Hip hop culture, born in the streets, has always thrived on transforming environments. Imagine the vibrant energy of Hip Hop Dances erupting in places where you least expect it – spaces seemingly at odds with its raw, urban spirit. These “unlikely hip hop spaces,” as I call them, highlight a fascinating cultural friction. They are locations whose intended function and physical structure appear to clash with the expressive nature, aesthetic values, and core philosophies of hip hop dancers. Furthermore, these spaces might not have initially considered hosting hip hop events, especially before its surge in mainstream popularity and institutional acceptance. This hesitation often implicitly excludes people of color and their Afro-diasporic performance traditions from these potentially democratized public areas.
The very essence of hip hop history is rooted in this dynamic tension. Early pioneers carved out their spaces in unconventional settings: dancers practiced in the grand lobbies of apartment buildings, graffiti artists adorned train stations and subway yards with their art, and DJs and MCs ignited block parties, transforming ordinary streets into vibrant performance stages. Here, I want to delve into how Western institutional spaces – think of iconic landmarks in Paris or the vast halls of Union Station in Los Angeles – can profoundly influence the movements and agency of hip hop dancers and those who participate in this dynamic culture.
Hip hop dancers possess a unique power: they can redefine spaces, imbuing them with new meaning and purpose through a process I term “hip-hop-ization.” This act of transformation is central to understanding the cultural impact of hip hop dances.
Background and Perspective
My journey into the world of hip hop began as a captivated observer of street performance. This fascination evolved into a deep immersion as a dancer, eventually leading me to academic research as a doctoral candidate in the United States, focusing on hip hop. From my initial encounters with hip hop street performances in Paris – first as a tourist, then as an active participant within a dance crew – I have been consistently intrigued by the inherent tensions between hip hop culture and established Western institutions and their associated politics. These tensions became the core of my doctoral research, specifically examining embodied hip hop pedagogies. The first encounter I will describe stems from my experiences in Paris over a decade ago. The second is drawn from fieldwork conducted in 2018, part of a broader research project on embodied hip hop pedagogies spanning from 2015 to 2020.
A key methodological approach in my research involves “choreographic readings” of hip hop events. These events ranged from academic conferences and lectures to hip hop workshops, concerts, and battles. Choreographic reading is a multimodal, dance-focused analytical method that examines the intersections of body, movement, knowledge, space, and power. In dance studies, choreographic analysis often focuses on dissecting dancers’ movements, energy dynamics, and use of props within performance or social dance contexts. This analysis is then contextualized within the dancers’ broader socio-political environment. In my research, and in this exploration, I apply a similar dance-centric lens to analyze how hip hop dancing bodies interact with diverse spaces. I champion the idea that movement analysis is relevant everywhere, even in locations not traditionally designed or intended for movement-centric activities.
Encounter 1: Street Dance Politics in Paris
My initial immersion into hip hop dance occurred during my early adulthood, as I was discovering Paris, the city where I would pursue my undergraduate studies. Like many newcomers, I embarked on a journey to see the iconic tourist attractions – the Eiffel Tower, the Opéra de Paris, the Champs-Elysées, Montmartre, the Bastille, and the Latin Quarter. However, it wasn’t until my second visit to these historical landmarks that they truly came alive for me. I witnessed street dancers – predominantly immigrants from North and Sub-Saharan Africa – performing and engaging in cyphers in these public spaces. Their movements sparked a connection to these institutional locations that I hadn’t experienced before.
As a young tourist, my expectations were shaped by stereotypical Parisian imagery: pantomime artists, painters along the Seine, and singers performing classic romantic French songs. Instead, like the other tourists around me, I was immediately drawn to the pulsating hip hop beats and the dynamic, Afrocentric aesthetic of the dancers. These hip hop dancers had effectively claimed these historic French streets as their own, executing pops, locks, and breakdancing moves at the center of impromptu circles formed by captivated tourists.
The contrast between my first and second encounters with these Parisian landmarks was striking. Initially, they were simply places, static monuments. But the second time, infused with the energy of the cypher, with strangers from across the globe participating in a vibrant call-and-response, exchanging energy in a communal way, the spaces became electrifying. The dancers had undeniably “hip-hop-ized” the space.
Intrigued, I followed various street crews, sketching their dynamic movements and documenting my observations. Eventually, I became a member of a street hip hop dance crew myself. As an initial observer, I had focused primarily on the positive transformative power of hip hop dancers injecting energy into Western institutional spaces through “hip-hop-ization.” However, dancing hip hop in the streets firsthand revealed some of the complex realities and implications associated with this practice.
