In a world where women’s words remain suspect, the pen becomes a weapon. Being a journalist and engaged in electronic music means exposing yourself to labels, threats, and sometimes silence. But it also means refusing to stay quiet in an ecosystem that prefers advertising to criticism.
It’s now been a few months since I started working at ClubbingTV, a media outlet where I can freely say “I,” and above all talk about us, women, in a scene that remains largely male-dominated. You know our editorial line: we are not afraid to address what disturbs—market logic and capitalistic pressure, media under strain, parity, GBV, and DJs with rape allegations still being booked.

For this article, I put out a call for testimonies from women journalists or communicators in the scene, of different ages and trajectories. Here are the four profiles who agreed to testify:


J1, a manager and early-career journalist who has been active in electronic music for a while, often on the front line of sensitive topics and publicly exposed.


J2, a communicator and early-career journalist who has already tried to address feminist or GBV-related topics and has faced repercussions.


J3, a highly experienced journalist (13 years in the field), engaged, identified as such, and regularly confronted with backlash and pressure from the scene.


J4, a young journalist who has been immersed in electronic music longer than the others, but who has never had the opportunity—or perceived necessity—to address these topics in a professional context.

Their trajectories and positions differ. Some are exposed, attacked, stigmatized. Some carry critique; others evolve in a space where one observes more than one disturbs. This diversity of experiences helps us understand the complexity of women’s media discourse in this environment.

The cost of engagement

We are taught to write without getting involved, fresh out of school, already in line. A paradox that has always surprised me: why, when media are spaces of struggle, are we expected to remain impartial? In a scene where violence and sexism appear even on our dancefloors, the pen becomes a tool of resistance. For a woman journalist in electronic music, writing is already an act of activism.

But the discomfort surrounding engagement reveals the depth of the taboo: in a scene that claims to be progressive, safe, feminist, of course we—women—pay the price of engagement. Harassment, workplace stigma, being labeled as those who “go too far.”

J1: “Social, legal, and financial pressures are real, yes. It’s difficult to assert yourself, to be respected, especially when you disturb (…)”


J2: “I’ve been told to tone down my words because they disturbed or ‘destroyed’ a DJ. I was also told that it wouldn’t change the world anyway, so better not burn my reputation.”


J3: “Yes, I’ve already been labeled ‘too engaged,’ ‘feminist,’ as if it were a personal whim rather than legitimate journalistic work. (…) I’ve been accused of ‘killing the vibe’ or being too demanding. Some projects or access to artists have become more complicated because I didn’t fit the role of ‘complacent journalist.’”

Critique disturbs, debate frightens, and the slightest stance is perceived as sabotage. This critique comes with a price: symbolic, moral, sometimes professional. But the pressures and threats themselves are very real. Must we always carry the weight of courage?

J1: “Some topics I addressed sparked controversies (…) I also took a stance on certain Parisian bookings where an artist was deprogrammed after comments and stories I posted. These stories eventually made their way to the artist and their agent. He contacted me directly—he had found my phone number—to tell me my statements were unprofessional and amounted, in his view, to defamation. In hindsight, I know I was lucky this remained a discussion and didn’t lead to a formal complaint. Several friends of mine haven’t been so lucky: some received formal notices and direct pressure regarding their published content and professional position.”


J2: “I received a few cease-and-desist letters, and people seem more careful about what they say around me.”


J3: “I know that many professionals boycott me because of my positions.”

But who other than women or minorities is left to do the dirty work? Who would speak about GBV except those who can experience it? For our sisters, for those who work alongside potential aggressors in the scene, for those who stay silent under pressure, for those who are not believed. Critical articles and strong positions scare people because they break the illusion of a ‘progressive’ scene. Engagement often carried by women, who in turn face digital violence.

J3: “And more recently I faced harassment (my number was leaked to dealers), and threats of defamation lawsuits. I feel like I’m being ‘annoying’ even though I’m just fighting against GBV and, more recently, far-right ideas in our parties.”

The progressive façade

Conversely, who protects, who leads, who sanitizes, who depoliticizes? A rhetorical question I leave hanging.
But of course, above all, it is a matter of image. Appearing engaged and truly being engaged — that is the question.

J1: “But this façade of openness hides many automatisms and power dynamics. Maybe I don’t always realize it because I move forward, I work, I push through. But I know that this ‘gender neutrality’ I feel is also a fragile privilege, which only holds as long as I stay in my place within their codes.”


