Perhaps the most influential photo for a DJ’s career is one taken at the German club Berghain. The image is familiar: in the background stands the former power plant on the border of Kreuzberg and Friedrichshain, while in the foreground, a broadly smiling DJ poses (unless they opt for the "DJ Looking Sad" pose). The photo is worth its weight in gold on a Monday on social media. Beyond thousands of likes, it also serves as a stamp of approval. This DJ has played at Berghain and is therefore deemed trustworthy. This is perhaps the most iconic image in the Western, contemporary culture of electronic dance music.
The fact that this image has become so iconic is thanks to social media. There are countless iconic images of other legendary clubs, such as Studio 54 in New York, Haçienda in Manchester, or Boccaccio in Destelbergen, but these rarely, if ever, feature a DJ. The internet has enabled a shift that has led to the dominance of the ego. Likewise, tourists don’t just take a photo of the Eiffel Tower but a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background—after all, these are the most fun to share on social media.
The internet and social media have permanently changed the world over the past decades. This article explores what that means for DJs. The idea emerged during an interview with Brussels-based DJ collective Hard Being Hot. Each member, individually working hard on their DJ career, painted a bleak picture of their digital reality. Words like addiction, negative side effects, relentless pressure, and exhausting performance culture came up repeatedly. It felt like a cry for help—but the emergency hotline on the other end had no answer ready. Just a silent shrug of resignation.
So let’s take a closer look at what exactly has changed over the past three decades. Was it better back in the day? How did the OGs do it? And how can you use social media in a healthy way as a DJ today?
A Complete Stranger
Once upon a time … when DJs weren’t celebrities. Tucked away in the corner of a club, they played the role of invisible guides, steering the dancefloor without stepping into the spotlight. Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton meticulously traced the history of the craft in their excellent book Last Night A DJ Saved My Life, detailing how the DJ transitioned from anonymity to stardom. Not that early DJs didn’t hold a special status, but their recognition largely remained within the club and the tight-knit community of clubbers. Think of the disco clubs in New York in the 1970s, the house clubs in Chicago in the 1980s, or the new beat clubs in Belgium during that same decade.
The DJ broke out of the club in the 1990s, coinciding—almost but not quite—with the rise of the internet. A perfect storm of factors elevated the DJ to a pedestal. Electronic dance music was exploding across Western Europe. Whether it was Berlin or Belgian techno, British acid house or IDM, Detroit techno or Chicago house from across the Atlantic, or even Dutch hardcore—the new and cutting-edge sounds took over culture at 125 beats per minute (or more, much more) and quickly went mainstream. The club scene followed suit. In April 1994, the now-iconic Fuse opened its doors in the Marolles district of Brussels, soon becoming a techno institution. A year later, it hosted the first edition of I LOVE TECHNO, a rave at Ghent’s Vooruit that would later grow into a massive event at Flanders Expo, attracting 40,000 ravers in a single night. Alongside these milestones, a scene developed at breakneck speed across the country, transforming from a tight underground community into a full-blown industry. Even Rock Werchter, Belgium’s legendary rock festival, started programming beats and DJs. Electronic music and club culture had arrived—and they were here to stay.
Not long after, the internet emerged. As told in Fuse: 30yrs Of Making Noise, the club’s history book, Fuse first experimented with internet connectivity in 1996, teaming up with London’s The End to organize the Cyberspace Link-Up party. It was, in a way, a pre-Boiler Room event—where a DJ from one club was broadcast via an ISDN connection to the other, and vice versa. The technology wasn’t quite there yet—the sound and video quality were poor—but the attempt embodied the experimental spirit that defined Fuse. In 1998, the club launched its own website—Belgium’s first—featuring a gig calendar and an audio player streaming live recordings from the club.
The internet played a pivotal role in the history of electronic music, but dj’s didn’t need it to break through. By the time the internet truly infiltrated everyday life, DJs had already been elevated to near-mythical status. Their relationship with fans was fueled by traditional media: print, radio, and television. In Belgium, the bilingual magazine Out Soon played a key role in this. Launched in 1992, it quickly became the go-to publication for anyone invested in club culture. It featured interviews with both national and international DJ icons—Laurent Garnier, Jeff Mills, Yves De Ruyter, Trish Van Eynde, Dave Clarke… The annual Reader’s Poll crowned the DJs readers loved most, celebrating them for what they did best: spinning records. Even then, producing music helped boost a DJ’s bookings. As one of the first global DJ superstars, Norman Cook (aka Fatboy Slim) explains in Last Night A DJ Saved My Life, his chart success directly impacted his market value as a DJ.
