There’s this moment — right before the band comes on — when every photographer tightens their camera strap and lines up at the edge of the pit. You glance around, and suddenly it hits you: you’re the only woman there.
And even if no one says anything, you feel it.
Not always in a bad way. But it’s there. The glances, the subtle sizing up, the assumptions. Sometimes it’s support. Sometimes it’s surprise. Sometimes it’s silence.
Being Seen — But Not Always Valued
You get asked if you're with the band (like, romantically). You get offered “help” you didn’t ask for. You get ignored when handing in credentials, only to have a male assistant next to you taken seriously.
Sometimes, you're the only one with the right gear, the right access, the experience — and yet you still get looked at like you're new.
This isn’t a complaint. It’s just what happens.
Learning to Take Up Space
At first, I tried to shrink myself. I didn’t want to seem “too loud” or “too confident.” I didn’t want to be seen as difficult. I tried to just quietly prove myself through my work.
But here’s the thing: silence doesn’t always get you heard.
Over time, I learned to take up space. To own the fact that I belong in that pit. That my perspective matters. That my presence isn’t a fluke — it’s earned.
Not through ego. Through consistency.
Why It Matters
Representation matters. When young girls see women behind the lens — especially in loud, aggressive, male-dominated scenes — it plants a seed.
You can be here. You do belong. And your way of seeing the world — of capturing sound in stills — is just as valuable.
We don’t all have to shoot the same way. That’s the point. Different eyes make stronger stories.
Being the only woman in the photo pit can feel isolating. But it can also feel powerful.
Because you’re carving space for others. You’re shifting the norm. And every photo you take is proof that you don’t need to ask permission to exist in these places — you just need to keep showing up.
And trust me — you’re not alone. Not really.