J2: “Of course I accept that the presumption of innocence exists, but we should also assume that victims tell the truth. Journalists can abandon this neutrality to morally support victims.”


J3: “In a scene where power relations are very strong, neutrality often looks like a façade. Pretending to be ‘neutral’ mostly helps maintain the status quo. Talking about violence, sexism, or inequality isn’t lacking neutrality—it’s doing your job. Refusing to do so, on the other hand, is a political choice disguised as objectivity.”

The cost of silence

But while for me it has become relatively easy to take up space and speak, this is not the case for all of us. In a supposedly engaged environment, not all content is welcome. And the omerta I describe doesn’t come from colleagues, but from those who own the media.

J1: “In my experience, electronic music media remain hesitant to address sensitive topics—violence, sexism, power relations, the hypocrisy of the scene. Too many prefer to look away, afraid of losing connections or upsetting the ‘right’ circles.”


J2: “There are few media outlets that tackle these subjects, even fewer in an assertive and caring way. If it became a more common topic, maybe it would be less stigmatized.”


J3: “The general trend is to avoid confrontation. Many prefer celebration, fun, positivity, marketing. Difficult subjects are treated superficially or too late, when scandals break. There are exceptions, of course, but the rule remains a form of collective self-censorship to preserve the image of a supposedly ‘safe’ scene. It’s more dangerous, in my opinion, to pretend everything is fine and continue working with artists, agencies, and professionals who are ‘problematic’ (and that word is an understatement).”

If some of us pay the price of speaking out, others suffer the cost of silence. Working in the very sectors that inspire them only to end up promoting aggressors is even more disheartening. For a woman journalist, denouncing the scene’s abuses often means breaking a tacit pact: that of neutrality and subordination to male peers.

J1: “In this scene, ‘journalistic neutrality’ is a fiction. A façade that often serves to preserve economic interests, networks, or egos.”

A revealing counterpoint from J4

J4’s testimony, younger in the profession yet immersed in electronic music for a long time, offers a precious counterpoint. She seems concerned about these issues, aware of inequalities and violence, but has never proposed, nor had the opportunity, to address GBV or feminism. She has never been discouraged, stigmatized, or attacked for speaking too directly.

This absence of backlash does not come from personal protection: it is tied to her place in a system where cultural journalism often reduces itself to promotional writing.
Her testimony shows that feminist stances in electronic music media are not uniform: some women are exposed the moment they speak, others evolve below the visibility threshold where friction does not yet appear.

This gap shows how the system holds together: as long as you don’t take up too much space, as long as you don’t question anything, as long as you don’t disturb, you can pass “beside” the problem. It may also be generational, given that J4 is older than the three other journalists who grew up/ evolved in a context where these struggles were less silenced.

Not all hope is lost

This is a rather dark picture I’ve painted, but in reality, there are benefits to being feminist and engaged in this scene. There is recognition—between us, and from you as well. You who read us and legitimize our voices through ClubbingTV or elsewhere, you who fuel our debates, you who give us visibility. I also asked all these women to leave a message for anyone who wants to raise her voice in the struggle:

J1: “I would tell her to go for it. To write. Even if it’s scary, even if it disturbs. Because silence feeds everything we denounce. This scene needs voices that do not tremble, pens that dare to go where others look away. Writing about these subjects isn’t ‘spitting in the soup,’ it’s wanting to make it better. There will be criticism, pressure, people who will make you feel like you’re going too far. But it’s always the ones you disturb who speak the loudest.
I would also tell her to protect herself, to surround herself, to educate herself. Knowledge is your best armor. And when you write with conviction, with facts, with heart, no one can take that from you. Writing is a political act. And in a scene where everyone wants to appear ‘cool’ and ‘neutral,’ being sincere is already a form of rebellion.”

J2: “Go for it, be cautious if you need to, but don’t avoid these subjects. You will be dissuaded, you will be frightened, but that only reinforces how necessary it is to talk and write about them.”

J3: “Don’t let the idea of being ‘too much’ or ‘too something’ intimidate you. The topics you want to address are legitimate and necessary. You don’t need to be well-behaved to be heard. Surround yourself, educate yourself, move at your own pace, but don’t give up. You will always scare someone—might as well be for the right reasons.”

J4: “Surround yourself with allies—women AND men—who support your stance and your articles/reporting.”

I invite you to read Laure Beaulieu’s article to explore the topic further.

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