For instance, the local police (La PP) would frequently intervene when the cypher grew too large, requesting that we turn off our sound system and cease performing. The audience, often eagerly anticipating the peak of our street shows, would voice their disapproval towards the police, who would respond with, “We have to maintain the law!” Despite audience support, the police would remain firm. Disappointed, the crowd would slowly disperse, leaving behind a beautiful but noticeably less vibrant space.
In Paris, and indeed in most Western cities, performing street shows typically requires permits. While I understand the rationale behind such regulations, they present significant barriers to artistic and cultural expression, disproportionately affecting informal and marginalized groups who lack the resources to navigate bureaucratic processes. As Felicia McCarren notes in her book “French Moves: The Cultural Politics of le hip hop,” a significant portion of hip hop dancers in Paris originate from North and Sub-Saharan Africa or French overseas territories like Martinique. In my experience, I was one of the few female dancers, a full-time student, and from a non-African background within the street dance scene. I regularly interacted with approximately 50 street dancers, whether at practice, street shows, social gatherings, or informal money-counting sessions. Over time, I learned that many of these dancers had not completed high school, and some lacked legal immigration status. These factors severely limited their access to formal employment and stable housing. I often provided emergency accommodation for dancers in need, and for a period, shared my small studio apartment with two fellow street performers. Establishing a formal organization to obtain permits was simply not a viable option for most of these hip hop street dancers. Furthermore, the time and location restrictions associated with permits often clashed with the most opportune moments for attracting tourist audiences.
The first time the police shut down one of our shows, I felt a profound sense of defeat. It was difficult to comprehend why we were abruptly stopped mid-performance. Why couldn’t we be allowed to finish, at least? I realized then that despite hip hop’s growing popularity and the appeal of our shows, hip hop dance performances and, implicitly, certain dancing bodies, were not universally welcomed. Our capitalist system often responds to performative acts in public spaces with heightened policing, reasserting limitations on the use of public spaces, particularly for marginalized communities and black bodies. André Lepecki addresses these limitations in his article “Choreopolice and Choreopolitics: Or, the task of the dancer.” He introduces the concept of “choreopolitics,” defining it as the choreography of protest – the ultimate political act for a dancer. Choreopolitics is the embodied demand for freedom of movement in response to “choreopolicing,” which he describes as “the way in which the police determine the space of circulation for protesters and ensures that everyone is in their permissible place.” Choreopolicing, according to Lepecki, is implemented to “de-mobilize political action by means of implementing a certain kind of movement that prevents any formation and expression of the political.”
Another immediate consequence of shows being cut short was the inability to collect tips from the audience at the performance’s end. For me, as a student, street dancing was primarily a way to immerse myself in hip hop culture and earn pocket money to support my studies. But for my fellow crew members, street dancing was their primary source of income, their livelihood, and their chosen way of life. For many practitioners of color, choosing to remain visible and dance outside of formal, institutional spaces is often a precarious balance between freedom and potential legal repercussions. My crew members were acutely aware of the risks associated with performing in public, yet they were willing to risk fines, arrest, or jeopardizing their immigration status rather than abandoning hip hop dance in the streets.
What struck me most profoundly was my crew members’ resilience in the face of police intervention. Mere minutes after a show was shut down, they were ready to restart the performance elsewhere. This was a pivotal “aha” moment. I witnessed firsthand the power of hip hop dancers to reclaim their cultural expression and transform Western institutional spaces into their own. They defied spatial, legislative, and cultural constraints imposed on their moving bodies by performing hip hop in locations where it was not officially sanctioned or intended. This dynamic interplay between institutional space and the resistant power of movement is explored by hip hop dance scholar Naomi Bragin in her PhD dissertation, “Black Power of Hip Hop Dance: On Kinesthetic Politics.” Bragin’s work, particularly her chapter “Shot and Captured: Turf Dance, YAK Films, and The Oakland, California, R.I.P Project,” examines how turf dancers occupy policed and often dangerous streets in Oakland. She argues that these dancers convey a potent political message through collective improvisation and the deliberate exposure of their black bodies to passersby, police officers, and online audiences. Their performances demonstrate how dance, even within restrictive societal structures, can be a powerful political act, reclaiming agency through movement in controlled spaces. My observations of my crew members resonate with Bragin’s analysis, highlighting how hip hop dancers reinvent institutional and restrictive environments, actively practicing freedom of expression.
