What Do We Lose When Black Women In Journalism Disappear? Everything.

On November 3, Condé Nast — the media company that owns Vogue, Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, GQ, and Wired, amongst other outlets — announced that Teen Vogue would be absorbed into Vogue.com. The news came two months after the publication was awarded the Roosevelt Institute's 2025 Freedom of Speech and Expression Award, and followed nearly a decade’s worth of coverage of politics and other important cultural topics in a way that was relevant and accessible to a primarily Gen-Z audience. 

Beyond its categorically political reporting, Teen Vogue was lauded for its dedication to intersectionality, and the way it approached issues impacting Black, Indigenous, and other people of color (BIPOC) and marginalized groups more generally across all its verticals. Whether that be a piece holding fashion brands to account for diversity promises made in 2020, an op-ed on Robert F. Kennedy and autism, or choosing transgender model and social media star, Vivian Wilson, as its digital cover star — giving her the opportunity to publicly admonish both her estranged father, Elon Musk, and his bestie, Trump. 

The publication’s reorganization came with several notable layoffs. Editor-In-Chief Versha Sharma and seven staff members lost their jobs, leaving Teen Vogue with zero Black women or trans folks on its staff. 

In a post to her Instagram, former Editor-In-Chief Elaine Welteroth, who presided over the magazine during its dedicated shift to political coverage circa 2015 and 2016, said the magazine “was a once-in-a-generation experiment in what happens when you hand the mic to young people from diverse backgrounds and take their voices seriously.” 

This, against the backdrop of an industry in which just 15% of reporters who cover social issues and policy are Black, according to a 2022 Pew Research study. Those numbers drop to just 7% of entertainment and travel reporters, and 5% of those covering government and politics. At a time when diversity, equity, and inclusion gains are being clawed back or ignored completely in boardrooms and at a cultural level, the dismissal of such a talented newsroom begs the question: What necessary perspectives do we lose, and what questions go unasked and unanswered, when Black journalists are among the first to be seen as disposable on a masthead?

Among those let go at Teen Vogue last month was Kaitlyn McNab, an award-winning journalist and the outlet’s former Culture Editor. Her love for the outlet was homegrown, as it was one she regularly reached out to when she was a freelance writer, dating back to early winter 2020 when she first pitched a story for Valentine’s Day about diverse young adult love stories. 

“[I was pitching Black stories] every single day. That has always been at the forefront of my beat and perspective as a journalist,” says McNab, who had also overseen writing and editing for Teen Vogue’s Identity section and served as its Entertainment Editor during her five-year tenure. “A lot of the work that I'm most proud of from my time at Teen Vogue are features and interviews that allowed Black women specifically, to feel safe enough to talk about their careers, lives, and experiences and also to trust me with asking harder questions.”

That included an interview with rapper Ice Spice, marking “one of the first where she talked to another Black woman and I think we were able to talk about things that she hadn't touched on in other stories,” McNab explains. 

Unfortunately, layoffs are quite common — 40% of workers will experience it at least once in their career.  But this current moment feels different, like it’s about more than just dollars and cents. In a year that has seen the president and his top advisors openly attack free speech and slash funding for public broadcasting, the silencing, stifling, and degradation of diverse voices via trustworthy platforms is a harbinger of a larger, more sinister cultural shift. All of this is happening at a time where companies are rolling back DEI initiatives and the administration threatens others to do the same. At a time where harmful AI-generated videos of Black women using SNAP benefits continuously show up online. At a time where Black women overall lost the most number of jobs this year.   

“When there are economic downturns, Black workers who are the so-called professional class — which just basically means people with a college degree — actually do worse in terms of wage downturns [than their white counterparts],” says Dr. Ofronama Biu, Chief Economist and Senior Research Director at The Maven Collaborative, a Black and brown woman-led organization working to create a new, inclusive economy. 

Black women, historically, are cultural and economic indicators. Despite participating in the workforce at a higher rate than any other demographic, unemployment rates amongst Black women have been rising at twice the rate of white and Asian women, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. And after losing a job, Black women tend to remain unemployed for longer than other workers — a worrying trend that dates back to the Great Recession. “The hit that the economy [takes] gets turned on Black workers more than their white counterparts, and even more so when they're in the professional class,” Biu explains. 

Yet in spite of the hardship, Black women continue to shift the economy and culture. And we care deeply: about our communities, and the people in them, and the problems they face. In my opinion, writers often feel similarly because many of us entered this profession believing that it’s an honor to be entrusted with other people’s stories. And we feel a burden to handle those stories justly. But as a Black journalist, I sometimes find myself wondering: Why do we dedicate ourselves to an industry that seems so irreverent about us?

