I’ve been watching Dancing With the Stars since season 19. That was back in 2014, long before the show had viral moment after viral moment or became a social media talking point. In many ways, Dancing With the Stars felt different back then, less produced, less mainstream. But one thing has remained constant: It’s never really about dance, but about a personal journey.
Dance becomes a vehicle to express the journey contestants undergo onscreen. Ultimately, that journey, communicated through dances, behind-the-scenes rehearsal footage, and, increasingly, social media presence, determines who wins.
How does Dancing with the Stars work?
A quick note about how Dancing with the Stars works, for the uninitiated: Each season, 12-ish celebrities are paired with a recurring roster of professional dancers (who have become stars in their own right!) who guide them through the competition, which involves performing a ballroom, Latin, or jazz/contemporary dance each week. Couples are eliminated one by one, and one couple wins per season. The eliminations are based on a combination of scores (which come from the show’s judges) and audience voting. It may not sound particularly exciting, but trust me: It’s a great, fun, feel-good show, but at the end of the day, it reflects some frustrating realities about the world we live in.
Contestants on Dancing With the Stars usually fit into one of a few categories
In nearly every season I’ve watched, a few different types of contestants show up. There are your ringers: accomplished dancers we all know will do well from the moment they’re announced as cast members (See: Charli D’Amelio, Jordan Fisher). There are unexpectedly great performers: people with no real dance background who discover untapped talent during the show (James Hinchcliffe, Rashad Jennings, and Maura Higgins come to mind). There are fan favorites: people who aren’t great dancers, yet skate through much of the competition thanks to charisma and audience support (David Ross, Andy Richter, Joe Amabile, Bobby Bones, and Guillermo Rodriguez are great examples).
Then there’s another type of contestant that emerges early in most of the seasons I’ve watched: the shock elimination. This happens when a strong dancer clearly doesn’t get viewer votes and is eliminated long before their time. Over the years, this has happened to stars like Tinashe, Sabrina Bryan, Heather Morris, Jenn Tran, and Lauren Jauregui.
There are clear patterns with the shock eliminations
As someone who’s been watching this show for a long time, I’ve been noticing what people are just starting to discuss: a clear pattern that’s been building over the years. (You see it too, right?)
The 35th season, which is currently airing, is no exception. The only difference? This season hasn’t had just one shocking elimination, but two. Taylor Hanson (of ‘90s boy band fame) and his professional dance partner, Britt Stewart (who, it must be noted, is the first and only Black female pro on Dancing With the Stars), were eliminated after just three weeks of competition. The following week, Summer House star Ciara Miller, a Black woman, and her pro partner Brandon Armstrong, a Black man, were given the boot.
This is not just a dance show, and that’s kind of the point
As many people point out when they try to rationalize these results, Dancing With the Stars isn’t purely a dance competition. The best dancer won’t always win, and sometimes, subpar dancers will outlast great ones, they say.
“Reality TV isn’t just entertainment; it’s also a lens through which we can view social dynamics and human behavior, and the patterns that emerge on nearly every season of Dancing With the Stars tell a pretty clear story.”
They’re right: It’s not a dance competition; it’s a reality show. And reality TV isn’t just entertainment; it’s also a lens through which we can view social dynamics and human behavior, and the patterns that emerge on nearly every season of Dancing With the Stars tell a pretty clear story.
The “fan favorite” trope on this particular show—the one that lets someone win over an audience through charisma, relatability, and rootability—is almost always filled by a man, more often than not, a white man. The shock elimination, on the other hand? That almost always affects women, often a woman of color.
As with most reality shows, what’s happening onscreen isn’t just about what’s happening onscreen. It’s about competence and likability and who and what we reward. And when you look at this show and the patterns that have so clearly emerged over the years, how can we not absorb the message that if you’re a man, competence is optional, but if you’re a woman, competence is mandatory, yet ultimately not enough?
