Hip hop culture thrives on belonging. Whether you’re caught in the energy of cyphers, hands raised in unison, spotting familiar graffiti tags, feeling the collective vibe at a gig, or connecting with fellow enthusiasts globally, hip hop builds bridges, fostering art, culture, and vibrant communities worldwide.
Brian Toh’s insightful essay, “This Dance Is Not Our Own,” delves into this sense of belonging, questioning identity, authenticity, and ownership within hip hop dance. How do we find our place in this culture? What benchmarks of ‘realness’ must we meet to truly feel that Hip Hopper Dance is ‘ours’, that we genuinely belong?
However, the pursuit of belonging can be complex. The desire for inclusion can overshadow community spirit, prioritizing self-interest over collective well-being. Boundaries of belonging can become exclusionary, often masked by discussions of authenticity – who is ‘real’, who ‘knows the score’, and who falls short. Authenticity debates are rife within the scene. In this article, we’ll explore our understanding of authenticity and its potential link to privilege, before sharing personal reflections inspired by Brian Toh’s essay.
While universal markers of ‘authenticity’ might seem appealing, they are constructs of belonging – shared, though possibly fragile, identity markers. Discussions around authenticity are inherently complex, subjective, and politically charged. In these debates, there’s a tendency to favor personal perspectives. Our biases inevitably shape what we deem important. Consequently, notions of authenticity, of who is most ‘authentic’ in hip hopper dance, become layered with geographical, historical, relational, skill-based, or knowledge-based criteria. Phrases like, ‘You’re not a real B-boy/B-girl/hip hopper dancer if you don’t do x, y, or z’ create hierarchies of engagement.
Generally, participation is seen as the most inclusive and ‘fairest’ route to recognition within hip hop’s subculture. Hip hop dance culture is often perceived as a meritocracy where ‘showing and proving’ skills, style, and knowledge earns respect and reputation. Increased participation enhances perceived authenticity, potentially leading to event wins, respect, and authority. This authority manifests in legitimate teaching and performing roles, judging invitations, and acceptance into respected crews. Initial respect can evolve into positions of influence. Commitment, therefore, often serves as an authenticity barometer and, at times, a tool to police boundaries. How deeply do you immerse yourself in hip hopper dance? How many jams have you participated in? How many hours do you dedicate to training? How solid is your foundation? How often do you join cyphers? How many scenes have you represented? How many workshops have you attended?
The problem arises when the answer isn’t deemed ‘enough’ – and who defines ‘enough’? Brian’s experience led to feelings of imposter syndrome and scene alienation, experiences echoed across the community. As life evolves and responsibilities grow, dancers can feel sidelined from the hip hopper dance scene they once cherished.
Brian Toh’s essay uses personal narrative to illuminate how belonging, authenticity, and identity are experienced in breaking. Building on Brian’s work, we aim to use our reflections to explore broader questions of community, inclusion, and ethics. Personal reflection helps us understand our place within the culture, the culture’s role in our lives, and the wider experiences shaping our practice and relationships.
Our discussions began by examining our lives both within and beyond hip hop dance. Feras – an Australian hip hopper dancer with Palestinian heritage, an artist and choreographer passionate about the growing accessibility and reach of street dance [1]. Rachael – a white Australian B-girl, and academic researching breaking and street dance culture. We contextualized our lives historically. Feras, who learned Palestinian Dabke after establishing himself in hip hop dance, considered how different cultural dance forms shape identity when one is explored before the other, and how they now coexist. Rachael, a white woman engaging with a dance form rooted in disenfranchised African-American and Puerto Rican youth culture, grapples with the historical context of white appropriation of Black art forms. Does Rachael’s participation contribute to a ‘whitening’ of the form? What are the ethical implications of our involvement? Our reflections navigate the intricate terrain of localization, cultural appropriation, ethics, and inclusion within hip hopper dance.
Reflecting on Sydney’s street dance scene—a scene increasingly shaped by organized competitions, nascent hip hop theatre, where dancers juggle multiple jobs for financial stability, geographical isolation limits inter-scene connections, and public perception of breaking’s Olympic inclusion ranges from amusement to derision in a culture prioritizing sport over (underfunded) art—we uncovered fresh insights about identity and felt compelled to make a confession.
We confessed a subculturally sensitive truth: hip hop dance is only part of our lives. We aren’t perpetually ‘Fez the hip hopper dancer’ or ‘Raygun the B-girl’ every moment. These identities are facets of our lives we move between. We adapt our bodies and habits to navigate diverse social spheres – work, family, non-hip hop friends.
