Dancing With The Double Standards
Dancing with the Stars has perfected a particular kind of contestant: the lovable older man with two left feet. He smiles, shuffles through a routine, makes a joke about his knees, and the audience eats it up. The judges give him a five out of 10, but America gives him another week.
This season, Guillermo Rodriguez, longtime sidekick of Jimmy Kimmel, plays the role of adorable old klutz. Last season, it was actor and comedian Andy Richter. Both have brought humor, enthusiasm, and an authentic willingness to make fools of themselves on national TV. But as Season 35 approaches its final weeks, their popularity raises a question: who gets rewarded for trying, and who is actually expected to be good?
The judges only control half the outcome on DWTS. Viewer votes bear equal weight, allowing a popular contestant to survive even with the night’s lowest judges score. Earlier in the season, Rodriguez and pro partner Witney Carson (last year’s champion) received a 13 out of 30 for their samba, the lowest score of the night. However, Ciara Miller and Brandon Armstrong, another pair of contestants, were eliminated altogether, despite scoring a 21. The week before that, Taylor Hanson and Britt Stewart went home with an 18 while also outperforming Rodriguez and Carson. It certainly wasn’t the judges who wanted to send Miller and Hanson home; the audience simply preferred personality over performance.
Of course, DWTS has never been exclusively about being a skilled dancer. Watching beginner celebrities attempt ballroom choreography is half the fun. But the competition also reveals how we treat contestants differently depending on whose imperfections we find endearing, especially when age and gender enter the equation. Last season, Richter, age 58, survived until the quarterfinals despite consistently landing near the bottom of the leaderboard. His awkward footwork became part of his charm. Compare that with Elaine Hendrix, who, despite competing at 54 and suffering a rib injury, performed demanding routines, earned perfect scores, and reached the finale. She received considerable praise and support, but the contrast in expectations remains obvious. Richter won audiences over by exceeding a low bar. Hendrix had to clear a much higher one before viewers celebrated her success. This dynamic extends far beyond the ballroom. Older men in entertainment can own their imperfections, joke about aging, and receive applause for simply showing up. Older women must remain polished and somehow ageless, still performing and entertaining at the highest level or face being cast away into obscurity. An older man missing a step in DWTS doesn’t stop America from voting for them; a woman missing one suddenly turns every viewer into a ballroom expert.
The judges aren’t entirely innocent, either. Judges' critiques are often less forgiving towards women, intensely scrutinizing their precision and while concentrating on a male contestant’s enthusiasm or improvement. During last season’s TikTok Night, Bruno Tonioli praised Andy Richter’s “natural charm,” while Carrie Ann Inaba commended him for “completely giving us your heart.” That same night, Tonioli instructed Elaine Hendrix to use her core and free her upper body, while Inaba criticized her for being “too independent.” Richter earned an 18 out of 30; Hendrix earned a 21. Of course, the judges praised Hendrix and criticized Richter’s technique, too. But the language of criticism matters. This season, Derek Hough declared Rodriguez’s charm and showmanship “an absolute 10,” despite giving his dancing a five during Yacht Rock Night. This dissonance between technique and likability makes sense, but women rarely receive that same grace when they struggle.
Beyond the judges’ scores, social media has made a contestant’s popularity increasingly powerful in affecting the outcome of the show. A funny rehearsal clip, self-deprecating interview, or comically disastrous routine can circulate much farther online than a technically impressive foxtrot. Once a contestant becomes a TikTok favorite, the audience vote is no longer solely about the dancing; they vote for the contestant whose clips they’ve shared, whose mistakes they’ve defended, and whose personality they’ve come to love. The show’s resurgence in popularity makes these dynamics even more relevant. Season 35’s premiere drew approximately 6.67 million viewers, a 24% increase from the previous year’s premiere, and recorded its strongest premiere performance among women ages 18-34 in 13 years. Although DWTS historically attracted an older television audience, younger viewers have become increasingly important contributors to its success, especially on social media. However, while the audience may be changing, its double standards haven’t.
These patterns extend to other reality competitions too. On shows like American Idol and America’s Got Talent, certain contestants’ always seem to glide by on personal stories, instead of being judged solely on their performance. Viewers gravitate toward the struggling parent, the unlikely underdog, or the contestant who seems genuinely grateful just to compete. The same personality traits that make one contestant a fan favorite can turn another into a villain. Confidence can look like arrogance, emotion like instability, and ambition like desperation, depending on who displays them.
Black women often face harsher scrutiny and fewer opportunities to prove themselves, a double standard that extends to DWTS’ professional dancers, whose success depends heavily on the celebrities they partner with. Britt Stewart became the show’s first Black female professional dancer in 2020, an astonishing 15 years after the premiere. Six years later, she remains its only Black female competing professional. In spite of her talent, Stewart has repeatedly been paired with partners with limited competitive prospects. Last season, she was partnered with Baron Davis and was voted off in only the second week of competition. This year, she danced with Taylor Hanson, who was eliminated just three weeks into the competition. Other longtime professionals have struggled to reach the finale, but many eventually broke through: Brandon Armstrong made his first in his seventh season, and Pasha Pashkov in his fifth. Stewart, meanwhile, has exited within the first few weeks in five of her seven seasons, including four consecutive eliminations by week four. Across seven seasons as a professional, Stewart has never reached the finale. Her strongest placement came with Daniel Durant in Season 31, when the pair finished fifth. Not every early elimination indicates racial discrimination, and the producers can’t predict every partnership’s success, but when the show’s only Black female professional repeatedly faces an uphill battle, the question isn’t just why audiences won’t vote for her: it’s why producers keep making her climb.
Stewart’s reaction to this season’s elimination made the issues particularly visible. When the hosts announced the results, she looked devastated and immediately apologized to Hanson. On the LadyGang podcast, Stewart explained, “I felt like I had let Taylor down,” describing the responsibility she feels as a professional dancer to give her celebrity partner a fulfilling experience. The moment went viral, prompting viewers to debate whether she appeared angry or frustrated. Stewart pushed back on that interpretation: “That’s not anger at all. That is sheer disappointment and sadness.” It’s telling that a Black woman who visibly wrestled with losing felt compelled to explain her emotions. Society has long framed Black women’s frustration as aggression and their confidence as hostility. Stewart had just lost another opportunity to showcase her work. Her disappointment should have made perfect sense.
In the end, Dancing With the Stars isn’t a professional ballroom competition, and it shouldn't be. Rodriguez’s charisma and Richter’s enthusiasm give audiences legitimate reasons to root for them and watch the show. But enjoyment and fairness aren’t the same thing. What makes DWTS interesting isn’t simply that weaker dancers can rise to the top, it’s how easily a competition supposedly based on improvement becomes a referendum on who audiences consider likable, deserving, and worthy of another chance. Those judgments don’t exist in a vacuum; they reflect the same bias that influences whose mistakes we forgive, whose emotions we scrutinize, and whose potential we recognize in everyday life. When we consistently reward certain types of people for their effort while demanding excellence from others, the competition begins to look quite similar to the world around it. The ballroom doesn’t create society’s expectations surrounding age, gender, and race: it just gives them sequins, a judges’ table, and a voting number.
Kelsey Perriello is a senior in the college studying Economics and Government who is guilty of getting way too invested in reality game shows.
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