Menno: The Most Hated B-Boy In The World
In the video above, Red Bull has assembled five legendary breakdancers, with three world champs among them, to have a little real talk about the art they have all dedicated their lives to. The whole thing is an interesting listen, but the part that is getting clipped and retweeted and reacted to all over the web is the part where four-time world champion Menno asks if he is the most hated champion of all time, and his colleagues unanimously agree. He is a confusingly divisive figure in the breaking community, and not everyone knows what they’re arguing about. In the interest of furthering understanding, I am going to lay out the case against Menno as clearly and objectively as I can.
So who is this guy? And why is he so hated?
Over the last decade, Dutch b-boy Menno Wilhelmus Henricus Van Gorp has taken the world of competitive breaking by storm. In addition to a list of regional titles too long to type out, he has most notably won the Red Bull BC One on four separate occasions: in 2014, 2017, 2019, and 2024. At the time of this writing, he has more belts than any other b-boy. And that’s the first reason he gets so much hate—he wins all the time. Regardless of whether or not he deserved every one, some people are always gonna hate whatever is popular and successful. It’s very human to be annoyed by someone enjoying uninterrupted good fortune while others continue to struggle to get noticed by the incredibly small spotlight available in competitive breaking. None of that is Menno’s fault. As he points out in the video, he doesn’t judge these things. He just shows up and dances his best, and they hand him another belt. Why would he stop? If there was a competition you won almost every time you showed up, you wouldn’t be in a hurry to retire. You probably wouldn’t feel too guilty about it, either.
The second reason Menno gets so much hate is because he had the gall to beat Brazilian b-boy Samuka at a competition in Brazil. That instantly turned all of Latin America against him, which is a lot of people very passionately hating his guts. Much like the first reason, Menno couldn’t do anything about that, either. He certainly wasn’t gonna throw the match just to be a polite guest. If he had, that would arguably be even more offensive than just winning.
The next most frequently named source of consternation is Menno’s bizarre and unconventional style. Detractors deride it as just rolling around on the floor, boring to watch. Defenders describe it as transitional, flowing smoothly from one move into the next without interruption. And in a way, they’re both right. Menno does indeed spend most of his sets on the floor twisting himself into uncomfortable shapes. More than the average b-boy. How visually compelling that might be is a matter of personal perspective. While Menno doesn’t have any of the explosive power that often characterizes world class b-boys, he does have a large vocabulary of original moves and maintains consistent momentum throughout his sets. Rarely does he slow down or stop to prepare for the next one, doing weird motions that don’t even have names, just flowing from one to another in an unbroken groove. But crucially, a set by Menno does not resemble what a lot of people, novices and veterans alike, expect championship breakdancing to look like.
The first time Menno won a battle on the Red Bull stage in 2014, he was booed by the crowd. Korean b-boy Blond put on a stunning display of footwork, power and musicality while Menno rolled around doing things that were artistically unique, but less physically impressive. His execution was clean and his moves were original, but nothing he did in that battle would be difficult for an moderately athletic adult. Blond did plenty of power moves (90s, windmills, head drills, traveling air flares), moves that strike awe into even experienced b-boys—moves that Menno either doesn’t have, or is objectively, demonstrably less-skilled at. Blond outperformed his opponent in every aspect of the dance, but he lost because stunning though it was, his sets were composed of traditional breakdancing moves. And that’s a really bullshit reason to lose a breakdancing competition. Imagine an Olympic figure skater that wins the gold medal despite refusing to do any jumps. Every other skater that nailed a triple lutz would be justifiably upset that a less complete performance was taking awards and attention away from those who put in the work to master the most difficult aspects of their art.
It can’t be denied that Menno put in a lot of effort to get where he is now, but it did not appear that way to outside observers in 2014. What they saw was yet another rich white man with an aristocratic name entering a cultural space constructed by and for people of color and taking it over despite being demonstrably less-skilled than the other participants. It was easy to dismiss his first title as just a fluke born of his uniqueness. Perhaps the judges over-rewarded his bizarre style because it was new. Or so the community thought. But as Menno continued to pile up wins against better dancers without bettering himself, the resentment festered. So when he took his fourth world title in 2024 without performing a single new move, it was the first time the announcement of a world champion was met with a chorus of boos. Many were tired of watching Red Bull enable this guy at the expense of better dancers.
That disparity of expectations is what turned this one dancer’s style into the most fiercely debated topic in the breaking community for the last decade. When the majority aren’t aligned on what makes a dancer good enough to win, it nurtures ongoing frustration for everyone. Those that appreciate his style claim it is so innovative and unique that it wins everything all the time. But the other half the world finds him so ridiculously unimpressive that they can’t understand how anybody could think he really won any of those battles. This argument isn’t about Menno. Not really. He’s just the most accessible target for an ongoing disagreement about the cultural identity of breakdancing, and what it’s going to look like for future generations of b-boys. If someone can become world champion without mastering all of the basic elements, then what is breaking? Just a guy rolling around on the floor? Do moves even matter anymore? There are currently no answers that make everyone happy.