This isn’t just a Condé Nast problem. Changing winds are being felt all across the industry. Earlier this year, MSNBC (owned by NBCUniversal) did its own “reshuffling,” ultimately firing Joy Reid, a prominent Black political commentator and outspoken Trump critic, and canceling her award-winning primetime show. NBCUniversal struck again in October, gutting 150 staffers from NBC News and announcing it would eliminate the teams dedicated to covering marginalized issues. That same month, VIBE, the long-running music magazine focused on rap, hip-hop, and R&B coverage launched by music mogul Quincy Jones announced that it would merge with Rolling Stone. The statement speaks of plans to re-establish the magazine as a driving force for music reporting and amplify its presence across all platforms. It did not, however, say this: it all comes at the expense of VIBE’s almost entirely Black newsroom.

“I didn't know it was coming,” says former VIBE staffer and R&B reporter Mya Abraham. “I woke up one day and had a meeting on my calendar I thought was weird.” In that meeting, a human resources representative told Abraham that the company’s decision to restructure was not based on performance. Almost all of her colleagues, she says, got a similar call.

Also in October, CBS News laid off about 100 employees, including eight on-air correspondents and hosts — all women, half of whom are people of color. Under the newly-minted leadership of Bari Weiss — a former opinion columnist who has openly called for the end of DEI programs – the network also axed its Race and Culture Unit, which was created in 2020 after the murder of George Floyd and ensuing surge of Black Lives Matter protests. Established newsrooms at Pitchfork and HuffPost also saw substantial layoffs this year.

Are we noticing the pattern yet? This is not just economic anxiety — it’s cultural erasure, a rollback of DEI promises, and loss of platforms where Black and underrepresented voices are heard. The exact places where we created spaces are being dismantled. In these layoffs, we’re not just losing recipes, we’re losing cooks, and access to kitchens too.

Inclusion begets diversity. And diversity encourages accountability. That’s what makes these media layoffs especially troubling. As one of the most visible pathways for trusted information, the gutting of dedicated newsrooms represents the erasure of dozens of voices who can speak to BIPOC, queer, and underrepresented issues from a place of authority. Without a newsroom of writers and editors like Abraham and McNab, coverage loses its luster. What was once a kaleidoscope of perspectives runs the risk of suddenly becoming very dull. 

“I asked [Ice Spice] directly about the discourse around her success, colorism, and comparisons to other female rap artists, namely Flo Milli,” McNab points out. Her cultural awareness and sensitivity made the interview better. It also reignited a necessary conversation about the music industry’s more harmful beliefs and stereotypes.

While publications like Essence, Ebony, Bustle, and, of course, Unbothered still exist, full-time staff jobs are fewer and far between. In response to the increasing precarity of their chosen profession, many writers are choosing to put fate into their own hands. A recent study by Muck Rack found that out of 1,515 surveyed journalists, more than a third of respondents independently publish their own content. Abraham will soon be one of them — she’s launching a podcast and Substack called “Play The B Sides”, dedicated to covering all things R&B. McNab, though, isn’t sure the independent creator life is for her. 

For all its flaws, the media industry “does, in a sense, give us stability,” she says. “Even though it's so precarious, it gives us health insurance. It gives us a safety net.” For now, her immediate priority is to recuperate. “My therapist already dragged me for trying to think too far ahead. She was like, ‘You were dangerously burnt out and you need to take this time to rest right now.’”

Any work (no matter how glamorous the ‘00s rom-com makes it seem) is a job. It can be stressful, but it also provides a steady source of income. When that suddenly vanishes, there’s so much to practically consider: severance packages, contracts, figuring out how — or if — you’re going to be able to afford your life moving forward. Given the disparities for Black women and other minorities regarding savings accounts and other safety nets, the loss of even one paycheck can feel catastrophic. After all, it’s hard to save money for the future when you’re being paid significantly less than your white counterparts to begin with.

For her part, Abraham started a GoFundMe for herself and her ex-colleagues as they begin to figure out next steps. Despite receiving more than 21,000 views on X (formerly Twitter), the effort has only raised $1,100 of a $35,000 total goal. When I asked if she’s disappointed by that, she admits she is. “I'm just like, ‘OK, how hard do I have to fight to get this goal met?’,” she says. “There is still a whole team of Black journalists who don't have a job anymore.” 

But as a self-described optimist, Abraham remains hopeful — for her future, for the industry she loves, and most importantly, for her community. 

“I'm just here to support everybody Black,” she says, invoking a now-famous Issa Rae quote. “That's all I want to do — support Black things because we deserve it. We are the driving force of the culture. And I just want the world to remember that.”