Breaking Badasses

B-boy Slim made it clear.

“To those of us who do it, it’s not called breakdancing,” said B-boy Slim, senior and president of IU Breakdance Club, whose real name is Chris Funderburk. “That’s just what some reporter back in the 1980s termed it. To us, it’s b-boying, b-girling or breaking.”

So, why support the false terminology by naming the group IU Breakdance Club? Funderburk said it’s a term most people recognize, and it’s necessary for recruiting new members. But once introduced to the realm of b-boying, people learn that breakdancing is a loose definition of a dance that incorporates an entire hip-hopesque culture.

“A real b-boy will know how to dance but will also be consumed with knowledge of the culture that they go out and break themselves for,” Funderburk said.

The hip-hop urbanity branches into four realms: DJs, graffiti heads, emcees and b-boys. And though each is a distinct group, together they celebrate what Funderburk coins the true essence of hip-hop.

“It started in the Bronx in New York because people wanted to escape their lives of shootings and gang rivalries,” Funderburk said. “It was something to look forward to, and for some people today, it’s still a method of anti-drugs or gangs or whatever it may be.”

In a way, the street dance was successful in revolutionizing these rivalries by taking gang violence from the streets to a dance floor, introducing crews to a whole new version of tension.

“It’s competitive, but essentially, it’s all about respect,” Funderburk said. “It’s calling them out and being respectful about disrespecting. At the end of the night, we all shake hands in love. But for a moment, yes, the intensity tests your limits of control.”

Funderburk’s personal crew, Beatsickmisfits, has traveled the world in search of this competitive hype. The group has been in everything from Orlando’s elite competitions to sketchy, leaky backrooms in Cincinnati with duct-taped linoleum floors.

Senior b-girl Samantha Estrada was first exposed to the club at Culturefest her freshman year. The Chicago native said she never had intentions of becoming a b-girl. In fact, in high school, she participated in pom dance and left the breaking to her older brother. However, after graduating and coming to IU, Estrada found the travel opportunities of IU Breakdance Club to be her one connection to her brother, whom she missed.

“I never planned to take it seriously,” Estrada said. “It was my answer to being homesick. But after that first week of lessons, I became hooked.”

Funderburk said the first practice for a b-boy or b-girl starts with learning the basic movements of toprock before ever hitting the ground. It’s where the club loses most people because it requires dancers to take the elements of break and express them in their own manner. But to some, this comes naturally.

“I came from a background of hip-hop and salsa, so it was easy to find my own toprock rhythm,” Estrada said. “But for me, it was when I hit the ground that things changed completely.”

Style and originality are still the most important aspects. In fact, lack the latter of the two and any b-boy will call you out as a biter.

“Copying someone else’s moves is called biting,” Funderburk said. “Some kids will show up the first day and show off with some move they snagged off of ‘America’s Best Dance Crew.’ It’s my job to respond with, ‘It’s cool that you’re able to do that, but it’s not your move.’”

Biting can attract adoration from the untrained eye allowing many dancers to thrive outside of competition, in a different kind of scene — the party.

“It’s not hard at all to entertain at a party,” Funderburk said. “Two small freezes can make people scream, whereas a real b-boy would laugh at you.”

Club members are frequently spotted breaking, whether at a house party or local venue. Funderburk said the difference between a real b-boy and a “breakdancer” is simply their motives to dance. But even without the intention to “show off,” breaking simply attracts attention. In fact, local DJ Wally Wonder said the positive attention of the dancers in a way brings revival to the fading hip-hop scene.

“All of the hip-hop groups are about getting more momentum, a boost of culture that reminds people of the time where hip-hop was kind of a big thing,” he said.

Freshman Steven Hsu said the love of hip-hop and breaking culture has replaced his initial reason to join the club, which was impressing girls.

“In China, dance isn’t a huge part of the culture,” said Hsu, who has a background in the popping and house dance scenes. “Here, there is such an appreciation of dance, and that’s something I really appreciate.”

Currently, the aspiring fashion designer opts for Adidas Sambas or Converse low tops, which contribute to his overall style.

Funderburk said clothing (his pick is Dickies, due to durability) should be optimal for slippage and power movements, adding that three shirt changes are necessary simply because of sweat.

“Presentation is big,” Estrada said. “But over clothes, it comes down to how you handle that tension mentally and then what you bring to the dance floor.”

Estrada said females are outnumbered four to one in the IU club and at least 15 to one in competitions. So for her, this mental presentation is more important than anything.

“Some people take it easier on me because I am a girl,” Estrada said. “But I dedicate myself to this just as much as anyone, and when I dance, I think I prove that.”

Dedication. It’s a recurring theme that should not be underestimated in its terms. Out of the 75 newcomers that come to the first IU Breakdance Club’s practice of the year, more than 50 will drop within a week. Funderburk described the level of physical devotion as a soreness that never fades.

The few willing to dedicate themselves to the art reap rewards only a true b-boy or b-girl can comprehend.

“It’s not for everybody, and lots of people quit,” Estrada said. “But once you’re hooked, there’s no stopping. It’s a family with an entire culture behind it, and it’s something I’ll never be ready to quit.”