(March. 26, 2025)

Celebrity: to choose or not to choose…is that the question?

Celebrity, at its core, has always been about selection. Long before movie stars and professional athletes, societies elevated certain individuals to a status above the masses. In ancient civilizations, religious figures, rulers, and warriors were the first "celebrities," venerated for their power, wisdom, or perceived connection to the divine. Think about the recent movie Gladiator 2, the way these men were positioned to be praised as fighters (did we really need to the sharks in the Coliseum though?). The arts have always played a role in this elevation, with performers in royal courts or “genius artists” positioned as more than mere entertainers—they were vessels for something greater than themselves.

Even as societies became more secular, the idea of the "chosen one" persisted. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, the rise of mass media—theater, print, and eventually radio—allowed a select few artists to transcend their disciplines and become household names. George Balanchine revolutionized ballet, Martha Graham & Alvin Ailey brought us a new “American Dance”, and Mikhail Baryshnikov became a global icon, not just for dance but for art itself. Gregory Hines wasn’t just a tap dancer; he was a presence in film, television, and even music, ensuring that dance remained a visible, culturally relevant art form. These figures weren’t just talented—they were anointed. Gatekeepers ensured their rise, media cemented their status, and audiences revered them.

20th century fame changed the game.

The 20th century saw a profound shift in how celebrities were created and consumed. The entertainment industry became a well-oiled machine, carefully curating and manufacturing stars. In dance, there was still room for larger-than-life figures, but access to that level of fame was tightly controlled. If you were going to be the next Baryshnikov, the system had to choose you. It provided the resources, the platform, and the audience. In return, it monetized your image, your talent, and your legacy.

This model wasn’t limited to dance. It was true across all forms of entertainment. The NBA was saved with the rivalry of Magic Johnson & Larry Bird. It pitted black & white America against each other and brought more attention to the game than had ever existed. And when Jordan came along, the league launched off the backs of Magic/Bird and flew into the stratosphere with campaigns like ‘I wanna be like Mike!”.

Hollywood meticulously crafted stars, ensuring they reached the public in controlled, strategic ways. Fame wasn’t just about talent; it was about a system deciding who would be given the keys to the kingdom. There was a time as a child I literally didn’t think anyone in the world could be more famous than Will Smith. He had the Fresh Prince on TV, a movie out every July. 4th weekend, and was even in my Happy Meals as a toy!

For better or worse, this controlled process ensured that the artists and athletes at the top were highly skilled. They were, in a way, battle-tested. The system filtered out those who couldn’t handle the pressure or lacked the necessary combination of charisma, technical ability, and media training. In short, celebrity status wasn’t something you stumbled into—it was something you earned by being chosen.

(Pause: We need to recognize the system would also filter out talented people because they weren’t willing to make a deal with the devil. For that they should be praised and we should grieve that they didn’t received the potentially life changing opportunities they worked for.)

The Democratization of Fame

But then, the internet happened.

Social media destroyed the old gatekeeping structures. Platforms like YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok made it possible for anyone to build an audience without needing institutional approval. This wasn’t just a shift in access—it was a fundamental change in how we define success.

Now, we see video game streamers like Kai Cenat and Speed becoming full-fledged celebrities. TikTok dancers create trends that sweep the globe, reaching more people than most professional dance companies ever will. They build audiences organically, mastering algorithms in ways that traditional artists—those trained in conservatories, ballet schools, and concert dance—struggle to replicate. And I’m not throwing stones because I am one of them too!

This begs the question: Does their ability to build an audience make their work more valuable? To a trained dancer who has spent decades refining their craft, the answer is a resounding no. But to the average person, who engages with dance primarily through short-form videos on their phone, the answer might be different. If impact is measured by visibility and engagement, then social media dancers are winning the battle for cultural relevance.

The problem is that dance, as a professional art form, wasn’t designed for this new ecosystem. In the past, the "machine" would have selected the next Gregory Hines, nurtured his career, and ensured that he reached mainstream audiences through film, television, and theater. Today, that same machine barely exists in the dance world. Yes, we had Misty Copeland for a moment but it didn't hit the same. Instead, the most visible dancers are often those who figure out how to game the system themselves. Traditional institutions struggle to adapt, and as a result, they risk losing their cultural foothold.

Do We Need Celebrities for Dance to Stay Relevant?

In a world where influence is more easily accessible than ever, do we need celebrities for industries like dance to stay relevant? Look no further than the rise of tech figures, where "tech bros" have evolved from being nerds with deep pockets into the cultural icons of the modern era. Suddenly, they have their own lunch tables, their own spaces in mainstream culture, and they’re perceived as the cool kids. Similarly, politicians—once considered the boring, work-driven figures—have morphed into the new “football team captains,” capturing the attention and admiration typically reserved for celebrities. The celebritization of culture is evident everywhere. Is this necessary? Is it harmful? And, when is it good?

On one hand, the rise of new digital celebrities offers more access to influence. It provides a platform for voices and talents that would have otherwise remained marginalized (not talking about tech bros & politicians here). However, this rapid, viral culture comes with consequences. The more we idolize "the cool kids" in every industry, the more we risk turning every domain, from politics to arts, into a popularity contest. The question isn’t just whether celebrity is necessary for cultural relevance but whether it distorts the value of genuine expertise and talent.

For dance, this celebrity-driven approach can be a double-edged sword. While it allows for visibility and wider reach, it often bypasses the rigor and discipline that dance, as a professional art form, demands. Social media dances may trend quickly, but does this mean we should forsake the historical, technical, and artistic legacies of the form in favor of what garners the most likes?

Or is there a middle ground we need to find?

Do We Still Need the Gatekeepers?

Removing gatekeepers means more people get a shot at success. It means that talent can rise from anywhere, without the need for institutional approval. But without a filtering system, what happens to quality control? If celebrity is determined purely by popularity, does artistry suffer?

Dance, perhaps more than any other art form, has been uniquely affected by this shift. Unlike music or acting, where crossover between traditional and digital fame is more common, professional dance remains largely separate from the viral dance world. Dance companies, choreographers, and seasoned professionals now find themselves competing for attention in an ecosystem that doesn’t necessarily reward expertise. Instead, it rewards what is most shareable, what fits into a 15-second video, and what can be easily replicated by the masses.

And maybe that’s the real question: Do we still need the any version of the "chosen ones"? Do we need figures like Baryshnikov, Hines, or Ailey to guide the public’s understanding of dance? Or is that now the job of our digital stars ? If dance is to remain a culturally relevant art form, does it need its own version of Simon Biles—a singular, undeniable force that commands public attention?

Or, in this new world, should the idea of the "chosen one" an outdated concept?

Always thinking,

Dom