When Dance Becomes an Investment Strategy
I have been thinking a lot about where dance is going.
Not just dance as an art form.
Not just dance as a class, recital, or performance.
But dance as an industry.
Over the past few years, we have seen more conversations around dance competitions, conventions, youth training, and entertainment brands becoming bigger, more polished, and more corporate. On one hand, growth can be exciting. More events can mean more exposure. Better production can make dancers feel like they are part of something major. National platforms can help students dream bigger.
But I also think we need to ask a deeper question.
What happens when dance becomes less about community, education, and access, and more about profit, growth, and return on investment?
Private equity is when an investment firm buys or invests in a company with the goal of increasing its value. In many industries, that is just seen as business. But dance is not a regular product.
Dance is education.
Dance is culture.
Dance is childhood development.
Dance is mentorship.
Dance is history.
Dance is community.
So when investors look at dance and see a growth opportunity, I think we have to pause and ask who benefits from that growth and who gets left behind.
Because from where I stand as a dance educator, the people most likely to be pushed out are often the families and communities that already have the least access.
Black and brown dancers.
Working-class families.
Small community studios.
Public school dance programs.
Teachers who are already stretched thin.
And children who love dance but cannot afford for dance to become any more expensive than it already is.
Dance Already Has an Access Problem
Before we even talk about private equity in dance, we need to be honest.
Dance already has an access problem.
Classes cost money.
Competition fees cost money.
Costumes cost money.
Shoes cost money.
Conventions cost money.
Private lessons cost money.
Summer intensives cost money.
Travel costs money.
And then there are all the hidden costs that people do not always talk about.
The hotel room.
The gas.
The food.
The parking.
The missed workday for a parent.
The extra tights.
The makeup.
The emotional stress of watching other dancers receive opportunities because their families can afford more.
As a teacher who has worked in both public school and private studio settings, I have seen how different access can look depending on the space. In my post on what public school dance programs and private studios can learn from each other, I talked about how both spaces have value, but they often serve students in very different ways.
A private studio may offer specialized training, performance opportunities, and a tight-knit community. A public school dance program may reach students who would never have access to dance outside of school. Neither space is perfect, but both matter.
The problem is that when dance gets more expensive, the private studio world becomes harder to access and the public school world is often underfunded. That means the children who need dance the most may have the least access to it.
And that is why this conversation matters.
If dance already has barriers, what happens when the business model adds more pressure to make money?
What Private Equity Changes
Private equity firms usually invest in companies because they see room for growth.
That growth can happen in a few ways.
They may buy multiple companies and bring them under one larger brand.
They may expand into more cities.
They may add more events.
They may increase marketing.
They may build stronger systems.
They may look for ways to increase revenue and make the company more valuable over time.
In 2023, TZP Group announced strategic investments in Break The Floor Productions and Star Dance Alliance to create DanceOne. The announcement described DanceOne as the largest holding company of dance brands in the world and said it represented the largest institutional investment in the dance industry to date. DanceOne brought together major dance competition, convention, and education brands under one larger company.
To be fair, growth is not automatically bad.
Organization can be helpful.
Better systems can be helpful.
Strong production can be inspiring.
Dancers deserve professional experiences.
But the question is not whether growth can create opportunities.
The question is whether access grows with it.
Because if the company grows, the event list grows, the branding grows, the ticket prices grow, the merch grows, and the pressure grows, but access does not grow with it, then marginalized families are going to feel that first.
Opportunity or Pay-to-Play?
This is where we need to be honest about competition and convention culture.
Competitions and conventions can be amazing.
They can build confidence.
They can expose dancers to new teachers.
They can give students a chance to perform.
They can motivate dancers to train harder.
They can create beautiful memories.
I am not against competition dance.
But I do think we need to talk about how easily opportunity can become pay-to-play.
A dancer’s visibility is often connected to how many rooms they can afford to be in.
Can they attend the convention?
Can they pay for the solo?
Can they travel to Nationals?
Can they afford the hotel?
Can their parent take off work?
Can they do the extra private lessons?
Can they pay for the photos, videos, merch, and master classes?
Can they keep showing up until the right person sees them?
That is not just about talent.
That is about resources.
And there are talented dancers everywhere.
There are talented dancers in public school gyms.
There are talented dancers in community centers.
There are talented dancers in church basements.
There are talented dancers in small studios that cannot afford the biggest circuits.
There are talented dancers whose parents are working multiple jobs and cannot take off for a four-day convention weekend.
If the dance industry only rewards the dancers who can afford to be seen, then we are not always finding the best dancers.
We are finding the most resourced dancers.
That should bother us.
Small Studios Feel the Pressure Too
This conversation is not only about dancers and families.
It is also about small studios.
A small studio owner is often doing everything.
Teaching classes.
Answering emails.
Planning recitals.
Cleaning the studio.
Ordering costumes.