These experiences initiated a critical self-reflection on my own privilege as a French citizen and university student compared to the significant risks faced by my crew members when performing hip hop. This insider/outsider dynamic became even more pronounced as I transitioned into academia, and it remains a central point of reflection in my ongoing journey within hip hop culture.
Encounter 2: Floor Improv Day at Union Station, Los Angeles
Floor Improv Day was a series of weekly dance and music workshops culminating in an open-floor improvisation session. These events took place on Sunday afternoons in June 2018 at Union Station in Los Angeles. I was already familiar with Open Floor, having participated in several of their “Floor Improv Nights” in Hollywood, which were dance and music improvisation jams.
Union Station is unlike many transportation hubs in the United States. Constructed in 1939, it is celebrated as a historical and architectural landmark in Los Angeles, renowned for its distinctive Mission Modern style.
The Floor Improv Day events were a collaborative effort between the Open Floor Society and Metro Art. Open Floor is a non-profit organization with a mission to “engage underserved youth in the art of improvisation to encourage self-empowerment through movement, dance and music, fostered by a multicultural artistic community.” Metro Art is an initiative by the Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority dedicated to bringing site-specific artistic programming to LA Metro users and engaging communities throughout Los Angeles County.
During my time living in Paris and Brussels, train stations were surprisingly popular hip hop practice spots. Their central locations, accessibility from various parts of the city, smooth flooring, shelter from weather, and even reflective shop windows serving as makeshift mirrors made them ideal.
While seeing hip hop dancers practicing in train stations is not uncommon, witnessing a planned, officially sanctioned event within such a public space is rare. Subsidized hip hop events in an institutionalized station like Union Station are even more unusual, making it a truly “unlikely hip hop space.”
Intrigued by this unique context, I was curious to see how a hip hop dance class would be organized in this setting. I decided to attend one of the Floor Improv Day events with my husband, Sid.
Alt text: Architectural detail of Union Station Los Angeles Gallery Aisle, showcasing its Mission Modern design with no event taking place.
Sid’s initial reaction captured the novelty of the event perfectly: “I was dazzled: people were dancing at a station, in a public space, with live music playing […]”. A variety of dance classes were offered that day, but I will focus on the popping class Sid and I participated in, taught by Boogie Frantik, a well-known Los Angeles-based popper.
Approaching the Floor Improv Day event, the music immediately signaled something different. Instead of the typical classical or jazz music often piped into train stations, hip hop and Latin beats filled the air. It took a moment to register that a live band was performing, and for my body to adjust to this unexpected sonic landscape.
We arrived at the designated space, situated between the station’s waiting area and the gallery aisle. There were no entrance fees, sign-up tables, or barriers preventing immediate participation. I noticed security guards present, but it was unclear whether they were on routine patrol or specifically assigned to the event. I wondered if the security presence would have been as noticeable if the event featured ballet or modern dance instead of a non-Western dance form like hip hop. I also considered that playing hip hop music and dancing hip hop at Union Station on a typical day would likely not be permitted, suggesting an unspoken agreement: the designated time, sanctioned area, and official Metro Art sponsorship were all part of “how to do hip hop” within this particular institutional space.
Most participants seemed to be familiar with Open Floor classes. Some young students clearly knew the instructors, while another group appeared to be professional or semi-professional dancers, possibly friends with the teachers or regular attendees of the Floor Improv Nights in Hollywood. The infectious beats and energy radiating from the gallery aisle also drew in curious passersby. I observed occasional travelers or even individuals experiencing homelessness momentarily deviate from their paths, stop, and dance before continuing on their way. Others lingered just outside the gallery space, watching, tapping their feet, or grooving to the music.
The gallery aisle offered some seating, but people largely remained standing. It seemed inappropriate to sit amidst such vibrant artistic activity; the event had disrupted the usual stillness of the space, creating a temporarily expressive atmosphere.
Sid and I were eager to begin the popping class. The live band enhanced the instruction by improvising hip hop beats and accentuating the “pops” in the choreographic routine, incorporating a call-and-response dynamic throughout the class.
However, the dance classes, including the popping session, initially adhered to traditional Western dance studio teaching methods. The instructor, Boogie Frantik, demonstrated moves at the front while we lined up behind him, attempting to mirror his movements and follow his steps. This linear formation felt somewhat incongruous with the open-floor, jam-style spirit of the event. The rectangular shape of the gallery aisle seemed to dictate the teaching and learning approach, with Boogie Frantik’s position at the front of the lines of students evoking a conventional classroom or dance studio setting.