Over the last three decades, both DJs and electronic dance music have proven to be highly likeable. DJs have become cultural icons, rubbing shoulders with pop and rock stars. In 2004, Dutch DJ Tiësto performed at the opening ceremony of the Athens Olympics. In Belgium around the same time, brothers Stephen and David Dewaele (aka 2manydjs) conquered festival main stages worldwide with their unique mash-ups and visual DJ sets. Their album As Heard On Radio Soulwax Pt. 2 was even named the best pop album of 2002 by The New York Times.
DJs had already reached celebrity status before the digital revolution, but the rise of the internet amplified it. The emergence of MP3s and the (legal or not-so-legal) distribution of digital music didn’t just save DJs from back problems caused by lugging around crates of vinyl—it made virtually all music instantly available. First as downloads, then via streaming, digital music files became the currency of DJs: as an exclusive music collection, but also as a way to showcase their craft to the world. No longer confined to plastic cassette tapes, DJ mixes—now hour-long digital files—allowed far more people than just clubgoers to experience what a DJ could pull from a pair of CDJs (Pioneer’s digital turntables). Before the digital revolution, cassette tapes had also been shared and copied, but the internet made it effortless. Platforms like SoundCloud and Mixcloud became the perfect spaces to share them.
Equally crucial for DJs was the rise of social media over the past two decades. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter/X, TikTok—these platforms are now inescapable. Myspace was a game-changer for music, allowing artists to reach audiences without needing labels or radio play. YouTube made video an essential part of internet culture, while Facebook Live and Twitch took live streaming to another level. Whether we like it or not, these platforms are embedded in our daily lives. Their owners have become the new oligarchs of capitalist society.
Boiler Room & Lefto Early Bird
In 2010, three friends in London launched a new digital platform: Boiler Room. A webcam was duct-taped to a wall in a disused boiler room, capturing a simple, static shot of a DJ spinning records—broadcast live on the internet. Soon, they added an audience standing around the DJ, and the format clicked. Boiler Room became a global phenomenon. Watching a DJ set on a screen became as normal as going to a club. More than that—millions of people tuned in to the most popular Boiler Room sets. A session on the platform became a stamp of approval for a DJ.
The first Belgian Boiler Room took place in Brussels in 2014 and, just like in London, was small-scale. DJ Lefto Early Bird played records from his living room, and Renaat Vandepapeliere, the head of the renowned label R&S Records, was also present. The national newspaper De Morgen dedicated an article to the remarkable online event. In 2016, the first large-scale Boiler Room took place at one of Brussels' most iconic landmarks: the Atomium. Once again, Lefto Early Bird curated the event. A multinational alcoholic beverage company stepped in as a sponsor. The Boiler Room business model was now firmly established.
At the time, Lefto Early Bird was still working in traditional media, hosting a Sunday evening show on the national radio station Studio Brussel since 1999. In 2020, the national newspaper Het Laatste Nieuws—another traditional medium—reported on his move to online station Kiosk Radio. After 827 radio shows, he was ready for a new radio adventure, which he found in a tiny wooden kiosk in Warandepark, in the heart of Brussels.
Lefto Early Bird: "My move away from Stubru had several reasons. Internally, I received less support for my show, and I also noticed that interest in deep and leftfield music was waning. I felt lonely. At Kiosk, I found what Stubru had not yet invested in at the time: a chatbox, a camera close to the DJ booth, and a pleasant setting. In the large buildings of the public broadcaster, I was always searching for props to create a set, but that was a challenge every time. At Kiosk, it felt like coming home. It wasn’t about money for me—otherwise, I would have been better off staying at Stubru. At Kiosk, it's all about community. Every Sunday evening at 6 PM, the chatbox explodes, showing how far your reach extends across the world. People are listening from Kenya, Syria, South Africa, or Iran. I’ve even received messages from the frontline in Ukraine. That’s the power of the internet. And it works the other way around too—sometimes, listeners suddenly knock on the Kiosk’s window because they want to experience it in person. And that’s totally possible."
Kiosk Radio In The King’s Garden
Under a green roof of branches in the Warande Park, formed by the same trees that King Philippe looks up from his palace, Kiosk Radio is hidden. The contrast with the stately spaces of the gigantic palace nearby could not be greater. Where in one the area is hundreds of times larger than the number of people it occupies, in the other the space is just too small. The radio studio is less than ten square meters in size, but at least ten people crawl in every day, sometimes several at the same time and - especially on sunny days - hundreds of people gather on the terrace. Visit Brussels promotes Kiosk as 'a radio station with a bar where you can dance under the trees!'