Race absolutely plays a role in the shock elimination
Stewart and Armstrong, both Black pros on Dancing With the Stars, are often paired with stars who get shock-eliminated. See: Taylor Hanson, whose early elimination left everyone onscreen visibly shocked. Yes, he’s a white man, but his partner is a Black woman (and one of the only professional dancers on this show who has never made it to a season finale). Of course, many shocking eliminations have affected women of color—which is probably why, when Ciara Miller was eliminated, Armstrong seemed defeated rather than surprised.
There are exceptions. Glee star and professional dancer Heather Morris, who was eliminated right after receiving the first perfect score of her Dancing With the Stars season, is arguably the most notable shock elimination in the show’s history, and Morris is a white woman. But her elimination points to another pattern in the show’s history: Women are often penalized for being cast on Dancing With the Stars if they have significant dance backgrounds.
Fans often just don’t get behind these women in the same way. Granted, this doesn’t just affect women. People were also upset when fellow Glee star Harry Shum Jr., who has a significant dance background, was cast on the current season. Yet the pushback is usually less loud than when an accomplished female dancer appears on the show.
We expect more from the women on the show
We live in a world that demands excellence from women, yet we’re told, through messages both overt and subliminal, to wield that excellence in a very specific way. We have to be humble, yet confident. We have to show personality, but not too much personality. We have to be competent, but our competence will always be questioned, dismissed, or attributed to someone or something else. Because of that, we can’t wear it with pride; if we do, people call us “robotic,” “cold,” “arrogant,” or “unlikable.”
“As women, we are essentially told we have two choices: be likable, or be taken seriously. Men, somehow, get to be both.”
Actress Jenna Dewan, who fills the ringer slot on this season of Dancing With the Stars, is a perfect example: People comment on how good she dances, yet keep saying they just can’t connect with her. Some even surmise that it may be because she’s “too good” as a dancer — that her off-the-charts competence makes her unrelatable. Many say she doesn’t seem “human” enough onscreen. I even heard someone say that watching her dance reminds them “of watching AI” because it’s so polished and clean.
And yes, we’re talking about dancing here, but ultimately, is it really so different from what women experience in so many other areas of life?
The likability trap is real. As women, we are essentially told we have two choices: be likable, or be taken seriously. Men, somehow, get to be both. But if what we see on Dancing With the Stars reflects life (and I truly think it does), we can see it clearly: When men are deemed likable, they don’t even need to be competent to get ahead.
It’s impossible for me to keep pretending this isn’t happening
It’s hard to keep ignoring the patterns that show up, time and time again. It’s hard to pretend we don’t see how white men tend to thrive on this show, whether or not they bring the skill, the capability, or, in some cases, even the effort.
That’s not a knock on any of the male contestants who have endeared themselves to the audience. I’ve loved watching many of them on this show. I admire their willingness to step outside their comfort zone and their ability to connect with a nation of viewers. Andy Richter, for example, is a damn sweetheart, and watching him put so much heart into this new skill was pretty heartwarming…maybe even a bit inspirational.
This issue isn’t about them; it’s about who we don’t afford this opportunity to. It’s about the fact that women, people of color, and perhaps most of all, women of color, are rarely given the space to become that “audience favorite.”
Because at the end of the day, it isn’t just about what happens on this show. It’s about a lifetime of conditioning that tells women, especially women of color, to hold back their vulnerability, to never let the world see the cracks in their armor, and then calls them emotionless or “hard to connect with” for doing just that.
As a longtime fan of this show (who also just happens to be a woman of color who has seen firsthand how these exact dynamics play out offscreen), it’s frustrating to see how frequently women on and off this reality show are expected to be that impossible combination of perfect and relatable, all while men, especially white men, are able to coast on something so much simpler.
Zara Hanawalt, Contributing Writer
Zara Hanawalt is a freelance journalist and mom of two. She specializes in writing feminist, woman-centric content on motherhood, women’s health, work, entertainment, and lifestyle. She has written for outlets like Vogue, Marie Claire, Elle, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Shape, Parents, and more. In her free time, she enjoys travel, cooking, reading, and a good reality romance show.