No, Menno is not a totally phony poser fake b-boy making a mockery of the cypher. Nor is he the genius visionary innovating breakdancing’s bold new future freed from the shackles of tradition. The reality is located somewhere between those two positions. It is a fact that he is a pioneer, incorporating movements into his dance that are not commonly utilized among b-boys. Particularly rolling—Menno has taken a move from basic stage combat and built an entire style upon it, exploring every possible variation. It’s true that he rarely crashes, but that’s because he avoids risky maneuvers. That strategy is what angers other b-boys. Some have accused him of dancing against the scorecard instead of his opponent. A battle is supposed to be a conversation between the two dancers. One does his set, and the other responds. But Menno doesn’t win by beating the other dancer; he avoids penalties by keeping his movements simple and safe. Can’t crash if you never fly. Every year that Menno has competed, one or more of his opponents has clowned him for having easy moves. He might do one slow rotation of a flare or windmill, but his moveset is very light on power. Which is fine on its own. Every b-boy has their own strengths and weaknesses. But if we’re going to call someone the best b-boy in the world, they should demonstrate a mastery of all the fundamentals of breaking: footwork, power, style, originality, musicality, and showmanship. They might be stronger in one element than the others, but a champion has rarely been completely deficient in any category. That is what frustrates his detractors most—he seems to be immune to the criticisms his fellow dancers are subject to, and if true, that would be completely unfair.
Let’s examine that in more detail. Menno, a four-time world champion, still has not mastered all the fundamentals. For starters, he has no toprock, which is a term for footwork performed while standing up. This is usually where dancers display most of their personality, as it is much easier to make your footwork distinct than a spinning maneuver. But Menno simply does the same four steps every time before dropping to the ground. While he’s great at floor work, he repeats often, which is one of the cardinal sins of competitive breaking. Sometimes he still loses the beat and starts doing all of his moves as fast as possible, which is a mistake common amongst beginner b-boys. That is what inspires the frothiest hatred—despite making mistakes that other dancers get penalized for, Menno continues to collect titles. This also explains why he hasn’t improved over the last decade. There’s been no reason for him to grow or change since the same moveset keeps taking him all the way to the final circle. That’s why he hasn’t added anything new to his repertoire since 2017, and why he hasn’t upgraded his performance at all in the meantime. For the sake of comparison, legendary Korean b-boy Hong 10 has been competing at the BC One since 2005, but was still showing off new moves when he won his third world title in 2023. Honestly, I can’t think of another world-class b-boy that hasn’t learned any new moves over the last ten years. If you’re not constantly learning to do cool new shit, you can’t be a champion b-boy. Unless you happen to be Menno Wilhelmus Henricus Van Gorp.
Both camps in this ongoing argument know a part of the truth, and they let that blind them to the other parts. Yes, Menno is a real b-boy. Even a great one. At one time, specifically 2017, he was arguably the best in the world. But not four times. Not still to this day. The argument for Menno’s excellence is always firmly rooted in his originality, and how that raw creativity makes up for any of his other shortcomings as a dancer. While that may have been true in the past, it’s certainly not anymore. Other dancers have developed styles similar to his high-speed contortionism, but unlike him, they’ve refined and improved upon what came before. Japanese b-boy Haruto twists himself into abstract knots more intricate than Menno’s, and he also manages to include some more traditional power moves to transform his sets into unforgettable moments, like all legendary b-boys do. The sad fact is that Menno is an innovator no more, and hasn’t been for seven years. He’s still doing the same moves over and over. Despite diminishing returns on his performance, the judges of the BC One continue to heap their favor upon him to the confusion of many. It has happened enough to call the integrity of the entire competition into question, and that’s not a good sign for the future. If the breaking community ceases to view that belt as a meaningful measure of accomplishment, the best dancers alive aren’t going to travel across the world to battle for it.
It is possible to be a pioneer and overrated at the same time. That’s just another one of Menno’s many accomplishments as a b-boy. While his contributions to the artistry and history of breakdancing are significant, they were made almost a decade ago. It would be wise to give some of the next generation b-boys, the ones who are experimenting and innovating today, the moment in the spotlight they deserve. The fact that Menno continues to win year after year despite doing nothing new is going to discourage a lot of the raw creativity that makes breakdancing such an enduring art form. Playing it safe is great advice, unless you’re a b-boy. When you’re in that circle, safe is boring. And boring has no place in breakdancing. If the crowd doesn’t go wow, you cannot be the best b-boy in the world.
Unless you happen to be Menno Wilhelmus Henricus Van Gorp. Then you’ll happily walk away with another belt while the entire audience chants your opponent’s name. That moment is the perfect encapsulation of the Menno Conundrum—everyone in that stadium knew he lost except the judges. That is why the breaking community remains so fiercely divided on this. Both sides are convinced the other one has lost touch with reality, and you can’t negotiate with someone if you can’t agree on the facts. The future of breakdancing will no doubt be defined by whoever wins this debate. Will it retain its cultural identity? Or will it be changed into something unrecognizable? There are no solid answers yet. We all hope it’s the former, but fear it will be the latter.
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