Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you saw Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime show. And while there was a wealth of symbolism to interpret on a lyrical, musical, and visual level, what most mainstream outlets have missed is the symbolism in the dance, choreography, and movement. 

There were many stylistic influences on the choreography in the Super Bowl, but one of the most apparent was Turfing. Unlike the dancers in red, white, and blue, the Turfers were outfitted in baggy jeans and baggy white shirts, grooving and dancing during almost all of the songs, with a little solo moment during “Man in the Garden.”

I was lucky enough to speak with two of them.

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A bit of context for you–I moved to New York City a little over a year ago, but I lived in Los Angeles for five years before that. Los Angeles is where I got my start dancing. Technically, I started teaching myself how to dance in high school by watching choreography videos on YouTube, but Los Angeles (specifically, Samahang Modern and the parking lots at UCLA) was my first formal foray into what was then called the “urban” dance scene.

From Los Angeles to New York, I had the privilege of learning from talented choreographers and freestylers who generously shared their vast wealth of information and knowledge. Even seven years into my dance journey, though, I still have so much to learn. One of the most profound things I learned recently was something I heard New York City-based, internationally known dancer Castro say: “Not all styles that Black people do are Hip Hop.” He went on to call Hip Hop and other Afro-diasporic styles, “Black cultural dances.” 

Suddenly, conversations on cultural appropriation and cultural respect that I’d heard since 2020 had newfound clarity. It so succinctly described what I think many of us know to be true but may have a hard time articulating. In the same way that any Filipino, like me, would expect someone who did Tinikling (a traditional Filipino dance) to be respectful of Filipino culture, we must also do the same for Black culture.

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The following is not an exhaustive history of Turfing, but I hope this serves as a bridge or introduction to the style for dancers like me, who love and do Hip Hop and other Afro-diasporic dance styles, yet have much to learn about the history and distinctions.

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Meet Isaac “Stuck” Sanders and Arthur “Dopeyfresh” Gardner. Both dancers are Turfers from NorCal: Sanders is from Sacramento, and Gardner is from San Francisco. Both were of the first generation of Turfing, when it was just a dance at house parties and the club in the 2000s (meaning that the Turfers that you saw in the Super Bowl were in their 30s–dancers aren’t just adolescents and young adults!).

Turfing, like a lot of other street style or party dances, doesn’t have a formal founding date or origin story. What is definite, however, is that it was started in Oakland in the 90s, and made its way around the Bay–from Oakland, to San Francisco, San Jose, Sacramento, and beyond (I know it’s controversial to call Sacramento a part of the Bay, so NorCal in general, I suppose). As the style became more distinct around the mid-late 2000s, people started calling it gigging, or fucking with it. 

Fucking with it isn’t the most PG name, obviously. And so the name Turf dancing was born. Turf stands for Taking Up Room on the Floor. It’s a statement of joy. It’s about taking and making space for oneself. The dance is a spiritual, therapeutic experience. It’s an art form that many people may call a hobby, especially as guests of the community adopt the movement, but the culture is hard to describe. It’s one that kept Sanders out of trouble while he was growing up and kept Gardner sane during the more difficult times of his life. 

Going dumb and Turfing means being true to yourself, which contributes to the style’s richness and diversity. It’s also why it’s not a dance style you can do just by learning vocabulary or following explicit rules or directions– they simply don’t exist, and like Gardner told me, it’s not just something you can explain. That said, just because it doesn’t have written out rules doesn’t make it any less legitimate of a dance style. It requires the same amount of technique, training, and practice as any other dance form– the dancers in the halftime show were locked in for a month of daily, lengthy rehearsals just for a 13 minute performance.

The dancers did not waste a second of those 13 minutes to share their light. It was amazing how– in Gardner’s words– “unapologetically Black,” the performance was. Sanders echoed a similar sentiment; for him to be in an all Black cast of 120 dancers was an incredibly special thing, especially because he is often the only Black dancer in some of the spaces he occupies.

There were some people who may not have fully comprehended the halftime show, but that’s not necessarily the issue. The performance, in Gardner’s words, “wasn’t supposed to be entertaining. It was supposed to make an impact.” 

The part that is most meaningful, especially to Gardner, is that there were people who got it, and these people were able to see genuine representation of their culture. Gardner and Sanders brought themselves, their identities, and their culture to the big screen. They were able to “represent what American doesn’t accept,” as Sanders told me, and show that Turfers could be on the big stage. “I’m here to break the narrative,” Gardner said.

Furthermore, while some people, especially in a mainstream audience, may not have completely understood the performance, the halftime show served as a preliminary introduction to Turfing, which has now opened up the opportunity for many Turfing dancers and educators to share their culture with more people– dancers and non-dancers alike.

Turfeinz is a fairly well known Turfing dance crew based in Oakland, but what’s exciting is that the halftime show has given exposure to even more Turfers and shown that the Turfeinz, though an incredible pioneer and leader in sharing and preserving Turfing culture, is not the only group that represents such a rich, wide, and diverse culture. 

One of the many things that I learned when I spoke with Gardner was that many of us have done a little bit of Turfing without realizing! The smeeze isn’t just a move from the Bay Area. It’s from Turfing!

Sanders told me how much it meant that the Bay was not only referenced, but included in the show, even though Kendrick is from L0s Angeles. There was a lot of intention in bringing in the Turfers– none of them auditioned, and they were specifically contacted on the basis of their contributions to, and status in, their community. One of the OGs from E 40’s music video for “Tell Me When To Go,” which is a cultural touchstone of the hyphy movement, was in the show as well. The Bay’s influence on Kendrick’s music is irrefutable, and including Turfing was a way to genuinely give the Bay– especially its Hip Hop scene– their flowers.

Furthermore, though there were only 10 Turfers in the cast, they all represented different parts of the Bay and serve as a reminder that both Black Culture and Bay Area culture are not monoliths. Gardner was asked to wear a hat to represent Oakland for the show, but as a San Francisco native, he declined– and the costume department was receptive to his and the other dancers’ input. In the end, both the dancers and audience members from the Bay Area recognized how true to the culture the costumes were; baggy jeans, baggy t-shirts, grills, and all.

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Thank you to the dancers who were so generous and giving with their knowledge, perspectives, and experiences. ‍

Arthur “Dopeyfresh” Gardner | IG: @ _dopeyfresh_

Isaac “Stuck” Sanders | IG: @ stucker___

For more information on Turfing, the following are educational and/or artistic leaders and crews in the community:

IG: @yungphil_  @lf_skeeter @_therealslowmotion @xaeiman @therealidummyfanpage @icecold3000 @dmonte_fashion @longlivemosi @the_animaniakz