Why Dance Competitions Still Matter in the Age of TikTok
Let me ask you something: In a world where 15-second dance clips on social media can make someone a millionaire overnight, why do we still care about multi-episode dance competitions with million-dollar trophies? The answer, I believe, lies in the messy, glorious humanity of shows like Dancing With the Stars: The Next Pro—where raw ambition collides with artistry under blinding lights. The recent finale, which crowned Adele Zaikman as the newest pro dancer for Season 35, wasn’t just about one woman’s victory. It exposed the beating heart of an entertainment formula that refuses to die, even as algorithms reshape how we consume movement.
The Ballas Dynasty: A Power Move or a Creative Dead End?
Let’s start with the Ballases. Mark Ballas and his mother Shirley sitting side-by-side as judges feels like a branding masterstroke—or a creative risk. Mark, the three-time Mirrorball Champion, brings that competitive edge honed from years in the spotlight, while Shirley’s Strictly Come Dancing pedigree adds international credibility. But here’s what fascinates me: When a family becomes synonymous with a show’s identity, does it create a comforting sense of legacy or a stifling echo chamber? I’d argue both. The Ballas name guarantees a certain technical rigor, but it also raises questions about whether innovation gets sacrificed at the altar of tradition. (And yes, I’m side-eyeing how many Ballas-nominated pros end up on the main show.)
The Pregnant Superhero Narrative: Witney Carson’s ‘I Can Do It All’ Moment
Then there’s Witney Carson’s pregnancy announcement, which the article frames as a triumphant ‘women are amazing’ soundbite. Let’s unpack that. Carson’s quote about wanting to “grow my family” while returning to the show reads like a corporate-approved anthem for modern womanhood. Personally, I find the framing exhausting. Since when did choosing to dance while pregnant become a revolutionary act? Yes, it’s admirable—but the narrative that women must seamlessly juggle career and biology without breaking a sweat is precisely the kind of myth that fuels burnout culture. What the article doesn’t ask, but I will: At what cost does this ‘supermom’ ideal come? Will Carson’s storyline shift the show’s approach to pregnant dancers, or will it become a hollow marketing angle?
The 12-Dancer Formula: A Microcosm of Creative Burnout
The Next Pro’s structure—12 dancers, weekly eliminations—feels increasingly formulaic. Take the eliminated contestants: Briar Nolet’s commercial dance background, Natalie Jolley’s injury, AJ Pritchard’s near-win. These aren’t just names; they’re archetypes we’ve seen recycled across reality TV. What this system exposes is the brutal economics of entertainment. Dancers aren’t just showcasing skill; they’re selling relatability, drama, and marketability. I’d argue the show’s real product isn’t dance—it’s emotional manipulation. The producers know we’ll root for the underdog, gasp at injuries, and tune in next week to see if the ‘viral wow moment’ (Daniella Karagach’s challenge) pays off. It’s choreographed unpredictability, and it’s as cynical as it is effective.
Adele Zaikman: The ‘Latin’ Label and What It Reveals
Now, let’s talk about Zaikman herself. The article labels her a ‘Latin’ specialist, but that feels reductive. Latin dance styles—samba, cha-cha, jive—are often treated as flashy crowd-pleasers rather than serious art forms. By framing her win through this lens, are we accidentally pigeonholing her potential? What if Zaikman’s real value lies in her ability to blend Latin flair with unexpected genres? This is where the show’s commentary falls short: It celebrates technical mastery but rarely interrogates how genre labels limit dancers’ creative evolution. If I were betting, I’d say Zaikman’s Season 35 arc will hinge on defying that very label.
The Deeper Problem: Dance as Commodity vs. Art Form
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: Dancing With the Stars has always walked a tightrope between celebrating dance and exploiting it. The Next Pro’s spinoff structure—designed to ‘discover’ new talent—feels less like a tribute to artistry and more like a talent farm system. Compare this to, say, So You Think You Can Dance, which focuses purely on technical versatility. The difference? DWTS isn’t just selling dance; it’s selling relationships, celebrity, and emotional stakes. And while that’s great TV, it risks reducing dance to a storytelling tool rather than a discipline with its own intrinsic value.
Final Thoughts: Why We’ll Still Be Watching in 2030
Despite my critiques, I’ll admit: I’ll probably watch Season 35. Why? Because there’s something primal about seeing humans push their bodies to the edge for applause. The show’s blend of technical precision and emotional theater taps into something ancient—our need to witness struggle, transformation, and connection. But the real story here isn’t Zaikman’s win. It’s the tension between art and entertainment, between legacy and reinvention, that keeps this franchise alive. And as long as we’re conflicted about what dance ‘should’ be, shows like this will find a way to stay relevant—even if they have to invent new mirrorballs along the way.
