All about b-boys
I love breakdancing. Always have. When I was a young boy, I saw a kid moonwalking on Sesame Street and was completely captivated by the otherworldly movement. To me, it looked impossible. I shared Big Bird’s amazement when Petey explained that the moonwalk belonged to a whole galaxy of wild moves known as breakdancing, and I was all in. Learned new moves injury by injury through pain and perseverance. Showed off at parties and school dances. Never won any competitions, or even qualified for them, but I enjoyed myself immensely. Eventually I discovered I was a much better DJ than a dancer, and so I left the floor behind for the booth. Although my own time as a breaker was quite short and unremarkable, I cultivated an appreciation for the form and the culture surrounding it, as well as an everlasting admiration for the b-boys, those dance samurai dueling for honor on the cardboard battlefield. To my eyes, the b-boy is a living symbol of the pure jubilation that comes from uniting a body with a beat. I have never seen anyone having more fun than a breakdancer who knows they are totally shredding.
It’s been at least twenty years since I threw down in a circle. Definitely can’t do it now, with the bad back and carpal tunnel syndrome my brief b-boy phase gave me, all exacerbated by age. But I still enjoy seeing the form grow and flourish, and to that end, I watch the Red Bull BC One World Finals every year. Essentially the Super Bowl of breakdancing. It is not the first nor the only global breakdancing championship, but it is the most popular for a reason. Over the years they have refined competitive breaking into its simplest form, easy for even the most casual viewer to understand. They turned it into a real sporting event, with star performers playing to a stadium full of cheering spectators, and former contenders providing color commentary on the action. Their broadcasts are of equal value to fans new and old. And every year without fail, I see at least one ambitious b-boy do something impossible. It keeps me coming back, and continues to inspire new generations of dancers to join the circle.
Most importantly, the Red Bull BC One has increased the visibility of breaking all around the world, bringing a wealth of new inspiration and energy to the sport. When I was a kid growing up in 1990s Texas, there weren’t a ton of resources for a wannabe breaker to draw on. You couldn’t just look up videos on the internet and there weren’t any classes to sign up for at the local gym, so I had to settle for wearing out my VHS copy of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo as I tried to replicate the moves in the mirror. Now, high schools field breakdancing teams and there are waiting lists to get on them. Breaking is set to make its Olympic debut at the 2024 games in Paris, a city that houses a robust hip-hop scene to rival New York’s, and has produced more than a few world class dancers. As a sport, breakdancing is on the verge of getting all the respect and attention it deserves.
This year I decided that in addition to the world final, I would also watch all of the qualifiers leading up to it. I’m really glad I did, because there are so many incredibly talented b-boys that never make it to the championship ring, but they are no less enthralling to behold. The finalists are all the more impressive now that I’ve seen the capable contenders they had to overcome to get there. And every year they raise the bar on what’s possible, creating new tricks and combining old ones in astounding ways. Back when I was learning, the headspin was basically a “game over” move—there was pretty much nothing your opponent could do that was cooler than that, except spin faster and longer than you. But if you want a shot at the world finals in 2023, spinning on your head is a prerequisite. A basic one, at that. If you can’t land a backflip on your head and spin into a windmill with no hands, you won’t be dancing in the last circle. In fact, the endless combo has become common enough that these days judges will penalize b-boys who do too much spinning and not enough dancing.
The hypothetical ideal b-boy strikes a perfect balance between dancer and athlete, adding a subjective element to the competition that cannot be overlooked. Physical prowess alone is not enough to win. Victory is not achieved by scoring the most goals, but by being the most compelling contestant to watch. Dancers are judged not just on the difficulty and execution of their moves, but also footwork, style, and musicality. I’ve seen plenty of powerhouses fizzle out despite their feats of superhuman strength because they ignored the beat. And I’ve seen b-boys defeat seemingly superior opponents with sheer force of personality. When two equally skilled b-boys throw down, the victor is often the one who appears to be having the most fun, making those impossible stunts look easy. But originality matters above all—performing the same catalogue of moves as everyone else won’t win you any oversized belts. That’s just gymnastics.
Watching all of the cyphers around the world has also revealed interesting regional variances in breakdancing. Some things that I originally identified as personal stylistic differences between b-boys turned out to be the standard in their countries of origin. I believed former Japanese champion Issei to be a singularly skilled master of toprock, only to find out that all of the contenders in his homeland have the most impeccably detailed footwork. They spend much more time dancing upright than b-boys from other countries. One of Japan’s top 16 breakers last year didn’t even have any power moves—just fancy footwork and poses. Of course he was eliminated in the first round, but the fact he made it that far says a lot about how much his countrymen value the fine details of the dance. On the opposite end of the spectrum were Holland and Poland, fielding the most of what I’ve termed “b-bros.” Breakdancers built like football players who do only enough footwork to build up momentum for their ridiculous string of power moves without rhythm or reason, as if it were a contest of strength rather than a dance. While impressive, these displays are always defeated by those that actually listen to the music. Which is not to say these countries did not produce some world-class b-boys. Holland’s winner, Kid Colombia, embodies the best of both schools: all the speed and power of a linebacker combined with the grace of an ice skater and more flair than a crate of fireworks. And he makes it look so easy. Definitely my early pick for world champ this year.