This arrangement initially suggested a hierarchical dynamic, with Boogie Frantik as the authority figure. This created a slight disconnect between the event’s stated intention of open improvisation and the more structured, teacher-centered pedagogy employed at the class’s outset. I don’t believe this was the instructor’s or organizers’ deliberate intention, but rather an unintentional consequence of teaching a hip hop dance class within an “unlikely hip hop” space. Despite the open floor ethos and emphasis on improvisation promoted by the organizers, the initial pedagogy and structure mirrored that of a Western dance studio class.
Yet, the class dynamic soon shifted towards a more communal experience. As participants grappled with the moves, we began assisting each other, embodying the “each one teach one” principle central to hip hop culture. We started to move closer, transitioning from rigid lines to a more informal, fluid configuration. As Sid observed, “Usually, everybody is very protective of their personal space. Here, the other person lets you in their personal space.” People were eager to dance in close proximity, sharing not just physical space but also their immediate feelings and moods. I experienced these exchanges through eye contact with another participant across the room – a smile, a nod, communicating through glances and subtle movements.
Towards the class’s conclusion, improvisation and interaction became more prominent, culminating in a call-and-response between the dancers and musicians. Sid noted, “the event was evolving according to the mood.” The collective energy of moving bodies in dialogue shaped the atmosphere and our behavior. We organically formed a large cypher. Boogie Frantik popped in sync with the drummer’s hits, my hips swayed to the rhythm, and everyone’s collective groove fueled the percussionists’ playing.
Alt text: A dance class taking place at LA Union Station, participants in a line following the instructor, captured in June 2018.
We were deeply immersed in the moment, completely synchronized with the music. This shared energy resonated through the room like a wave. From a small group, it expanded into a crowd performing the same moves, sharing the same vibe, in perfect unison. Gradually, onlookers standing at the gallery’s edge joined the crowd, participating in the embodied exchange. Like Sid, we all transcended the awareness of being in a train station, surrounded by strangers. “I immediately felt like dancing when I saw people dancing, even though I am not a professional dancer. I did not feel inhibited or too shy. […] I just went with the flow,” Sid recounted.
The initially structured format of the class gave way to a large cypher, encompassing nearly the entire gallery, composed of dancers, enthusiasts, musicians, and passersby. Smaller cyphers spontaneously emerged within the larger circle: “[…] it was really different and yet the same,” Sid observed. Participants within the cyphers engaged in dialogue with the musicians, with each other, and even with dancers in neighboring circles. It felt like a collective effort to re-choreograph the space. We, the participants, had “hip-hop-ized” the space, transforming the very nature of hip hop teaching and learning within the train station. The typically cold, expansive, rectangular gallery, with its high ceilings, was now filled with warm, moving bodies eager to freestyle.
For a fleeting few hours, the gallery at Union Station was transformed into a site of Afrocentric exchange, where children, seniors, travelers, and individuals experiencing homelessness learned and co-created the space through movement. Freestyle, call-and-response, cyphering, and “each one teach one” became the defining aesthetics of this event, fostering a unique form of hip hop pedagogy at Union Station. However, this raises a critical question posed by hip hop dance scholar Imani Kai Johnson in her work on global breaking cyphers, using the metaphor of dark matter: What are the implications when participants are “doing but not necessarily knowing” that they are performing hip hop? What are the consequences of people engaging with hip hop culture without consciously acknowledging their participation or support? And what is the relationship between “doing but not knowing” and the persistent invisibility of Africanist aesthetics within hip hop? Johnson’s “dark matter” metaphor encompasses the unseen dimensions of a cypher – its multidimensionality, intangible energy, material forces, and the often-overlooked presence of Africanist aesthetics. She argues that despite the profound material forces inherent in Africanist aesthetics, particularly as embodied in hip hop, and their significant epistemological value, these aesthetics and the individuals who contributed to their creation and evolution often remain marginalized and unseen. A cypher is not simply a geometric circle; it is a
Alt text: Freestyle circle at Union Station, featuring a dancer showcasing dynamic hip hop moves in June 2018.
complex interplay of multiple dimensions, encompassing people, histories, and energy that mutually influence one another.
The dancing bodies at Floor Improv Day effectively re-choreographed Union Station. Their pedagogy, collective synergy, driving energy, and movement not only visually transformed the architectural space, but also altered its atmosphere, mood, and even the very air within the room. These transformations, unfolding within brief class sessions, demonstrated that hip hop teaching and learning can occur anywhere, and that moving bodies possess the power to reconstruct rigid spaces, claiming them as their own and imbuing them with the spirit of hip hop.
