TikTok Choreography 101

How a University Turned Viral Dances Into an Academic Discipline

The Dean Who Finally Gave Up

When Chancellor Reeves announced Willow State University’s new Bachelor of Fine Arts in TikTok Choreography, the traditional dance department wept while the admissions office rejoiced. The program wasn’t born from artistic vision but from enrollment data: a 300% spike in applications mentioning “dance” coincided exactly with the rise of viral routines. According to the National Endowment for the Arts, performing arts programs have struggled with declining enrollment for a decade, forcing universities to either adapt or close their studios. Willow State chose adaptation, rebranding millennia of dance tradition as “pre-digital movement vocabulary” to make room for the “Renegade” and the “Say So.”

The Curriculum: From Plies to Algorithms

The course catalog reads like a generational peace treaty. “Dance History 101” now covers everything from ballet’s origins to the Charleston to the “Woah.” “Choreography for Small Vertical Screens” teaches students how to design moves that read clearly in a three-foot-tall rectangle. “Algorithmic Virality” is co-taught by a computer science professor and a 19-year-old with 2.3 million followers. Required viewing includes Martha Graham and Charli D’Amelio, presented as two ends of the same expressive spectrum. As Inside Higher Ed reports, universities are increasingly creating programs that mirror digital native culture, though whether this is pandering or progressive depends on whether you’re paying tuition or receiving it.

The Studio Where Tradition and Trend Collide

The dance studios have been retrofitted with ring lights, phone tripods, and mirrors that double as green screens. Warm-ups begin with stretching but end with “finding your best angles.” Professors with PhDs in dance theory now also lecture on “hashtag strategy” and “audience retention in the first three seconds.” The most controversial course is “Appropriation vs. Inspiration,” which attempts to navigate the murky waters of who really invented the “Savage” dance. Students are required to both perform a classical variation and create a 15-second routine that could trend—often discovering that the latter is harder.

The Faculty Divide

The department is split between “Analog Elders” who spent decades mastering Cunningham technique and “Digital Natives” hired straight from influencer fame. Their faculty meetings are tense. “Where is the artistry in a dance that disappears in 24 hours?” argues one. “Where is the relevance in a dance no one under 40 knows?” counters another. The compromise is a fragile hybrid: students must demonstrate technical proficiency in modern dance *and* produce a viral challenge. The grading rubric includes both “articulation of limbs” and “engagement rate per view”—a bureaucratic masterpiece of having it both ways.

The Existential Question of Credit Hours

Is scrolling TikTok for “research” actually homework? Is gaining 10,000 followers a senior project or a side hustle? The program wrestles with these questions daily. Parents paying $40,000 a year are understandably skeptical, while students argue they’re mastering performance, marketing, and digital literacy simultaneously. The truth lies somewhere in between: the degree is both a cynical enrollment tactic and a genuine response to how culture is now created and consumed. Whether TikTok choreography deserves a BFA is less important than the fact that students are filling studios again, moving their bodies, and yes, sometimes doing the “Corvette Corvette” for academic credit. In an era where attention is currency, perhaps teaching how to earn it through movement isn’t frivolous—it’s survival. The final exam is a live performance where applause is measured in both decibels and likes.

By Alan Nafzger

Alan Nafzger ([email protected]) - Editor-in-chief and Manhattan-based satirist who's been skewering NYC's absurdities since before cronuts were a thing. Former stand-up comic who traded the Comedy Cellar stage for a keyboard after realizing print doesn't heckle back. Specializes in dissecting subway etiquette violations and overpriced real estate with surgical precision. His work has made Upper East Siders clutch their pearls and Williamsburg hipsters nod knowingly. When not writing, he's probably stuck on the L train contemplating life's meaninglessness.

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