by Derek Hough
Which is exactly what we did. For week 3, we did a fierce tango. Jennie wore a slinky black sequin dress and I wore a black vest and tie, no jacket. The choreography was very complicated—lots of staccato moves, dips, twirls, and quick footwork. We had something to prove, so there was no playing it safe. Len called it “sharp and tangy like a pickle.” Carrie Ann said we came back with a vengeance, and Bruno said we danced with fury. We got a 26 out of 30, a huge comeback from the week before. You fall down, and you get back up—that’s the lesson I wanted Jennie to take away from this experience. Instead of allowing all that anger and angst to eat you up inside, channel it into the dance. Use that energy in a positive way instead of a negative one.
We danced for a total of nine weeks, straight through to the semifinals—and nabbed a perfect 10 from the judges along the way. It was either us or Hélio Castroneves and Julianne who were going home (cue the scary music). When they said our names, the audience gave us a standing ovation. We were both disappointed, not just that we hadn’t won, but that the experience was all over. I knew I would miss Jennie. I came to think of her as a big sister, and I’d gotten used to her being in my life every day for the past few months. She is the most amazing, funny lady, and I wouldn’t have wanted my first experience on Dancing with the Stars to be with anyone else. I was so proud of her transformation in those few months we worked together, and she changed me, too. I now knew I wanted to continue on DWTS. I wanted not just to take home that Mirror Ball trophy (that season it went to Julianne and Hélio, so at least it was a Hough that won), but to make a difference in someone’s life.
Each and every one of my partners is different, but my approach is the same. At the beginning of the season, it’s my job to make them as comfortable as possible. I have to break the ice and get them to trust me. I dance a little bit and I have them dance. I hold their hands and we make a physical connection. I let them feel the resistance of being with a partner, the push-pull. Sometimes I act goofy and joke around so they don’t take it too seriously. There’s usually a lot of embarrassment or even cursing: “Shit! Why can’t I get this right?” I get it; I understand when you have high standards for yourself. It’s hard to suck at anything, even something so alien and brand new. Nicole Scherzinger told me right off the bat that she was a perfectionist and a workaholic. “You have to allow yourself to not be good,” I told her. “Just have fun with it. When you do, the energy shifts and you figure it out.”
The first couple of days I try to get a feel for my partner’s capacity. Are they flexible? Do they have rhythm? Can they count to music? Can they maintain information? All these things come into play. Brooke Burke, for example, has flexibility and when she danced she looked beautiful—but she had a difficult time with counting. I had to be connected to her the whole time and lead her with the timing of the music.
Sometimes it’s not even about the technical aspects of the dancing, it’s about the mental challenge. When I first met Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson, she was very disciplined, as any pro athlete should be. We were doing the All-Star season on DWTS, and she had won Season 8 with (who else?) Mark. She was the youngest competitor, which was a first for me, and had this sweetness and innocence to her. She was also tiny—I didn’t need to break out the Cuban heels for this season. But Shawn was at a totally different place mentally and emotionally than she had been the first time she was on the show. In Season 8, she was coming off an Olympic gold win. This time, she was coming off—as she put it—“a failed comeback,” knowing that what she was best in, she couldn’t be best in anymore. She was retired from gymnastics, and she thought she was doing DWTS again to reconnect with her competitive drive and passion. She needed to win this, not just to pick up another Mirror Ball trophy, but to prove to herself she still had the edge. She told me that since she had retired she had no confidence or pride in herself anymore. This season was going to be her redemption.
Our partnership was all about breaking the rules, upping the ante, showing the judges something they’d never seen before. We put trampolines in our quick step and crazy, dangerous lifts in our mambo. For our trio dance we went super tribal and pulled in good ol’ Mark as our third wheel. It was a real risk, because it wasn’t a traditional samba, but I wanted to push the boundaries. Len thought it was “self-indulgent” and gave us a 7, but the audience went crazy. Which, in the end, is what we were going for. We wanted to bring something different, and we did. And Shawn said it best: “We live for the standing ovations. We do it for the fans.”
My biggest challenge was helping her shed her inhibitions. As an athlete, she thought she always needed to be strong and stoic. But I needed her to connect with her emotions and show her vulnerable side, too. It wasn’t easy; she admittedly keeps a lot bottled up inside. So I gave her sexy side a name: Rosita.
“I need to see Rosita right now,” I told her as we struggled with the rumba. “What would she do? How would she dance it?” There was a lot of giggling and blushing, but I needed to coax a grown-up, sensual performance out of her.
Shawn was nervous. “My whole career is about not showing emotion. I’m not an actress. I’m not comfortable letting my guard down. I hide everything. When you’re vulnerable, you open yourself up to fear and pain and weakness.” But I told her it was okay to show that side of her. I knew it was there, and it was anything but weak.
“Look, everybody knows you as Shawn Johnson, unstoppable and indestructible, Little Miss Nerves of Steel,” I told her. “But you have the freedom to let all the walls down. Choosing to let people see your vulnerability is true strength.”
We danced to the theme from Titanic and it brought the audience—maybe even Bruno Tonioli—to tears. I couldn’t have been more proud of Shawn. I really felt it was the first moment when she connected to this part of herself. “You brought it out of me,” she told me while we were waiting for our scores. I knew it was something she’d never forget, and I felt so privileged to be the teacher who helped her take the next step on her journey.
In the end, it was down to us and Melissa Rycroft and Tony Dovolani, and they took it home. It really didn’t matter to either of us. We were so proud of what we achieved. Shawn got her mojo back and then some. And I learned a lot about why I do what I do. One of the reasons I get results with my partners is I forge a connection with them. I try to understand where they’re coming from and what makes them tick. Often, I see something in them that they don’t see in themselves: a repressed fear, deeply instilled self-doubt, a stereotype that they have never been able to shatter. I teach them how to get in touch with their femininity, how to be a sexy, strong, powerful woman who isn’t afraid to feel or show all her facets. In this day and age, women think they have to mask their femininity to get ahead. People perceive it as a weakness, but it’s the opposite.