Managing parents.
Creating schedules.
Marketing on social media.
Checking in on students emotionally.
Trying to keep tuition affordable while also paying rent, teachers, insurance, music licenses, and all the other costs that come with running a dance business.
In many Black, brown, rural, and working-class communities, the local dance studio is not just a business. It is a safe place. It is a second home. It is where kids learn confidence, discipline, responsibility, and how to express themselves.
I have written before about the difference between teaching dance in public schools and private studios, and one thing I know is this: every space has its own kind of pressure. Public school teachers may struggle with space, funding, and resources. Studio teachers may struggle with tuition, retention, and the expectation to offer more and more.
When big companies dominate the competition and convention world, small studios can feel like they have to keep up.
They may feel pressure to attend more events.
They may feel pressure to prove their students belong.
They may feel pressure to enter more numbers, travel farther, or participate in larger circuits.
And eventually, that pressure lands on families.
For one family, an extra fee might be annoying.
For another family, that same fee may be the reason their child has to sit out.
Culture Is Profitable, But Who Profits?
This is the part of the conversation that feels especially important when we talk about marginalized and minority communities.
A lot of what makes dance profitable comes from culture.
Black culture.
Latino culture.
African diasporic movement.
Hip hop.
Jazz.
Tap.
Social dance.
Street dance.
Club culture.
Community movement traditions.
The same movement styles that were created in marginalized communities often become marketable once they are packaged for mainstream audiences.
And this is not new.
Dance history has always had a pattern of taking from communities while not always crediting or investing back into those communities.
We see it in jazz.
We see it in tap.
We see it in hip hop.
We see it in social dance trends.
We see it when Black movement becomes popular, profitable, and branded, while Black dancers, Black teachers, and Black communities still have to fight for respect, pay, and ownership.
This is why I think conversations about private equity in dance cannot only be about business.
They have to be about culture.
If companies are making money from dance forms that came from Black and brown communities, then those communities need to be more than marketing material.
They need leadership.
They need ownership.
They need fair pay.
They need real scholarships.
They need teaching opportunities.
They need space on faculty.
They need cultural credit.
They need decision-making power.
There is a difference between celebrating culture and extracting from it.
And the dance world needs to know the difference.
Dance Education Cannot Be Reduced to Content
Another concern I have is what happens to dance education when everything has to scale.
Real dance education takes time.
It takes relationship.
It takes correction.
It takes patience.
It takes history.
It takes context.
It takes a teacher who sees the whole child, not just the body doing the step.
But scalable dance experiences can sometimes become more about hype than depth.
More about the brand than the training.
More about the wristband than the learning.
More about the award than the artistry.
More about being in the room than understanding why the movement matters.
I love when dancers are inspired. I love when students get excited after a class. I love when a teacher can light a fire in a young artist.
But I also care about whether the education is deep.
Are students learning where movement comes from?
Are they learning the history?
Are they learning about the people who built these forms?
Are they learning respect?
Are they learning community?
Or are they just learning choreography fast enough to post it online?
That matters.
Especially for Black dance forms.
You cannot take the movement and leave the history.
You cannot take the rhythm and leave the people.
You cannot take the style and leave the struggle.
If dance becomes only content, product, and performance, we lose something sacred.
Public School Dance Matters More Than Ever
This is also why public school dance programs matter so much.
For some students, school is the only place they will ever receive dance education.
They may not be able to afford studio tuition.
They may not have transportation.
They may not live near a studio.
Their parents may not know where to begin.
But if dance exists in their school, the door opens.
That is why I care so much about dance in public education. In my article on classroom set up for dance educators in the public school system, I wrote about teaching from a cart, teaching in multipurpose rooms, and trying to create meaningful dance experiences even without a perfect studio.
That kind of dance education matters.
Not because every child will become a professional dancer.
Most will not.
But every child deserves the chance to experience what movement can teach them.
Confidence.
Creativity.
Discipline.
Body awareness.
Teamwork.
Problem-solving.
Expression.
Joy.
The American Academy of Arts and Sciences notes that students from historically marginalized backgrounds often benefit greatly from arts education in schools because they are more likely to depend on schools for those experiences. That lines up with what many of us already know from teaching.
When dance is only available through private pay systems, we lose students before they ever get a chance to begin.
What the Cheer Industry Can Teach Us
Dance is not the only youth performance space that has seen major private equity involvement.
Varsity Brands, which includes Varsity Spirit, has been owned by major investment firms. Reuters reported that KKR agreed to acquire Varsity Brands from Bain Capital in a deal worth about $4.75 billion, including debt. Reuters also reported that Varsity Spirit and its current and former private equity owners agreed to an $82.5 million proposed settlement in a class-action lawsuit accusing the company of overcharging athletes and boxing out competitors. The defendants denied wrongdoing.
Now, dance and cheer are not the same.
