I have accidentally taken up ballroom dancing. How did this happen, you ask? Well, seven years ago, I took a few classes as I whiled away the week-long crossing from Southampton to New York on the Queen Mary 2. From among my dance partners, I made a new friend who lived in Manhattan. We have stayed in touch ever since—and this summer, he asked if he could take me to a dinner dance in London.
I was desperate not to let him down—he loves his dancing—so I found a teacher to give me some private lessons in preparation. That was in June, and I have failed to call off the lessons ever since. It’s fair to say I’m hooked, and my teacher, noticing this, has thrown out the “social dancing” syllabus and started steering me towards competition. Given that cha-cha is the only thing I’m willing to get my heart rate up for these days, I’m not completely averse—it’s been a surprise to find a new form of exercise I actually enjoy.
What I can’t work out is whether it counts as sport. I say this as someone who has plenty of time and love for the more “artistic” sports. My favourite movie of all time is The Cutting Edge, a delightfully waspish romcom about figure skating. One of the best things about the film is watching its male protagonist, a hard-bitten ice hockey player, discover how much more brutal his new sport is compared with his old one. He also, of course, discovers how unfair it can feel when your performance isn’t measured by a clock or a scoresheet but by a very human panel of judges.
Some hardliners maintain that no activity in which you are judged subjectively can count as sport. I say these people are robbing themselves of the enjoyment of some of the greatest endeavours on Earth. Few sports showcase an athlete’s physical capabilities as directly as, for instance, gymnastics. I have followed and covered it for decades, and I still struggle to watch a high-bar final without shedding a few tears at what humans can push themselves to do.
But gymnastics isn’t dance, however exquisitely the routines may flow. You can put all the crowd-pleasing character and expressive facial gestures you like into your floor routine, but it’s still the height and accuracy of your tumbles that counts. Cheerleading is the same. Sure, plenty of people still doubt that it’s a sport, too. But they’re wrong, and if they want to know why, all they need to do is watch the Netflix series Cheer and check out the mind-boggling feats of athleticism, the intensity of the coaching and the single-minded focus on winning.
Breaking, though—that’s another matter. It made its debut at this summer’s Paris Olympics as part of a push to give the Games a younger, more urban vibe, and most of us have only just learned not to call it breakdancing (so lame). But its origins are clear: a dance style that emerged in the Bronx in the 1970s, used by youth to express themselves on the streets.
Battles have long been a part of its subculture, but codifying and judging them in a way that works for competition has its problems. “Even though we try to make breaking objective, it’s still subjective,” said one of the US competitors, Jeffrey Louis. “You’re judging art that’s transformed into sport. Sometimes I don’t even know why one guy lost. I’ll be like, how?”
It’s a question that plenty of authors, artists and actors will have asked themselves at the end of an awards ceremony. We all know that prize-giving for creative expression is an entirely subjective operation. Even Martin Creed, who had volunteers sprint through Tate Britain in his Work No. 850, hasn’t yet turned the Turner Prize into a sport.
Anyway, breaking is the first “dancesport” ever to be included in the Summer Olympics, but there are plenty more waiting in the wings, just waiting for their chance. Hip-hop, rock ’n’ roll and disco are just three of the many competitive styles of dancing recognised by the World DanceSport Federation. Who knows what we may see at the 2032 Brisbane Games.
I can’t see ballroom getting the nod, though. Twenty years of Strictly Come Dancing may have turned us into armchair experts, but given the scandals surrounding the programme this year, it’s probably best if ballroom keeps a low profile for now. At least that’ll give me plenty of time to work on my rumba—and figure out how a dance that’s notoriously slow can count as sport.
