of gems and yes, a little tea too.

It’s available on Selar. You can grab it directly from my  Selar store. The course also comes with a detailed 59-page workbook — complete with prompts and space for your notes. I designed it to help draw out your creativity, the same way I do when songwriting with artists who can’t quite put their thoughts into words.

Victoria Kimani’s story is proof that resilience, consistency, and knowing your lane will take you further than chasing every trend. From mastering two very different music ecosystems to turning criticism into career-defining wins, her journey is a masterclass for any creative who wants to last. 

If you’re ready to start building with intention, Strategy to Stage is your roadmap. Learn from Victoria’s wins, mistakes, and insider strategies all packed into one course.

Get the course now.