The introduction of Breakdancing at the Paris Summer Olympics 2024 marked the first dance event in history to be performed on such an internationally significant and highly esteemed stage. Despite the significance of breaking’s Olympic debut, discussion of the event has centred around ridicule of Rachael Gunn, a 37-year-old Australian university lecturer, and her last-place breaking performance in August. Masses of online viewers have mocked her performance, to the point of a statement release asking for an end to the cyberbullying. She’s been accused of everything from nepotism to cultural appropriation. The overwhelmingly negative reaction to her breaking is arguably far more complex than it appears.
While the World DanceSport Federation had been campaigning for years to have dance recognised as an Olympic sport, Ballroom & Latin were initially considered the most likely disciplines to achieve this goal. Breakdancing or ‘breaking’ is far newer than these disciplines, pioneered by African American and Latino youths in the late sixties and early seventies and lacking the formalised, club-based structure of most styles. It’s usually performed by unofficial crews or solo performers, although official clubs are being increasingly established to provide support and training for dancers.
Many people struggle to determine whether dance is an art or a sport – although I would argue that it is both – and how it compares to events that are primarily quantitatively judged, like sprinting or shot put. Competitive dance in all its various disciplines requires both qualitative and quantitative evaluation, bringing massive room for variation in judge’s opinions and stylistic preferences. But this isn’t a new concept in sport – long-established and well-respected Olympic events like gymnastics, synchronised swimming, and figure skating are all evaluated in this manner, with metrically ranked skills dependent on difficulty as well as points afforded for artistry and musicality. Why, then, has the Olympic debut of dance accidentally become a global joke?
To understand the Raygun controversy, we must consider the broader cultural perception of breakdancing, and the place of bias in competitive arenas. Breaking originated on street corners in poor urban communities, and has long thrived as a medium of social commentary and resistance. It developed as a raw and improvisational art form, distinctly separate from the highly regimented, formalised world of traditional competitive dance.
It’s also deeply intertwined with the music and culture of hip-hop. These origins have led to marginalisation in the dance world, where elitism and Eurocentrism have often determined which disciplines are perceived as ‘serious’ or ‘professional’. When Breakdancing debuted in Paris, it faced not just scepticism, but outright confusion. Social platforms were flooded with posts questioning how it could possibly qualify as an Olympic sport, contributing to the intense competition between less recognised sports to be awarded a place in the Olympics.
The sceptical reactions online reveal another bias: many audiences are conditioned to value athleticism, difficulty, and spectacle over artistry, musicality and expression in dance. After all, the sense of the ‘superhuman’ is part of what makes the Olympics captivating to public audiences. Breaking, however, has humble origins, rarely involving bedazzled costumes, stage makeup or highly structured routines typical of other events. Whilst it can include impressive levels of physicality, it also values rhythm, improvisation and a dancer’s personal resonance with a piece of music. Those familiar with competitive dance will have seen routines that rely heavily on ‘tricking’ to the point of almost ignoring musical or lyrical engagement. Whilst this often limits success in the dance world, in multi-sport realms like the Olympics it is potentially more valuable. Emphasising athleticism, power and flexibility increases dance’s similarity to sports such as gymnastics, and increases its perceived legitimacy.
The backlash against Raygun has been a messy mix of ignorance about breaking, misogyny, cultural discomfort, and genuine criticism. It’s no secret that female athletes are often the victims of ridicule and dismissal, and Raygun—a relatively older woman (the average female Olympian is 27) in a field dominated by younger men—was an easy target for those already sceptical about the inclusion of breaking in the Olympics. Comments ridiculing her physical appearance and middle-agedness were widespread, reflecting deep-seated discomfort with her presence in the traditionally male-dominated sport.
Another important aspect of understanding her performance relates back to breakdancing traditions. The creation of a unique persona——often signalled by a nickname——is integral to the style. So is mockery of one’s opponent and comedic or playful aspects, such as the ‘kangaroo hop’ move that Gunn displayed, nodding to her home country. Contexualising Gunn’s performance in the tradition of breaking is essential in the defence of her participation. Many also pointed out Gunn’s race, as breaking has been historically performed by people of colour. However, as someone eager to see street dance performed at elite levels, it feels unproductive and counteractive to impose exclusionary values and qualifying traits on the discipline.
It’s still fair to acknowledge that Gunn placed last for a reason and Australia almost certainly has better b-girls who simply couldn’t fund the training and support needed to get themselves to the Olympics. Much of the criticism of her actual dancing is, in my opinion, exaggerated, but her Olympic performance lacked fluidity and was definitely awkward in places. Although breakdancing is an improvisational discipline, part of the art is making it appear seamless, rather than stilted. Rachael herself stated that she knew she was not good enough to win and had not sufficiently trained.
Yet, despite her last-place Olympic performance, she’s recently been ranked as the world’s number one female breakdancer by the WDSF. The details of this ranking are complicated——only certain breakdancing competitions contributed to the scoring, and neither the Olympics nor any other competition after the end of 2023 were included. Raygun’s spot is heavily weighted by a first-place position she scored in an Oceania breakdancing competition in October 2023. Several factors have come into play in terms of Gunn’s ability to keep moving up breaking rankings, which some have viewed as evidence of bribery or bias. I agree that both the decision by the WDSF to exclude the most recent competitions arbitrarily and the barriers to compete, like registration fees and travel expenses are unfair and have meant that the best athletes or those with the most potential do not always appear on the world stage – in all sports. However, that’s not Gunn’s fault.
Raygun’s mockery underscores a broader societal discomfort with challenging certain norms. Her presence on the Olympic stage brings up uncomfortable questions about what belongs where: street dance in the Olympics, white women in hip-hop culture, and women in sport.
Ultimately, the debate over breaking’s place in the Olympics is about more than just one dancer’s performance. It is about whether we are willing to expand our definitions of sport and recognise the total spectrum of human creativity and athleticism. The Olympic Committee’s decision to include breaking, and their subsequent efforts to clarify the judging criteria, represents a step forward in this direction. Raygun’s performance was a testament to the courage to push boundaries and create an unorthodox and original performance, which are fundamental traits of break dance. I can empathise with her experience (as a dancer who is routinely petrified when asked to improvise), and the process of creating a performance in real time. When judged against this criteria, she deserves more than our criticism—she deserves our respect.