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All-women or FLINTA lineups, special shows dedicated to “female DJs,” editorial formats such as “women DJs to watch in 2025”… these initiatives are multiplying (especially around March 8th and after the MeTooDJs wave), all driven by a stated intention: giving more space to women in electronic music.
And at this point you might be thinking: what is she going to criticize this time?
Don’t worry — it’s not these initiatives themselves that are being questioned here, but rather the intentions behind them and what they sometimes reveal despite themselves.
It would be absurd to deny the usefulness of these different formats. For decades, club and festival lineups have been overwhelmingly dominated by male artists. Highlighting women artists or FLINTA people (women, lesbians, intersex, trans and non-binary people) can therefore appear as a necessary way to correct a structural imbalance.
But what does it ultimately reveal when “special” spaces still need to be created in order to program women?
Because these initiatives can sometimes produce a paradoxical effect. By isolating women artists within dedicated formats, they risk reinforcing the idea that their presence remains an exception within general programming. Visibility exists, but within a separate framework — almost a thematic one.
In other words, programming women becomes an editorial concept in itself. The word woman — or FLINTA — becomes a category of its own. And in 2026, we should probably have moved past that.
The issue, of course, is not that women are highlighted. The problem lies more in how this visibility is organized. When women artists mainly appear through “all-women” nights, special broadcasts, or dedicated selections, it can unintentionally contribute to keeping them in a separate category rather than normalizing their place within the musical ecosystem.
It echoes the French word “djette” — a term many artists reject precisely because it suggests something different from simply being a DJ.
Yet many artists are asking for the opposite. They don’t want to be booked as “female DJs,” but simply as artists. They want to be invited for their sets, their productions, and their artistic universe.
The real question, then, is whether these initiatives actually transform programming practices in the long term. Real progress cannot be measured only by the number of themed events organized around representation. It is also — and perhaps more importantly — visible in how artists are integrated into everyday programming.
Who gets the closing slots?
Who appears at the top of the poster?
Who benefits from the most visibility in the communication of festivals and clubs?
Equality is not only about numerical presence. It is also about symbolic position.
A nuance must nevertheless be introduced. Not all initiatives dedicated to women or FLINTA people follow the same logic. Some collectives and events deliberately create women-centered or non-mixed spaces for reasons related to safety, representation, or community building. In those cases, these formats respond to a political or collective approach driven by the communities concerned themselves.
The criticism here is less directed at those spaces than at more institutional uses of these formats, when they become a quick way to signal a commitment to diversity without questioning the deeper balance of programming.
The recent wave of initiatives following the MeToo movement in the electronic music scene has also produced a flood of formats dedicated to women DJs, safety, and prevention. While these efforts are welcome, many of them feel closer to marketing or trend-following than to a genuine shift in awareness. Lists are published, statements from well-known DJs are relayed, but the structural issues remain untouched. The space is filled without actually expanding its boundaries. Image activism replaces real introspection.
And when you look closely, many of these initiatives are often carried by women working within structures still run by cis white men who have suddenly discovered that this topic can generate followers and attention. Not all of them, of course — some people are genuinely trying to change things — but the focus here is on those who treat it more as an opportunity for visibility than a real commitment to structural change
These formats can also produce another unintended effect — though perhaps not a surprising one. They sometimes fuel the most reactionary narratives within the scene. In some circles, “all-women” lineups are used as evidence by those who claim that women artists now benefit from some kind of advantage or preferential treatment in programming. The argument comes up again and again: if they are booked, it must be because they are women, not because of their work.
This rhetoric conveniently ignores the long history of a scene dominated by men. But it also reveals a deeper discomfort with the evolution of the electronic music landscape.
Because today, women artists are numerous, present across all genres, and their legitimacy no longer rests on being exceptions or symbolic corrections. They produce, DJ, run labels, and headline clubs and festivals. In other words, they have nothing left to prove — and certainly not through formats that still suggest, however unintentionally, that they belong to a separate category.
So what are the solutions?
Instead of multiplying shows titled “women who make electronic music,” why not simply create formats such as “those who make electronic music,” where women, men and FLINTA artists appear with the same level of importance?
The same approach could apply to lineups, panels and conferences. Too often, women are invited to speak only about gender equality or gender-based violence, as if their expertise stopped there. Yet they produce music, run labels, manage clubs, organize festivals and shape the artistic direction of the scene.
Including them in conversations about creativity, the music economy, or the evolution of electronic music would likely be a much stronger sign of normalization than constantly confining them to thematic spaces.
Ultimately, the real transformation will happen when the presence of women and FLINTA artists is no longer a topic in itself. When their programming no longer needs to be announced, justified or framed by a special label — and when these initiatives genuinely benefit the communities they claim to support.
The day that happens, programming women will no longer be a special event.
It will simply be the norm.