But there is enough overlap in youth performance culture that I think dance families should pay attention.
When one company or one ownership group controls too much of an ecosystem, families can end up with fewer choices.
Fewer affordable alternatives.
Fewer independent events.
Less room for small organizations to compete.
And when families have fewer choices, the company has more power.
That is why consolidation matters.
It is not just a business headline.
It can affect the cost, access, and culture of youth performance spaces.
I Am Not Against Growth. I Am Against Forgetting the Mission.
I want to be clear.
I am not against dance businesses growing.
I am not against strong production.
I am not against dancers having professional opportunities.
I am not against companies making money.
Dance teachers, studio owners, artists, administrators, and event producers deserve to be paid for their work.
But there is a difference between making money to support the mission and changing the mission to make more money.
That is the line I care about.
Dance has always been bigger than business.
For many of us, dance was where we found our voice.
It was where we learned discipline.
It was where we learned confidence.
It was where we learned how to walk into a room and take up space.
It was where we learned how to tell stories our words could not hold yet.
For marginalized communities, dance has also been a way to preserve culture, resist oppression, build identity, and create joy.
So when investors look at dance and only see a growth market, they are missing the soul of it.
Dance is not just an industry.
It is a lifeline.
What Should Parents, Teachers, and Studio Owners Ask?
I do not want this article to only feel heavy. I want it to help us ask better questions.
If a dance company is growing, ask who benefits from that growth.
If a competition is expanding, ask whether access is expanding too.
If a convention is raising prices, ask what scholarship support exists for families who cannot afford it.
If a company is using Black and brown dance forms, ask whether Black and brown teachers are being paid, credited, and placed in leadership.
If a studio is asking families to attend more events, ask whether every child can participate without shame.
If a brand says it cares about community, ask how much money is actually going back into communities.
And parents, please hear me.
You are not a bad dance parent if you cannot afford every event.
You are not failing your child because you cannot pay for every solo, every convention, every intensive, or every extra opportunity.
Your child’s love for dance is not less valuable because your budget has limits.
And teachers, especially those serving marginalized communities, I see you.
I know you are trying to give your students access.
I know you are trying to compete with bigger programs.
I know you are trying to keep the lights on.
I know you are carrying more than people realize.
What a Better Dance Industry Could Look Like
A better dance industry would not punish families for having financial limits.
A better dance industry would create real scholarship pathways, not just one scholarship for show.
A better dance industry would support small studios instead of making them feel like they have to constantly buy into bigger systems to be seen.
A better dance industry would invest in public school dance programs.
A better dance industry would bring high-quality teaching into community centers, public spaces, and neighborhoods that have been overlooked.
A better dance industry would make sure cultural forms are taught with context.
A better dance industry would pay teachers fairly.
A better dance industry would make room for Black and brown leadership, not just Black and brown performance.
A better dance industry would understand that dance is not only about creating stars.
It is about creating people.
People with confidence.
People with discipline.
People with imagination.
People with a connection to their bodies.
People with a connection to their culture.
People who know that their stories matter.
Final Thoughts: Who Gets Left Behind?
When we talk about private equity in dance, I do not want us to only talk about business deals.
I want us to talk about children.
I want us to talk about access.
I want us to talk about the parent deciding between a dance fee and a bill.
I want us to talk about the small studio owner trying to keep dance alive in their community.
I want us to talk about the Black and brown dancers whose culture helps make the industry profitable, while their communities are still fighting for resources.
I want us to talk about what happens when the arts become too expensive for the people who helped shape them.
Dance should grow.
Dance should evolve.
Dance should reach more people.
But if dance grows in a way that leaves marginalized communities behind, we have to ask if that growth is really progress.
Because dance does not belong only to the people who can pay the most.
Dance belongs to the child moving in the living room.
Dance belongs to the student in the public school gym.
Dance belongs to the community center.
Dance belongs to the church basement.
Dance belongs to the small studio trying to survive.
Dance belongs to the cultures that created these movements before they were branded, packaged, and sold.
And if we forget that, we may build a bigger dance industry.
But we will lose the soul of why dance mattered in the first place.
So my question is this:
As dance becomes more commercial, more corporate, and more investor-backed, how do we make sure the people most responsible for shaping dance culture are not the first ones priced out of it?
Because that is a conversation we need to have.
And I think it is time we stop avoiding it.
Related Posts on My Ordered Steps
- Dancing Through the Divide: What Public School Dance Programs and Private Studios Can Learn From Each Other
- What’s the Difference Between Teaching Dance in Public Schools vs Private Studios?
- Classroom Set Up for Dance Educators in the Public School System
- The Benefits of a Dance Education: Why Every Student Should Experience the Joy of Movement
- The Black Artists Who Changed Dance History Forever
- What the Kennedy Center Dance Shake-Up Means for the Future of the Arts
Happy Dancing!
Taylor B