I’m sure everyone will be shocked to hear Brazil had the most hyped crowd. They made a righteous amount of noise, went absolutely nuts every time someone landed a dope trick, and some of them even waved handmade signs for their favorite b-boys. Brazil’s competitors also have the most tattoos, if anyone’s counting. Several had full body and face works. Even those I thought didn’t have any would reveal the ink on their chest as a soon as they did a handstand. Although tattoos are common on competitive breakers almost everywhere except Japan, I’d never seen them in such volume before.
The Austrians really love to spin. Even their footwork is spinning. I don’t know how they do it; I get dizzy just watching them.
Taiwan had the most intense fashion choices. Almost nobody showed up in just sweats and a T-shirt. There was a guy with Super Saiyan hair and gold shades wearing a yellow and black striped prisoner uniform with red suspenders. One dude in a banana yellow hoodie facing a dude in an orange vinyl jacket. B-boy Jasper had a black and white checkered pattern all over his sweatsuit, and when he began to spin it looked like my screen was glitching. Even the few b-boys that didn’t bother to dress up still had colorful patterns of KT tape applied to their arms and back. Fashion is an important but often overlooked part of b-boy culture. Many just wear sweats or whatever athletic wear they find the most comfortable, which would be fine in any other sport where artistic expression doesn’t matter. A slam dunk in basketball is always worth two points, no matter how awesome the player looked doing it. But again, breaking is not about scoring goals. A b-boy wins by being more interesting to watch than his opponent, and the clothes they choose to wear have a huge impact on that. Yes, bright colors and interesting patterns can be eye-catching, but there’s more to it than that. Wearing contrasting colors on different parts of the body can make it easier for the audience’s eye to follow a dancer’s movements when they approach ludicrous speed. And the movement of their clothing adds to the overall picture the dancer paints, at times emphasizing, exaggerating, or even concealing their motions. The b-boys of Taiwan seem to understand this better than most.
B-boy Jasper breaking monitors
But what stood out even more than the differences were the things that were the same all over the world. One similarity that surprised me was the music. Of course it was all breakbeats, but that is a genre miles wide. It’s deceptively simple and incredibly versatile—add just enough drums to any catchy hook and you have a circle-shredding banger. I expected a little more diversity in the tunes, to hear samples from the many different musical heritages in all the host countries. Big bass drums from Brazil, sitar stings in India, or maybe some trumpet and violin samples in Mexico. But other than France’s fondness for funk, the records spun were surprisingly similar and betrayed no regional influences. By contrast, the DJs at the world finals tend to play beats from all over the globe, so I was surprised to hear so little variety. I’ve never had the privilege of DJing for a b-boy battle, so I wonder if there are unique considerations when selecting records for a competition as opposed to a cypher at a party or on the street.
Sadly, the other universal constant was the presence of toxic masculinity bullshit. Dancers being aggressive to the point of almost starting fights. While taunting and clowning one’s opponent has always been a part of breakdancing, there’s always at least one guy in the cypher who takes it way too far. A breaker in Poland performed a rude gesture where he put his hand in his opponent’s face, and of course they ended up bumping chests like a couple of silverbacks. In Kazakhstan, a competitor walked out into the middle of the dance floor during his opponent’s turn in an attempt to interfere and had to be ordered to step back. A contender in India opened his set by spitting at his opponent, which is disgusting on even more levels in a world recently ravaged by COVID. To his opponent’s credit, he took it remarkably well. He actually laughed, because he knew there was nothing that guy could do to win after that.
I can’t really fathom the why of this particular brand of stupidity. Breaking isn’t like hockey, where there’s a subtle metagame to playing dirty enough to win, yet clean enough to avoid penalties. If you’re rude, aggressive and obnoxious about it—honestly, if you do anything other than dancing to win a breakdancing competition, you suck and nobody likes you. Not even the judges. All of the b-boys I mentioned performed otherwise admirable sets that had a chance to win if they hadn’t behaved so disgracefully, and each one was unanimously voted off. That brings hope for the future of the sport. Although the judges could do a better job of calling out when a contender is eliminated due to poor sportsmanship. Everyone, even the audience, should know when a competitor is disqualified rather than defeated by his opponent. It helps everyone learn the rules, and it will definitely discourage such behavior when b-boys know that acting like a jerk gets him an automatic loss, no matter how fly his moves may be.
Breaking is bigger than ever, and it looks like it’s going to get the time, attention, and energy it needs to continue to grow and evolve. I can’t wait to see all of the amazing things b-boys will do over the next fifty years.