Boarding House Blues, the Crip Walk, and the Rhythm of Influence
Henry “Crip” Johnson moved with one leg. My father, Mr. Gilmore, moved despite losing one. And Serena Williams? She moved with the weight of history on her back—whether she knew it or not.
Because here’s the thing: people embrace things they don’t fully understand all the time. Trends catch fire, and most don’t stop to ask, Where did this come from? What does this mean?
That’s exactly what happened when Serena Williams Crip Walked after winning her Olympic gold medal in 2012. It was a moment of pure joy, unfiltered celebration—feet moving instinctively, expressing victory the way rhythm always does. But did she know where the Crip Walk actually came from? Probably not. And that’s not unique to her.
Following Without Knowing
Most people who copy a dance, say a phrase, or jump on a viral trend have no idea of its origins. And that’s because so much of what we engage with isn’t based on deep knowledge—it’s based on hype, fellowship, and a natural inclination to mirror what we see and like.
It’s Rhythm Nation. It’s we move together because movement connects us. From TikTok dances to slang to fashion choices, people follow trends because they want to be part of something bigger, part of a shared moment. That’s human nature.
This is why the Crip Walk spread beyond its origins—from the streets of Los Angeles to mainstream hip-hop, sports celebrations, and even the Super Bowl halftime stage. It stopped being about where it started and became a symbol of style, rhythm, and culture. But when something rooted in Black expression gets repurposed—especially without context—society reacts in wildly different ways.
Selective Outrage vs. Cultural Acceptance
When Serena Williams did the Crip Walk, mainstream media criticized her. But when Kendrick Lamar’s dancers did it at the Super Bowl, it was hailed as a cultural statement. What changed? The setting. The framing. The packaging.
This is how Black culture is treated time and time again. Demonized when it’s raw, celebrated when it’s curated. Unacceptable when spontaneous, praised when it’s part of a well-lit performance on a corporate stage.
It’s the same reason people rap along to lyrics without thinking about what they’re actually saying. The same reason people throw up hand signs without knowing their meaning. It’s borrowed, rebranded, and followed without question.
The Lesson in Movement
None of this is new. This is how culture moves. It spreads, it shifts, it gets picked up by people who have no idea where it came from. And sometimes, that’s not even a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s just what happens when something has power—when a movement, a dance, a style, a phrase has enough impact to transcend its origins.
But there’s always a cost. And the cost is history getting erased. The deeper discussion gets skipped over. The meaning behind things gets lost in translation, and suddenly, what was once a raw, real, lived experience becomes nothing more than a viral trend.
Henry “Crip” Johnson moved because movement was his survival. My father moved because stopping wasn’t an option. And Serena Williams moved because rhythm, joy, and instinct told her to.
The bigger question is: when we move, do we understand why? Or are we just following the beat without ever asking where it started?
