From Rebellion to Rhythm: Dandyism was Revolutionary to Dance

Imagine, a man stepping on the floor, not to dance, not just yet, but to be seen. The fabric of his long coat illuminated by the candlelight. His black boots reflect the light, seemingly untouched by the filth outside. Poised, but not stiff. Controlled, but not rigid. Every gesture, glance, and grin, all intentional. Before the music even begins, he has already taken his first step. This is the dandy. And this performance of the self was the very first revolution in the world of dance. From Rebellion to Rhythm: Dandyism was Revolutionary to Dance.

Elegant Men Gathering, by StockCake (n.d.).

Dandyism is often overlooked. A slow head turn, a brow lift, a titled chin; what is all this, really, in the grand scheme of movement? The answer: everything. Before dance truly became a safe space for personal expression and storytelling, it was a rigid ritual dictated by precise rules; it left little to no room for individuality and expression.

In the 18th to 19th centuries, European court dances, such as the early waltz, the minuets, etc., were less about self-expression, and more about following a social script; dance was a display of social status, not individual personality.

The Waltz, by Angelo Zoffoli. Late 19th to Early 20th Century.

And then came the dandies; men like Beau Brummell (often known as the ‘godfather’ of dandyism) didn’t just dress well, they moved well. When they entered a room, every intentional movement they made – a slight tilt of chin, a flick of the wrist, a tip of the hat, etc.; all mattered. They understood something dance had yet to embrace: style is movement, and movement is style.

They took rigid, rule-restricted court dances, and brought to them something electric: flair. All small gestures, from an extra bow before the beat, to a subtle flick in a turn, became rebellious acts. They weren’t breaking the rules of dance, sure, but they were bending and shaping it; they were making it their own. 

George “Beau” Brummell, watercolor by Richard Dighton (1805). Caricature of Beau Brummell done as print by Robert Dighton (1805). Color version scanned from Priestley’s The Prince of Pleasure, by H. Churchyard.

What originally started as small shifts of movement rippled out into a wave, influencing the world of dance far beyond just the ballrooms of Europe, and across the Atlantic, a new kind of dandy emerged. 

In the early 20th century, American, black dandies emerged. Dandyism was no longer just about looking sharp; it was about showing out. To “show out”, essentially, is to move with purpose. To demand attention, without explicitly asking for it. It’s the art of being able to command a space. Of being able to make an entrance, and make every movement and step count. 

Sound familiar yet? Because if not, it should.
Jazz, swing, and early ballroom dancing carried with them the same energy.

The ballrooms of Harlem became the first true stage for this new kind of movement. How jazz musicians played with tempo, slowing it down, speeding it up, reflected in the way people danced. The quick-stepped Charleston, high-energy Lindy Hop, and even how musicians such as Duke Ellington and Cab Calloway carried themselves on stage, all of it was dandyism in motion. 

Dancing the Jitterbug, a couple dance the jitterbug in front of a crowd (1939). Los Angeles Times Photographic Archive, UCLA Library.

They weren’t just dancing… They were performing identity. Every step, every flicker, every kick, they turned into a signature. And here’s where the revolution truly happens: that sense of style and flair for the dramatic didn’t just stay in Harlem. It spread. Into the footwork in rock and roll. Into b-boying in early hip-hop. Into modern street dance. It became less about just moving and more about moving like yourself. 

Murilo Resende and Patricia Sousa, two street dancers performing at the URBANOS dance contest in Distrito Federal, BR. 3 June 2012. Photo by Eduardo de São Paulo, Flickr.

Contrary to popular belief, dandyism didn’t die out, it just found new ways to reinvent itself. Think of voguing, for example, (an underground ballroom culture from the 1980s), where Black and Latin queer communities use movement for storytelling, competition, and survival. What do you think inspired Voguing’s focus on precise and angular poses? Dandyism.

The dramatic walk into a battle? Dandyism. And it just doesn’t just end at voguing. Think of krumping, the aggressive and exaggerated style from LA’s clowning scene, which echoes dandy swagger. To ‘crump’ is to own space. To make one’s body larger than life; philosophy dandies lived by. 

Pas charleston lors d’une danse swing (“Basic Charleston”), 6 January 2009, Joe Mabel, Wikimedia.

If it wasn’t yet obvious, the influence of dandyism is everywhere. From voguing and krumping to modern ballroom dancing. Picture this. A modern ballroom dance. The art of the dancers entering. The pause before the first step. The controlled release of energy between each step. The subtle hold of a pose a second longer than expected, stretching out the tension before transitioning into the step next. All of it is dandyism at work. 

What started as something small – a slit chin tilt, a flutter, a wrist turn – became something seismic. Dandyism didn’t just influence dance; it taught dance how to be expressive.

It paved the way for movement to mean something beyond just movement. It’s why we “show out” in clubs today. Why a dancer’s battle entrance mean just as much as their actual movement in the battle. Why voguing, krumping, ballroom dancing, even the simplest nod on a dance floor, all trace back to the same ideology: style is movement, and movement is style.

Dandyism wasn’t just about movement, yet it changed the way in which the world moves. And isn’t that the biggest revolution of all?

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