Concluding Thoughts
Performing hip hop dances in public spaces carries diverse meanings and implications. The hip hop dancers at Floor Improv Day in Los Angeles faced minimal risk and were unlikely to be interrupted by law enforcement. In stark contrast, in Paris, performing hip hop in public streets was often treated as a criminal or, at best, an undesirable and illegitimate activity. As I navigate various hip hop scenes – from streets and studios to theaters and academia – I constantly grapple with the complex issues of authenticity and appropriation.
Reflecting on both the Parisian and Los Angeles experiences, I feel a sense of unresolved tension regarding the informal and formal aspects of hip hop practices. On one hand, hip hop originated in the streets, born from diverse, marginalized communities. My own introduction to hip hop occurred within this street context, surrounded by people from non-dominant cultures. Therefore, a part of me believes that hip hop should remain rooted in the streets, and that its inherent opposition to Western hegemonic practices and structures is fundamental to its very essence. However, I also recognize the problematic nature of this perspective and its potential limitations for the growth and recognition of hip hop and Africanist aesthetics within broader society. My street dance crew members in Paris would likely have formalized their practices if given the opportunity, to avoid constant confrontations with the police and gain stability. There has been a long-standing debate in France regarding the creation of institutional programs for hip hop dancers to legitimize their practice. Those in favor argued for official recognition and support, while opponents feared that such programs would compromise the “authenticity” of hip hop. A primary concern among those against institutionalization was the diversity of hip hop dance forms and the impossibility of a single program authentically representing and teaching them all, including the crucial social practices intertwined with hip hop culture. Concerns were also raised that the type of hip hop dance that would be taught, replicated, and ultimately legitimized within France would be a sanitized version, adapted for theatrical choreography and closer to contemporary dance forms. The aim of a national diploma was to enable hip hop dancers to teach in schools and institutions, achieve equal recognition and pay compared to dancers of Western dance forms, receive training in pedagogy, health, and safety, and access essential benefits like healthcare. The creation of such a certified program has been in development for over five years. As of now, the Ministry of Culture has not fully approved this state-sanctioned diploma. In the interim, the Centre Formation de Danse (CFD) in Cergy has initiated a subsidized certificate program in hip hop, awaiting the full implementation of the state diploma program.
The inclusion of breaking in the Olympics has ignited another multi-year debate, with practitioners questioning whether hip hop should be integrated into such an institution and recognized as a sport. While I advocate for the safety and global promotion of hip hop expressions across diverse platforms, I cannot ignore the crucial question: what are the potential costs of legitimization?
References
Bragin, Naomi Elizabeth. Black Power of Hip Hop Dance: On Kinesthetic Politics. Dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 2015.
Johnson, Imani Kai. Dark Matter in Breaking Cyphers: Africanist Aesthetics in Global Hip Hop. Manuscript Draft from December 2019.
Le Lay, Maïko. Cypher to Classroom: An Ethnography and Choreographic Reading on Teaching and Learning and Embodied Hip Hop Pedagogies Otherwise. University of California, Riverside, 2020.
Lepecki, Andre. “Choreopolice and Choreopolitics. Or the task of the dancer.” Communauté des Chercheurs, January, 2020. https://communautedeschercheurssurlacommunaute.wordpress.com/choreopolice-and-choreopolitics-by-andre-lepecki/
McCarren, Felicia. French moves: The cultural politics of le hip hop. Oxford University Press, 2013.
About the Author
Maïko Le Lay, PhD, is a French and Japanese scholar-practitioner specializing in Critical Dance Studies. Dr. Le Lay earned her PhD from the University of California, Riverside. Her doctoral research focuses on embodied hip hop pedagogies, advocating for more performative and culturally responsive practices within K-12 and higher education. She employs ethnographic methods and choreographic readings of hip hop events, dance classes, and lectures to examine the tensions between Western and hip hop epistemologies within Western institutional spaces.
Dr. Le Lay also holds MA degrees in Political Sciences from the Université Catholique de Louvain (Belgium) and in Media and Cultural Studies from the Université Paris III Sorbonne Nouvelle (France). Following her doctoral studies, she completed a postdoctoral fellowship at the Connected Learning Lab at the University of California, Irvine. During the pandemic, she launched a YouTube channel to broaden access to embodied practices.
YouTube: Channel
IG: @tanukidance_
Alt text: Headshot of Maïko Le Lay, scholar-practitioner in Critical Dance Studies.
