WHAT THE DANCE INDUSTRY REALLY TAUGHT ME.

When I first started dancing, it wasn’t in a studio or on stage.
It was under a bridge.
Just me, some music, and a little bit of weed.
I didn’t have money for classes. I freestyled. I observed. I felt. I let my body do what it wanted.

Today, I’ve worked in rooms with top choreographers. I’ve trained students, coached competitive teams, and built a career from what used to be just a dream. And through it all, I’ve learned a lot—especially about what the dance industry actually values.

Here’s the truth:
Your ability to pick up choreography quickly will get you hired before your technique ever will.

Don’t get me wrong—foundations matter. Popping, locking, ballet, jazz… all of that shapes you. But in the real world? Directors want someone who can pick up an eight-count, deliver energy, and match the look of the project—fast. If you take too long, they move on. Simple as that.

So if you’re a dancer trying to make it, here’s my advice:

Find your style. Own your flavor. Make yourself undeniable.

You can take every class in the city, but if you don’t know who you are as a dancer, you’ll always blend in. My style came from the rawness of dancehall energy, the grit of hip-hop, and this scary-sexy-aggressive vibe I cultivated on my own. That didn’t come from mirrors. It came from life.

And here’s something people don’t say enough:
There’s a lot of politics in this industry.

Some directors don’t care about your movement—they care about control. Some cast dancers not for their skills, but for what they think they can get from them. You’ve got to stay grounded. Protect your space. And never let your body become currency for opportunity.

And as a male dancer? Your body is under a microscope. Always has been. You’re expected to look “active,” stay lean, stay strong. And while that pressure can feel unfair, I’ve also learned that dancers are role models. Kids look up to us. They see how we move, how we live. We’re not just performers—we’re permission slips for someone else to believe they can move too.

The last thing I’ll say is this:

Freestyle is a language.
It’s your inner story, your lived experience, your identity in motion.
When you choreograph from that place, people don’t just watch you—they feel you.

So don’t just chase counts.
Don’t just learn steps.
Build your voice.
Move like only you can.
And let every piece of movement carry your truth.

That’s where the real artistry lives.