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It’s less than a month until the 2025 Eurovision Song Contest kicks off in Basel, Switzerland. Across platforms, fans dissect every note, critique every costume, and predict the outcome with the conviction of seasoned political pundits. Whilst most of us celebrate our beloved Contest, there’s a whole ‘other’ side of fandom: one that simultaneously champions diversity while sometimes turning on itself—and the show it claims to celebrate—with startling vitriol.
A sanctuary of sequined solidarity
For decades, Eurovision has served as more than just a music competition; it’s become a cultural touchstone for those seeking belonging. Digital Eurovision fandom “provides a more ambiguous platform through which non-heterosexuals can express their sexual identities,” noted Jamie Halliwell, a PhD candidate at Manchester Metropolitan University. The contest facilitates expression of queer sexuality beyond traditional spaces, allowing fans to “meet and share experiences about exploring and coming to terms with their sexuality”.
This inclusive spirit is no accident. The European Broadcasting Union (EBU) has consistently positioned Eurovision as a celebration of diversity through music. In an increasingly polarised world, there’s something wonderful about Swedes, Greeks, Georgians and Finns coming together over shared cultural moments like Sweden’s Melodifestivalen or arguing passionately about whether Italy’s entry deserved its placement.
When passion turns poisonous
Yet beneath this glittering surface lies a troubling undercurrent. “I’m not sure if it’s just my perception, but it seems that the online community has become increasingly toxic over the past few years,” lamented one Reddit user in March 2025. “People are taking things far too seriously. Ultimately, it’s just a music competition meant to be a joyful event, yet some treat it as if it’s a matter of life and death”.
This toxicity manifests in myriad ways. When artists fail to meet fan expectations, the backlash can be swift and merciless. In 2024, Belgium experienced a dramatic disconnect between fan expectations and reality, ranking seventh in pre-contest fandom polls but ultimately finishing 32nd. Similar fates befell UK in 2023, Austria in 2022, and Romania in 2021. The aftermath often sees artists subjected to brutal criticism that extends far beyond musical critique. Someone almost always knows something about somebody who saw stuff nobody else knows going on behind the scenes.
The San Marino delegation publicly called out toxicity and bullying toward their act Piqued Jacks in 2023, prompting support from other artists who described the hate as “unpleasant” and damaging to Eurovision as an institution. Similarly, Chanel, Spain’s 2022 entrant, had to remove her social media accounts due to overwhelming negative comments, impacting her ability to connect with fans and promote her music.
The 2024 contest in Malmö demonstrated how quickly the community’s discord can escalate. Protests against Israel’s participation reached a fever pitch, with Eden Golan confined to her hotel room when not performing due to security concerns. Dutch entrant Joost Klein was disqualified following an alleged backstage incident, while Irish contestant Bambie Thug withdrew from rehearsals over perceived rule breaches.
This climate of tension prompted the EBU to implement significant changes for 2025, including a Code of Conduct for participants, a Duty of Care Protocol, no-filming zones, optimised rehearsal schedules, and a dedicated Welfare Producer role. These measures speak volumes about the pressures artists face—not just from the competition itself, but from the feverish expectations of fans. Earlier this year, fan site content creators were invited to join an EBU briefing to help explain ‘how’ to report Eurovision in a respectful way.
Fandom as identity politics
The question becomes: why does a contest designed to unite so frequently divide? Perhaps because for many, Eurovision isn’t merely entertainment—it’s an extension of identity.
“It’s like people take your opinions about songs as personal attacks on them or their country,” observed one fan. This conflation of musical taste with national and personal identity transforms sharing your opinion on a song or performance into perceived personal affronts. When fans invest their national pride in a performance, criticism of that entry can feel like an attack.
This nationalistic fervour can escalate into online pile-ons against those who express differing opinions, with some fans feeling compelled to tread carefully to avoid backlash. The toxicity is not limited to artists. Organisers and technical staff have also been targets. For instance, during technical mishaps or organisational issues, fans have directed hate at stage designers and EBU officials, sometimes laced with national stereotypes or outright hostility.
Divergent digital domains
Interestingly, the Eurovision community isn’t monolithic—it varies dramatically across platforms. “I find it fascinating how favourites within the Eurovision community can vary significantly depending on the specific subgroups you engage with,” observed one fan recently. “The preferences expressed here on this subreddit often differ greatly from those on Discord, while Twitter/X and YouTube each showcase their own distinct favourites”.
Platforms like Twitter and TikTok are particularly notorious for fostering negativity, with users often attacking others for their song rankings or opinions. These platform-specific differences create multiple Eurovision realities, with different heroes, villains, and narratives.
For some, this manifests as a strategic division of their fandom: “Facebook is seen as space to organise everyday social life and connect with close family and friends, whereas Twitter/X provides opportunities to network and develop Eurovision connections. This is perhaps a consequence of the wider significance of the contest with gay cultures”.
Reclaiming the joy
Perhaps what’s most striking about Eurovision fandom is not its toxicity, but its resilience. Despite occasional descents into vitriol, the community continues to regenerate, finding new ways to celebrate what originally brought fans together: a love of music that transcends borders.
“There remains a glimmer of hope—amidst the clamour of a vocal minority, it can be challenging to notice, yet it’s uplifting to witness individuals from diverse backgrounds and languages supporting and celebrating one another, all thanks to a shared love for music,” wrote one optimistic fan.
The Eurovision bubble, like any ecosystem, contains multitudes. It reflects broader societal tensions around nationalism, sexuality, and communication in the digital age.
When the lights go up on our next Big Night in May, Eurovision will once again perform its peculiar magic: transforming a continent into a momentary utopia where borders dissolve.
Perhaps the EBU’s 2025 Code of Conduct offers wisdom not just for contestants but for fans as well, with its focus on “expectations for professional behaviour, fair competition, and responsible communication”. In embracing these principles, the Eurovision fan community might yet harmonise its passionate devotion with the spirit of unity the contest aspires to embody.
In an age of division, that might be the most radical proposition of all.
This article misses one certain thing, and it matters a lot in here:
What used to be Twitter doesn’t exist no longer. Not only its name has changed to X. But also an entirely different ToS policy.
It’s naive to think Eurovision community is an isolated island in sea full of hate speech mentality. It’s a red flag enough that ESC has officially left their activities on X.
as Meta’s platforms will adopt a similar hate speech policy, we can expect an escalating toxic climate at the Eurovision community on those platforms too.
To put some context to it; the community on Bluesky isn’t widely recognised as toxic.
Different researches show that social platforms thrive on hate and devidness.
Their alogritme make sure that such content get the spot light, so the users of those platforms will stay longer on their platform.
The majority of Eurovision fans, have an account on at least one social platforms. No one should be surprised that the toxic behaviour was imported to the Eurovision sphere.
The toxic reaction to Israel’s participation last year, was defined by hate and antisemtic retoric, eventually manifested itself by the booing heard when Eden Golan performed. Needless to say that no one thought to condem the booing. It was “justified” and talked down.