Why this confession? Why acknowledge this potentially controversial aspect? Such transparency challenges the ‘live and breathe hip hop’ ethos, potentially impacting our credibility and reputation. One might interpret our dual lives as character creation, personas for artistic expression. Are ‘Fez the hip hopper’ and ‘Raygun the B-girl’ simply roles we play?
But what are the ramifications of such honesty? Are we outsiders? Are we appropriating hip hop culture? Are we exploiting hip hopper dance for personal enjoyment? Conversely, does this confession enhance our ‘realness’, speaking our ‘truth’? Or is our double life a pragmatic necessity in Australia, where street dance remains largely misunderstood by the wider public?
Examining our lives and work outside hip hop dance reveals how we access and navigate different social spheres. This mobility informs our work in bridging and contextualizing breaking and street dance for broader audiences.
Our ‘other lives’ provide the financial stability that allows deeper immersion in hip hop history and practice. We have the time and resources to dedicate to learning, training, and studying hip hop dance.
Our confession opens a space to consider the ethics of access within hip hop’s hierarchy. Deconstructing the meritocratic model of authenticity based on participation and knowledge/skill development reveals its exclusionary aspects. While our double lives might seem to diminish our authenticity, paradoxically, our external work allows greater investment in hip hop dance, providing more opportunities to build a ‘rep’.
Earning respect and authority in the hip hopper dance scene requires years of representation, historical knowledge, connections with key figures, and presence in the right places. While we respect these conventions and acknowledge those who paved the way, we must question accessibility. Rachael’s research highlights how breaking spaces, often imbued with masculinity, can privilege male participation. From ‘boys club’ crews to male gatekeepers of knowledge, to the challenges faced by B-girls, and the erasure of women in hip hop history, her work reveals flaws in the meritocratic model, with further issues surrounding LGBTIQ+ inclusion and disability needing exploration.
However, our current focus is class and geography. How achievable is respect without the means to participate? Who benefits, and what are the consequences? The ‘represent’ landscape has expanded globally, demanding international travel for reputation building. Yet, workshops, travel, and jams demand time and money—even more so for those, like us, in geographically isolated locations like Australia. Flights to the US and Europe can involve 24 hours of travel and cost $2000 AUD, even Asian flights can range from $500-$1000. Visa barriers further complicate matters. Oceania isn’t alone; the list of countries at events like the 2021 World Breaking Championships or BC One reveals which regions have the resources to participate. For some dancers, global representation, learning, networking, and community building are significant hurdles.
Has the pursuit of informed engagement with hip hop dance inadvertently marginalized those hip hop initially aimed to empower? Hip hop has historically been a space for young people, particularly those facing disadvantage, to express themselves and gain recognition beyond societal labels. However, if commitment is a key authenticity marker, do those with greater privilege, education, and mobility have an easier path to perceived ‘authenticity’?
Considering the issues with ‘authenticity,’ we propose shifting focus to ‘ethical’ engagement with hip hopper dance. This move reduces subjectivity, personal desires, and the allure of ‘coolness.’ Prioritizing ethics compels honest self-reflection and consideration of the broader community and culture: How does our participation impact others—peers, predecessors, and future generations?
Personal reflection can guide ethical considerations. Years ago, Feras consciously chose to use ‘Street Dance’ as his primary descriptor. He aimed to avoid misinterpretations for newcomers to hip hop and sidestep any implication that he, an Australian/Palestinian born in Dubai, represents or speaks for hip hop culture. Similarly, Rachael uses ‘Breaking’ rather than ‘Hip Hop’ to avoid any perception that she—a white Australian academic—speaks for hip hop culture. By situating our street dance and breaking practice within and under hip hop culture, we aim for respectful engagement, and by acknowledging that hip hop dance is part of, not our entire lives, we avoid positioning ourselves as hip hop gatekeepers.
Instead of fixating on authenticity, ownership, and identity, what if we re-envisioned our relationship with the dance as one of collaboration and community contribution to this global cultural tapestry? In our engagement, we strive to embrace individual expression within the hip hop dance community, mindful of the interplay between our practice, identity, experience, and ethics.
For many, street dance offers a safe community, a culture to cherish, and an art form to admire. While practitioners, we can also see ourselves as fans. To borrow Feras’s sporting analogy, we are dedicated fans – not team owners or coaches, perhaps not even players, but the passionate supporters with flags, horns, drums, and energy. We are fans not just of individual dancers, but of the movement itself—the dance’s characteristics, the constant innovation, the embedded history, the communal training, cyphers, and battles, the music, history, and culture. Hip hop and street dance provide a robust foundation for limitless self-expression. Therefore, we view hip hop and street dance as dynamic and diverse, not a monolithic entity representable by any single individual—constantly evolving with each dancer’s movement.