Kiosk Radio founder Mickael Bursztejn vividly remembers the first time he discovered the possibilities of radio on the internet. The popular Brussels-based internet forum Boups.com was already experimenting with streams on its website around the turn of the millennium, planting a seed in Bursztejn’s still-adolescent mind.
Mickael Bursztejn: “When we started Kiosk in 2017, NTS in London, Red Light Radio in Amsterdam, and The Lot Radio in New York already existed. We saw potential in this new model for radio, which had become accessible thanks to increasingly affordable technology. Initially, we mainly used Facebook Live for our broadcasts, as it was immensely popular at the time. Later, we developed our own website, where you can now listen to and watch live DJs every day. Thanks to the internet, a small niche medium like ours can still have a big impact. Online video has truly made our medium more appealing.”
The current generation of online radio stations can be seen as the modern equivalent of the pirate radio stations of the past. Both are havens for mavericks, where alternative and exciting music is played—music you won’t hear on national radio. However, today’s online stations have learned an important lesson from the past: they are no longer illegal. Their business model includes an online license for author rights as well as the costs of purchasing and maintaining equipment. Of course, it makes a big difference that they no longer need an expensive transmitter tower or a government license for a scarce spot on the FM band.
But still, there is also clever cultural entrepreneurship behind it. Kiosk Radio, for example, operates a bar and a large terrace in the city park, generating solid revenue, especially during the spring and summer months. At the same time, it never pays DJs for their services. Financially, that would be unfeasible, and DJs don’t expect it either. What truly matters to them is a high-quality recording and broadcasting of their DJ set.
It is clear that internet radio has become an essential part of DJs’ lives today. In Brussels, alongside Kiosk, there is also the French Lyl Radio, which occasionally broadcasts from Brasserie Atlas, and the brand-new Gimic, a full-time studio and bar in the Marolles district. Kiosk founder Mickael Bursztejn has witnessed the change in recent years: “Seven years ago, there were far fewer DJs. Now, every DJ wants to make their voice heard, and a radio broadcast is the perfect medium for that. It is our role to act as a gatekeeper. We serve as a filter in the vast offering, and DJs see Kiosk as a quality label. At the same time, we provide listeners with easy access to niche music. New genres are developing at lightning speed, much faster than ever before. As a programmer for an online radio station, I have a front-row seat. It is our role to represent that culture.”
Video Or It Didn’t Happen
That ever-present camera, whether in our pocket or in the radio studio, turns DJs into recognizable faces. But that wasn’t always the case. Lefto Early Bird still vividly remembers the 1990s: “As a teenager, I used to go to discotheque Extreme in Affligem, a big square box along a main road. Inside, it was pitch dark, with a strobe light constantly flashing. We went there to listen to DJ Phiphi—he was the resident DJ and, to us, the star of the night. But we had no idea what he looked like. It was purely about the records he played.”
A DJ can no longer go through life anonymously today. Under the pressure of maintaining an attractive social media profile, DJs have become full-fledged brands, with a digital identity that doesn’t necessarily have to match physical reality. DJ Lola Haro experiences this firsthand: “Life on Instagram is much more romantic than reality. I once came home from a terrible party—it just didn’t work, no DJ could get the energy going. Yet the next day, another DJ posted a fake story about how amazing it was. So, don’t believe everything you see.”
"Pic or it didn’t happen." That phrase almost seems to apply to DJ sets as well. If you don’t play the online game, do you even exist as a DJ? Lola Haro deliberately resists that external pressure, as she explains: “I’m often asked to post more videos or to hire professional videographers. Maybe my career would be further along if I invested more in it, but I refuse. I want it to always be about the music. And what if a video captures a moment that I later can’t or don’t want to recreate in a different setting? I’d rather avoid that risk of disappointment.”
That doesn’t mean Lola Haro isn’t active on social media. She frequently shares atmospheric behind-the-scenes photos, driven by her interest in photography and beautiful imagery. She enjoys it, and it fits with the digital version of who she is. Lefto Early Bird, too, presents a kind of visual diary to his followers. With an almost non-stop stream of short videos, snapshots, and stories, he takes viewers along in his life.
Though Lefto Early Bird isn’t a digital native like Lola Haro, he is a tech geek who was among the first to own an iPhone—even before they were available in Belgium. Like a Swiss Army knife, he takes on multiple roles: photographer, videographer, designer (he often creates digital flyers for parties he plays at or prints posters for his Kiosk radio show), and artistic director. He and Lola Haro turn necessity into a virtue—they use social media in ways that genuinely suit them.
For Mickael Bursztejn, this visual culture and the constant presence of the camera also have a positive effect. “There is much more attention to physical expression, style, dance, and looks. There is a cult of personality, which I believe has also led to emancipation. And those who don’t want to be in front of the camera play with that instead. They blur the camera or wear a mask. At the very least, it makes things interesting.”
