Sitting down with Honey Dijon isn’t so much an interview as it is an education. One minute she’s laughing about her plant-based carb guilt, the next she’s detailing the intersection of house music and queer liberation with the eloquence of a seasoned historian. It’s all delivered in the magnetic, no-nonsense charm that’s made her not just a global DJ icon, but a cultural force.
Honey is a Chicago native, but she’s spent years splitting her time between London and New York. “I’m a New Yorker through and through,” she says, “but even when I go back now, I don’t recognise the city.”
She speaks about New York with the kind of love that includes criticism — “It’s become a place to consume instead of create” — and praises Manchester for holding onto the raw, working-class energy that birthed so many music scenes. “London is like your posh older sister,” she laughs. “Manchester’s your wild little one who’s still out there living.”
For Honey, the origins of house music are inseparable from the story of queer resistance. “This culture came from marginalised queer people of colour, inner-city kids. We weren’t allowed into other spaces, so we built our own.” She explains how those early club nights were about joy, release and survival, often coinciding with the AIDS crisis. “Clubs weren’t just parties,” she says. “They were community centres, places to find medical help, information, or just someone who understood.”
Now, decades later, those same politics remain in her music. She’s fiercely aware of her place in a lineage — “I stand on the shoulders of Frankie Knuckles, Derrick Carter, all of them” — but she’s also conscious of what she represents as a Black trans woman in a space that still isn’t diverse enough. “There’s not a lot of people like me in this industry,” she says, “so I’ve had to create my own space. And if I can open doors while I’m doing it? Even better.”
It’s this attitude that caught Beyoncé’s attention during the making of Renaissance. When the team were researching Chicago house and ballroom culture, they came to Honey. “I thought it was a prank at first,” she laughs, recalling the email her manager almost dismissed. “But I sent over everything — tapes, articles, stories — because this was our history, and I wanted to get it right.” That collaboration eventually led to a Grammy win. At the ceremony, she channeled her idol, Grace Jones, whose look she emulated on the red carpet. “A bitch got a motherfucking Grammy,” she beams. “And my dad got to see it before he passed.”
Despite all the accolades, Honey remains grounded. “There’s no end goal,” she says. “I’ve already won by surviving, by doing what I love every day.” Fame, money, Grammys — they’re all nice, but they’re not the reason she does this. “Comparison is the thief of joy,” she says. “I don’t worry about what others are doing. There’s enough sunshine for everyone.”
Lunch, of course, is filled with laughs — mostly about carbs, donuts, and her alter ego Tequila Jenkins, who apparently liked to go out topless. She speaks fondly about Glastonbury (“I stayed in a caravan — very posh!”), and finds time to fangirl over Pedro Pascal, who she recently DJed for, the pictures of her with the Last Of Us actor on his 50th birthday going viral, thanks to his ‘Protect The Dolls’ t-shirt. “Don’t ask if we kissed unless you’re ready to pay me,” she jokes.
Underneath the glamour, though, is a work ethic carved from Chicago grit and New York hustle. “I’m working class,” she says. “I get up and do what needs to be done. There’s always someone prettier, younger, hungrier — so I go harder.” Her ambition is not just personal, but collective. “I’m making space for the next person to come up. That’s the real goal.”
By the end of lunch, it’s clear why Honey Dijon doesn’t do many interviews — because when she does, she gives all of herself. Art, activism, house music, Grace Jones, donuts and all.
So, what’s next? A show with the Hallé Orchestra at Bridgewater Hall on Thursday 22 May. Honey describes DJ’ing as transcendental—like going somewhere else in her head. That sense of immersion and transformation is something she hopes to share with Manchester. She’ll be joined by local artist Sezbenny, in what promises to be a one-off blend of orchestral drama and dancefloor energy.
Grab tickets here.
