A Tale of Bros and Birds
Bridging the gap, checking our privilege, and making sure women feel welcome
As stereotypes go, this one is a classic:
Vinyl is a male thing
Some studies currently put the average male/female ratio at 60/40, although the gap is much wider in small cities, vinyl fairs and record conventions.
Anyone who’s been in this game long enough will remember the many “how come we’re all guys?” threads, ubiquitous up until not too long ago, where puzzled fellas spent hours theorising why there were barely no women around.
These threads and, importantly, the questions they raise about the vinyl gender gap are still very much alive and kicking.
While female representation in the vinyl community has been recently ticking up, the notion that this is a men-only field is as persistent as that annoying static on some newly-pressed records.
When I started collecting vinyl, I wasn’t fully aware it was traditionally perceived as a male activity.
I had been collecting records in other formats all my life, so vinyl felt like a natural progression for me.
All I really wanted was a closer connection to the music, regardless of what my fellow collectors were packing between their legs.
There’s also something to be said about living in central London, where nothing can really shock you anymore. If you’re not open minded, the joke will most certainly be on you.
As a gay man, my relationship with traditionally male and female activities has always been kinda skewed anyway.
My uni course sat right at the intersection of language and law, so it was quite typical for women to overrepresent the former and men the latter.
Nowadays I spend a lot of time at the gym, where the only thing overpowering boisterous, testosterone-fuelled locker room talk is the noise of heavy weights banging on the floor.
You can find me screaming at the top of my lungs at a Mariah Carey concert as easily as you can spot me at a smoky blues bar arguing my case that B.B. King was the last truly great blues musician to ever live (with Robert Cray and Fantastic Negrito steadily racking up).
Call me a gym bro, a vinyl bro, a whatever bro. I love bros so much that I married another bro.
Honestly, these labels are just laughable at this point. I can blend everywhere, which is another way of saying I don’t fully belong anywhere.
But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aware of the privilege of walking into a record store looking the way I do.
I can tell you all about how gay and Latino I really am, but the truth is I don’t really look or sound like either. Not immediately. Not in the traditional, stereotypically expected sense, at least.
For better or wose, fellow collectors see me as a jock. A gym bro.
As emasculating as it may be for some, a gym bro is a million times more welcome than a girl.
Especially a jock like me who is not after the latest Taylor Swift record (huge respect for her and her movement—it’s just not my musical cup of tea).
As I’ve become more aware of women visiting record stores chasing not just rock or punk but also mainstream pop records, I’ve been silently trying to make them feel welcome.
Why silently? For two main reasons.
First, the line between showing support and trying my hardest not to come across as condescending is a line I tread with caution.
The last thing these women need is an athletic guy coming to their rescue. They are more than capable of defending themselves.
The second reason is because, at least in central London, it’s rare for someone to get downright aggressive at a record store. I’ve been taught that fighting should really be your last resort.
So I silently watch. I make sure they get their fair share of browsing time and space when they head to the S section.
If I bump into them when walking along the aisles or in the queue to pay, I give them a quick nod or a smile, just as I would greet any other collector.
Nothing over the top. A true gentleman, like my dad taught me. Hold the door, give way, ladies first. But don’t pester them, man.
My main dilemma is that I want to treat everyone the same way but I’m deeply aware we’re not quite there yet.
If I see one of these girls struggling to navigate the store, do I give her a hand? Maybe I should just let her figure things out by herself. But what if I leave without helping her and a jackass comes along mansplaining his way around her?
Perhaps I’m overthinking it, and these girls are actually okay. There’s something to be said about Gen Z overconfidence, which can be a blessing in disguise, much to the chagrin of older generations.
This is why I need your help.
Ladies, how do you feel when visiting stores? Is there something we should or should not be doing that could make a difference?
And fellas, what else do you think we could do to make sure female collectors feel comfortable?
The vinyl community should be a place where all record lovers feel welcome, regardless of gender, age, sexual orientation, ethnicity, religion or music preferences.
Interestingly, while there has been a bit of progress in most of these areas, the very last one seems to be the hardest for some collectors to handle.
What’s the deal with Taylor, or Olivia, or Sabrina, or with young girls buying these records? What’s with all the aggression?
There’s still so much work to do across the board. Checking our privilege and making room for others could be a good starting point.
Coexisting in harmony is easier when we accept our differences, give way to our neighbours and share the room.
Believe me, we can all fit in there.
As I’m sure you will have figured out by now, records take up a lot less space when they are stacked close together.
Thanks for reading/listening. Happy spinning!
I don't feel like I need any "help" in a record store and I doubt other women feel they do, either. It's not like a gym, where the machines are mysterious and confusing and it helps to have someone else show you how they work the first few times. A record store is by definition pretty low tech and I think we all know how they work. Are you sure you're not projecting a rescue fantasy onto this situation where none is needed? Just a thought....
As to the rest, consider that it's not that there aren't women interested in vinyl, it might be that women aren't that interested, maybe, in talking about vinyl in the way that men seem to be. there's a brute force, cold-blooded aspect to so much of the vinyl world, that focus on technology and trivia, that makes me steer clear.
I can only speak for myself here, but my experience of music seems so different from that of men (at least the men who write about vinyl and music here on substack.) I'm here for love, for the emotional experience of being swept away by the awesome (in the most literal way) power of art. I want to talk about how a song brought me to my knees with joy or tears. or the story behind its creation in terms of the art, not the technology or the trivia. I enjoy the emotional experience of records, the tactile feeling, like I'm interacting with living energy (which I am because that's what music is), the feeling of being physically connected to the music I love. of getting closer to Source.
This is why I often point out -- usually to no avail because people see what they expect to see -- that The Abbey isn't a music substack. It's a substack about love, about magick, about the power of music to take us places we can't access otherwise. (it's not even listed as a music substack, but as a spirituality substack). For me, that's the only reason to care about any of it.
PS Sorry this isn't super articulate. I'm in the last stages of writing the podcast and all my best words are reserved for that...
First off, both of my daughters will stand toe to toe and discuss music. My rule in the the house when they were growing up, be it right or wrong, was that they could listen to any music that they wanted to, as long as they understood and could explain the music. Not just what it was by by genre, but how did the artist get there, where did the music come from?
Did I really appreciate or approve of all that was being listened too by my daughter's, not at all. As you would say, not all of it was my cup of tea.
The result is two young adults that listen to a far wider range of music than most of their peers. I count that as success.
It was awesome a few months back when the were both over at the house dividing the album collection up for when I moved on. A little unsettling, but awesome.
So what does this have to do with your question? I think it points out to just talk as you would to anyone about something you are passionate about. At this point, you are not talking to a "man or woman" , but simply another music fan
However, you still open the door for the ladies. It's the gentleman thing to do