Street dance has always caught the world’s imagination—impossible tricks, jaw-dropping energy, and that elusive, magnetic “cool.” Yet behind every viral video is something deeper: a cultural code. And recently, that code became a topic of fierce debate, at the heart of a firestorm swirling around New Zealand’s Royal Family Dancers (RF).
The Online Storm: Who Owns the Moves?
It started, as many things now do, on TikTok: a post accusing RF of recycling old choreography from Paris Goebel. What heated things up wasn’t just the accusation—it was how quickly online communities jumped in, citing specific routines they believed were copied, and using insider lingo like “biter” (a label in crumping for someone mimicking another’s style as if it were their own).
This wasn’t just a spat over steps. It was an argument over innovation, originality, and what it truly means to honor an art form. Dancers value the creation of new movement signatures; being labeled a biter can deeply hurt a dancer’s rep.
Some of the Royal Family dancers’ online responses—particularly from well-known members like Harmsy and Tisha—just made things worse, being seen as “salty” and defensive. Critics argued they behaved like “divas” rather than simply engaging respectfully or questioning show producers like Mnet, the South Korean company behind many high-pressure dance competitions.
Yet, our sources also urge caution. Not all of their responses were fiery. Sometimes, they just replied “Okay, noted.” In many cases, the online “outrage” gained fuel from commenters as much as from crews. Still, it raises a core issue for performers today: how do you defend your art in a hyper-connected world, and where is the line between standing your ground and pouring fuel on the fire?
The Legal & Ethical Layer: Who Profits? Who Pays?
Adding complexity, there’s the legal dimension. Choreography can, under specific circumstances, be copyrighted if it’s well-recorded (think Epic Games and dances in Fortnite). But copyright only answers legal questions—not the bigger ethical ones. Who gets credit for creating a move? Who benefits financially? Who carries the burden of seeing their culture borrowed, sometimes without any recognition?
To answer these, you have to go deep into history—and the roots aren’t pretty.
The Ghosts of the Past: From Minstrelsy to Meme
Cultural appropriation isn’t just about sharing; it’s often exploitation. It echoes back to 19th-century American minstrelsy, where white performers donned blackface to profit from (and twist) Black cultural expression. Not only did Black creators get nothing back, but their very identities became white property.
Minstrelsy’s powerful social engineering reinforced stereotypes and constructed “otherness.” Its legacy is chillingly clear today, when you see acts like “blackcent” (white performers adopting African-American English for effect) or “blackfishing” (altering one’s appearance to look Black or racially ambiguous for clout). These patterns, modern or historical, all turn Blackness and minority cultures into commodities, prized only when repackaged to fit white standards of “cool.”
Even when appropriation looks like positive cultural exchange, the reality is often more nuanced. Take Madonna’s Vogue video: featuring real ballroom legends, it brought voguing to the masses, yet faced criticism for disconnecting the dance from its black and Latinx LGBTQ+ origins—the communities that created it and for whom it meant survival and solidarity.
Hip Hop’s Global Journey—And the Slippery Slope
Hip hop was never just a dance style. Born in the South Bronx as a counter-narrative to neglect and exclusion, hip hop culture—dance, rap, DJing, graffiti—offered marginalized youth a way to reclaim identity, voice, and power.
From those origins, hip hop traveled fast: becoming a global identity marker for Latinx, Māori, Aboriginal, and other youth who found in its form and philosophy a way to resist and reinvent. Hip hop absorbs, cross-pollinates, and adapts—from martial arts footwork to breaking sets inspired by Bruce Lee. Yet at its heart is “call and response,” connection, and a cycling back of credit and meaning to the community.
Still, as the culture became global, new questions arose: how do white or non-Black dancers enter the scene respectfully? Scandinavian b-boy Darkmark, for instance, was admired for skill but also prompted debate about racial dynamics and cultural boundaries. The key, many insist, is honest, nuanced critique—what one source called “inappropriate critique.” Binary thinking (“good” vs “bad”; “authentic” vs “inauthentic”) often misses the complexity of how dance movements cross—and sometimes challenge—cultural lines.
The Inequality Baked In
Here’s the tough reality: The vast majority of people and companies profiting from hip-hop dance globally are still white, while the communities that birthed these styles rarely see those benefits. It’s a painful economic disparity that creative industries must face.
What can individuals do? Credit your teachers and sources, both in person and online. Use your stage or social platform to create paying opportunities for originators from the culture. Simple, practical steps that start to balance the scales.
The Dancer’s Journey: Beyond Fame, Beyond the Stage
All of this brings us to what it actually takes to master and contribute to street dance culture. Burnout is real; very few dancers make a full-time living. Consistent practice—even just 30 minutes a day—matters more than going viral or winning one battle. And mentorship is currency: dedication, humility, and showing up hungry count for far more than money.
Battling—that “next-level” test—isn’t just freestyle plus technique. It’s mental resilience, strategy, and improvisation under direct pressure. Dancers don’t just prepare moves; they develop adaptive “sets” that can be tweaked in real time, fusing structure and freedom.
Walking Forward: Art With Roots, Respect, and Realness
If you love street dance—whether as audience or performer—the responsibility is shared. Elevate the roots, invite honest critique, and never forget to credit those who paved the way. Support the weary, not just the winners. Remember, viral fame glimmers for a moment, but cultural stewardship makes the artform last.
Dancers: Who are you crediting today? Fans: What do you amplify? Together, are we biters—or are we building something lasting and true?