The term ‘fans’ can disrupt authenticity-based hierarchies. Perhaps constant ‘showing and proving’ isn’t necessary; perhaps we can simply engage with and enjoy hip hop dance. Why is ‘fan’ a dismissive term in street dance culture? (The ‘e-boy’ insult comes to mind.) Why the rigid distinction between fan and practitioner? Can’t one be both?
An ethical shift might involve wider acceptance of diverse engagement modes in street dance—embracing both practitioners and fans, those with varying levels of knowledge and commitment, possibly creating new categories or blurring existing ones.
Another ethical step would be for those with privilege to support others—using resources to expand access to practice, learning, and representation. Simple actions like introductions and amplifying marginalized voices, alongside larger initiatives like sponsorship, grants, and tiered pricing, could increase event accessibility.
An ethics-driven reflection brings broader issues of culture, inequality, and identity into focus. It prompts questions: How can we experience and share hip hop dance without exploitation or appropriation? How can we make hip hop spaces inclusive and collaborative, rather than exclusive and insular? How can we ensure equitable access to knowledge and representation? And how can those leading ‘double lives’ leverage our skills, cultural practices, and education to uplift local hip hop communities?
We believe it starts with confessing who we are and hip hop dance’s place in our lives.
See you in the cypher… or the office?
Rachael Gunn > Raygun
Feras Shaheen > Fez
[1] ‘Street Dance’ here refers to dance styles evolving outside formal institutions, emphasizing freestyle and community.
Acknowledgement
We acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land where we dance, practice, and learn: the Wattamattagal clan of the Darug nation, the Gadigal clan of the Eora nation, and the Gweagal clan of the Dharawal nation. We respect Elders, past, present, and future, and acknowledge the enduring knowledge that sustains Country and community. Sovereignty was never ceded – this land always was and always will be Aboriginal land.
Buy a copy of Ink Cypher – In Print, a beautifully designed, limited edition, Hip Hop dance newspaper featuring all texts from Ink Cypher here. Commissioned for Ink Cypher, May 2022
A response to “This Dance Is Not Our Own” by Brian Toh
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Rachael Gunn (Raygun)
Rachael Gunn (Raygun) is a Breaker and researcher specializing in the cultural politics of Breaking. Her research blends autoethnography, cultural theory, dance studies, and popular music studies. She holds a PhD in Cultural Studies and lectures in Media, Communications, Creative Arts, Language, and Literature at Macquarie University. In 2020 and 2021, Raygun was Australia’s top-ranked B-girl, with numerous individual and crew titles (143 Liverpool Street Familia). In 2021, Raygun represented Australia at the WDSF World Breaking Championships. Beyond competitions, Raygun emcees jams and organizes workshops and training to support women in Breaking.
IG: @raygun143
https://researchers.mq.edu.au/en/persons/rachael-gunn
https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Rachael-Gunn-2
Rachael Gunn (Raygun) Credit, Jason Lucas
Feras Shaheen (Fez)
Feras Shaheen’s artistic practice encompasses performance, semiotics, street dance, readymade art, and digital media. Born in Dubai to Palestinian parents, Feras moved to Sydney at 11. He works as a director, performer, teacher, choreographer, and digital artist. He holds a Design Bachelor’s from Western Sydney University (2014) and is a freelance designer, photographer, and filmmaker, and a Casual Academic at WSU. Feras is a multipotentialite, excelling across diverse fields through problem-solving, creative thinking, and visual communication. Working at the intersection of beauty and culture, Feras prioritizes logic and meaningful experiences. He is currently working with Marrugeku on ‘Jurrungu Ngan-ga’, addressing cultural difference fears, and developing ‘Klapping’ with Ahilan Ratnamohan, exploring football choreography. Feras exhibited ‘Cross Cultures’ at Pari Gallery and Carriageworks, exploring Generation Y identities and street culture’s intersection with media. He conceptualized ‘Forum Q’, a public art/recreation space in collaboration with Campbelltown Arts Centre. Feras received The Australian Ballet’s Telstra Emerging Choreographer (TEC) award in 2021 and is a member of Marrugeku, Arab Theatre Studio, Buggy Bumpers, Cultural Renegades, and Klappsquad.
IG: @fezshaheen
https://ferasshaheen.com.au/
Feras Shaheen (Fez)
