These LGBTQ+ dancers killed the Red Bull Dance Your Style contest

At only 8 years old, Jin became a dancer. It was a byproduct of “family dinners” that resulted in dance battles outside. There was no music, Jin said. Just dance.

“I have so little control over the outside,” shares the non-binary street dancer. “I think the fighting world is a really good arena to practice deepening myself.”

For Jin, this “practice” includes setting an “intention” before going on stage. One of their favorites is: “Let me be as myself as possible. »

“I’m going for it for me,” they say, of their drive to perform. “I’m going to dance there out of honesty and to be here,” noting that just being “here” is a luxury.

“For my ancestors, there were a lot of times when they weren’t able to show up for their dreams or even dream at all. I really do it for those moments of recognition that it’s a privilege to be an artist in this life.

Although familiar with Chinese folk, contemporary, fashion, hip-hop and experimental freestyle, the dancer’s philosophy transcends styles.

It’s about “coming from a place of love, showing up wherever I am, even if it’s not the greatest feeling.” It’s about being honest. And that’s also what homosexuality is.

A survivor of sexual trauma, something that “a lot of queer people and trans people go through,” Jin finds healing in dance, releasing that pain and regaining empowerment not just over his body, but over himself.

“[Dance] honors the multiplicity of my experience. We are so colorful and so full of life. It’s about honoring all of those selves.

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