EVERYONE'S A DJ, AND NO ONE'S HAPPY ABOUT IT
​
​
July 28, 2025
by Mai El Mokadem
Once upon a not-so-distant time, DJing meant carrying crates of vinyl up three flights of stairs, knowing how to read a room by its BPM, and spending weekends obsessively crate-digging in dusty record shops. Fast forward to today, and your cousin who just bought a controller last week is announcing their debut set at a rooftop bar. What happened? Beyond just gear and BPM,
it’s about how cultural capital, taste curation, crowd reading, and restraint still matter. Spoiler: it’s not always about the drop.
The democratization of DJing has many faces. On the surface, it's a win. Technology like the sync button, USB plug-ins, and accessible DJ software has cracked the gates open for bedroom DJs and hobbyists alike. But it also created a problem: when something looks easy, everyone assumes they can do it. It’s the Dunning-Kruger effect, a cognitive bias that explains why the least skilled are usually the most confident. It’s not that new DJs are delusional; it’s that they’re standing at the foot of a mountain, mistaking it for a speed bump.
This illusion of ease is what birthed a wave of half-baked sets, curated more for their Instagrammability than their musicality.
Club owners, in turn, aren’t blameless. In a nightlife economy that values "vibes" over vinyl, charisma can trump technicality.
A DJ who looks good in a Jacquemus vest, knows how to drop a Peggy Gou remix, and has 12k followers? Booked.
The underground selector who can transition acid house to UKG without losing the crowd? "Maybe next time ya bro."
This isn’t just anecdotal. Booking agents now track engagement rates. The decks are turning into content stages, with crowd shots, outfit breakdowns, and gear setups doubling as Reels.
Once a platform for lip-syncs and dance challenges, TikTok is also now a full-blown DJ accelerator.
One viral clip of you mixing Beyoncé into an obscure Italo disco track—and boom, bookings.
The algorithm doesn’t just reward taste; it rewards performance, aesthetics, and a recognisable face behind the booth.
Influencer-to-DJ pivots are no longer shocking. We’ve seen models, vloggers, and lifestyle creators suddenly behind Pioneer decks at art fairs, hotel rooftops, and fashion week afterparties. And while some have surprisingly good ear, others are… press-play-and-pray. The performance overshadows the sound. We’re watching DJs become brands. And while that opens doors for many,
it also raises the bar for authenticity and craft. There’s also a difference between DJing a rave and DJing a fashion party;
one demands extreme technical skill and audience-reading skills, the other just asks that you match the shoes to the beat.
We’re now in an era where the craft of DJing risks being diluted into a mere aesthetic. The labor of sonic storytelling is being replaced by Spotify-core familiarity and TikTok-approved drops. This isn't an indictment of newcomers, but rather a cultural critique of how quickly a historically rich, often marginalized art form can be flattened. From sweaty warehouses to LED-drenched rooftops,
DJing has gone from subcultural ritual to party prop— and everyone thinks they can do it.
The question isn't whether new DJs should exist (they should), but whether we, as an audience and an industry, are valuing the right things. When everyone thinks they can DJ, the real ones often end up spinning in the shadows. Also, some DJs produce, some don’t, and that’s fine. Producing doesn’t always equal good DJing. And vice versa. But the best often do both and understand how to manipulate sound on a storytelling level.
In Cairo, Beirut, Dubai, and Marrakech, the DJ scene is experiencing its own renaissance, and reckoning. The demand for “vibe curators” at rooftop bars, private villas, and desert festivals has skyrocketed, and with it, a flood of USB-wielding hopefuls.
It’s not uncommon for someone to learn Rekordbox over a weekend and be behind the booth by the next. Local collectives are booming, but so are “Instagram DJs”; booked not for their sound, but for their follower count and Y2K wardrobe.
Across Egypt, Sahel season acts as both a stage and a test. A stunning fit and a preloaded playlist can sometimes secure more gigs than crate-digging or beatmatching ever will. In Dubai, influencer-fueled bookings at beach clubs and fashion brand launches favor image over instinct, reinforcing the idea that aesthetic clout is half the job.
Somewhere between the fourth smoke machine cloud and the thudding of a deep house drop, it hits you: the DJ booth has become the new influencer ring light. There’s a growing sense that the decks are overcrowded. It feels like everyone with a Spotify pro subscription and a USB stick wants a shot at stardom. But in a world where DJ culture is more accessible than ever—what actually makes a good DJ? And is the market too saturated to care?
​
Oversaturation isn’t inherently a bad thing. Like any creative field made more accessible by tech and social media, democratization can lead to innovation. But it also leads to a sea of sameness. In 2024, it’s not unusual to hear near-identical tech house loops played across four stages at a festival, mixed by DJs whose brand is louder than their transitions.
Contrary to popular belief, being a good DJ has very little to do with pressing play on a well-timed remix of Adriatique.
Technical skills matter, yes—but the magic lies in a cocktail of taste, timing, and intuition. A good DJ reads the room, doesn’t just bulldoze through a pre-made set. It’s selection over viral tracks.
Even in today’s hyper-digital era, studies (like one in the Journal of New Music Research) show that music preference and sequencing significantly impact audience emotional response, meaning the order in which a DJ plays tracks matters more than the popularity of the tracks themselves. A good DJ also knows when not to play the expected track. It’s about the buildup, the risk, the left-field drop that surprises a crowd just enough to make their jaws drop.
Technically, good DJs know their gear (controllers, mixers, whatever setup they ride with) and can beatmatch, EQ, and blend without making the transitions feel like a car crash. The artistry is in making you not notice the transitions. Great DJs can spin with turntables, CDJs, or even a cracked iPad if they know how to work the crowd.
In short? Being a good DJ isn’t about the mix alone. It’s about the message, the control, the emotional arc— and the sheer audacity to play what no one else dares.
​