It Used To Be Better
DJ Sherø has been in the game for three decades. The Antwerp-born DJ now lives in Berlin, runs her own label, KlubKid Records, and regularly plays at Panoramabar, the second room of the infamous Berghain. In the '90s and 2000s, she was a resident DJ at Café d’Anvers and Club Geluk in Antwerp and a busy touring DJ under the name D’Stephanie. What was it like trying to break through as a DJ before the internet?
Stephanie: "I organized my own parties at Café d’Anvers, which meant intensive flyering. I had my own radio show on Radio Centraal, a popular local station in Antwerp that was closely linked to the Antwerp fashion scene and the Academy. Many people from those scenes also worked at Café d’Anvers—it was all connected. Equally important was USA Import, the record store in Antwerp where we would gather every Thursday evening to listen to the latest releases. Everyone in the scene was around. As DJs, we booked each other for our own parties. I also made cassette tapes and handed them out to clubs. When Fuse had just opened, I got my cassette—with a homemade cover—into the hands of Fuse founder Peter Decuypere. You really had to put in the effort to make it as a DJ."
At the same time, Stephanie describes herself as shy. She already felt it years ago, when she had to hand over stacks of flyers to shopkeepers or café owners. If she were to teleport her younger, aspiring-DJ self into today’s world, she admits she would struggle with exposing herself so much on social media. Not everyone is comfortable putting themselves in the spotlight like that, and in the end, it has little to do with what DJing is really about: playing records made by someone else. But in today’s saturated market and massive global industry, visibility is everything. How can a DJ stand out?
The Ego-Centered Algorithm
Social media and its peculiar algorithms seem to encourage narcissism. Both Lola Haro and Stephanie experience it daily: it’s not the artistic, creative, or musical posts that generate likes—it’s the selfies and glamorous photos of the DJ. These are the images that get rewarded by followers and boosted by the invisible mechanics of social media. In this world, the ego is central. "Hacking The Algorithm," as it is being dubbed, is the technique of posting a photo of yourself first in a series of artistic images to maximize engagement.
As a result, music-related posts often get lost due to a lack of likes. According to both Lola Haro and Stephanie, it’s less effective to share with your digital community what music excites you as a DJ—there’s barely any response. Lefto Early Bird also observes that while music used to be the primary focus, today, a parallel narrative exists where it doesn’t even have to be about music anymore. In his words: "I think the internet is being misused today. The visual aspect, the me, myself & I mentality, is taking over the music that you represent as a DJ."
Berlin’s safe place
For Stephanie, living in Berlin brings one major advantage: filming in clubs is almost universally prohibited. This makes it impossible to post video recaps of a set the next day, offering a rare escape from the pressure of online validation. As a veteran DJ, this leads her to an important realization: "You need to be incredibly strong as a DJ today. Online, you’re extremely vulnerable—you receive a lot of criticism from people who don’t like what you do. Women, in particular, have it tough. The pressure is immense; you’re not allowed to make a single mistake, or you’ll be torn apart online. That’s unfortunate and completely unrealistic because no one is perfect. The human element is what makes a DJ set charming. Everyone should be allowed to make mistakes—it’s part of the experience."
A Healthy Mind in a Healthy Body
By now, it’s clear that improvement won’t come from the medium itself. The owners of social media platforms are happy to steer things further to the right, and their business models are still based on selling our data. Nothing in life is truly free, and—aside from a few exceptions (hello, Wikipedia)—the internet is not a place for world-changing, positive progress, much to the disappointment of those who once believed in its potential.
It’s now undeniable that the internet and social media are a source of stress. Despite the many advantages the web has brought since its inception—even for DJs—it comes at a cost. And that cost is paid in full, in the form of addiction, anxiety, and countless other harmful side effects. New technology always comes at a price, but the destructive power of this digital tsunami is unprecedented.
Thankfully, there is a growing awareness that DJs, the entire electronic music community, the nightlife scene, and, in fact, everyone on this planet, must support one another. Lola Haro makes it very tangible: “I try to waste as little time as possible scrolling. It’s addictive, just a reflex. It’s so important to start your day right so you can stay in control for the rest of it. On days when I’m tired and not thinking clearly, I’m easy prey—I’ll end up staring at that tiny screen for hours. And then I see all these posts from others whose lives seem so perfect. That’s when the comparisons start, and you spiral into negativity. I want to stay far away from that. The only way is to create distance from social media, and when I do use it, I make sure to stay in control.”
There is another way. DJs like Josey Rebelle and Pakita Gordon have built successful careers without Instagram. It seems to be working just fine for them.