I find that while each partner might have needed some specific coaching, the real tests we faced were basically the same, season after season. We had to learn to move as a team. We had to master complex, carefully timed choreography. We had to face the hot lights and live action and the idea that millions of eyes were upon us. But beyond that, I needed to inspire and instill confidence in each person I coached and danced with. I needed to communicate with an open heart and empathetic, encouraging words. I had to critique usefully and praise strategically. I also needed to be my authentic self—exposing my personal vulnerabilities to win their trust. Ultimately, I had to make each of my partners embrace not just me, but also her own skill and power. Every partner I’ve danced with has it within them to kick ass and climb mountains. When you put yourself in a situation when you’re vulnerable, that’s when your power is revealed. And it’s always there; it’s part of your DNA. It’s like a woman walking into a room looking for the diamond necklace and realizing it’s around her neck. I’m not changing any of these ladies; I’m helping them rediscover themselves.
And truth be told, that was never my goal. I never walked into a studio thinking, I’m going to transform this person
’s life. I’m no therapist! I was just trying to put some damn routines together! But I realized after all these seasons that the dance is a metaphor for the journey. Every one of my partners has had a very different one. What they brought to the table was different; what they needed to overcome was different. But despite that, the same thing happens time and time again: the walls come tumbling down and they find their true selves. That I have anything at all to do with that is both thrilling and humbling. In the beginning, I thought I was just along for the ride—arm candy.
To touch a person’s life, to help them find their footing, is a gift, and I’m thankful I get to do it season after season.
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Deconstructing the Dance
Each style of dance really gets you in tune with a different part of yourself. I was never content to do just one style of dance. I may have started out as a Latin dancer, but I had more sides to me that I needed to tap into.
CHA-CHA
The cha-cha was one of the first ballroom dances I learned. I remember doing it in a group at Center Stage to the song “I Like It Like That.” It’s one of the dances where you learn to isolate your hips: straight legs, feet grounded to the floor, toe leads. It’s very staccato, with short, clipped movements intertwined with bursts of fluidity. It’s a fun dance to do—it’s supposed to be lighthearted.
SAMBA
The samba is a traveling dance—meaning you can bend your knees and move around the floor. It came from Brazil, and as with all the rhythmic dances, you create a figure eight movement with your hips. The torso and hips have to be flexible. The samba allows you to be very dynamic, shifting between the slows and the quicks. I love shakin’ it and going hard! It’s a party dance and it gets the crowd charged up. If you get a good song and you’ve got a good beat, you can really bring the house down. It’s one of the hardest ones to teach a beginner because even when you let go, you need to be in control.
RUMBA
The first time I did the rumba, I didn’t like it. I thought it was slow and boring, and I wanted the fast, cool dances. I didn’t get the story behind it. Some people think it’s a sexual dance. For me it’s more of a loving, romantic dance. The small moments are suggestive and sensual. It’s almost like the ballet of the ballroom dances. It’s a slow dance where all your technique comes into play. If you can nail the rumba, then you’ve got your groundwork and your base. The rumba is all about the control of your body: the internal resistance. It almost feels like you’re wringing out a towel. When I started learning all the details, I loved it. The rumba also gives you permission to get very intimate and physically close with your partner. It’s definitely become one of my favorite dances to do—but then again, it depends on who I’m dancing with and my mood that day.
PASO DOBLE
I enjoy the dramatic, intense dances the most, and paso is my favorite. There’s a side to me that’s easygoing, for sure. But I also have another side that’s very aggressive and passionate. I love to explore this side when I’m dancing, and paso lets it all come out. When you stamp your heels onto the floor, it’s like putting the devil down! You have to tap into the animal inside you: the strong, fierce beast that wants to attack. When I first started doing it as a student, I was all about that attack. My teachers had to show me it wasn’t all external. Making an angry face isn’t how you convey the character of paso. It’s much more internal, the small inner moments and the breath. You can show your strength internally without unleashing too much.
JIVE
The jive is a fun dance but is technically very difficult. It doesn’t look that way, but it’s about showcasing your speed. Dancers consider it a true test of stamina. Usually in competition, it’s the last dance you do, and it shows your ability to push through the threshold of fatigue. It’s one of those dances that works the crowd up; the music is infectious. There is a lot of technique involved. The kicks and flicks require strength and focus. If they’re sloppy, the dance loses its shape and control.
FOX-TROT
When I was doing competitions, the fox-trot was my favorite dance. How slick could I be? How effortless and smooth? It’s a dance with grace and style that used to be done to big band music. It consists of long, continuous, flowing movements across the floor. It’s a romantic dance where you and your partner stay very, very close. Jennifer Grey and I did a fox-trot in week 5—the halfway point in the competition—and she was relieved to chill out with a slower dance. The fox-trot has a very old-fashioned, 1950s feel to it, and we danced to “Love and Marriage.”
TANGO
I love the intensity behind this dance, which hails from Argentina. It requires fluid movements, a strong frame, and staccato footwork. When I’m in character, it feels like a volcano is swelling in my chest—but I’m not quite letting it out. When I’m really getting into the moment, my eyes start to water from the focus and intensity. The tango I did with Nicole Scherzinger to “Pretty Woman” was a great example. The dynamic, the lines, the shapes were (as Bruno said) “portrayed to perfection.”
ARGENTINE TANGO
This is a more free-form dance than ballroom tango. I hadn’t learned it or competed in it until my season with Lil’ Kim. I had to figure it out step-by-step. I love the intricate footwork, the lifts, and the beautiful story and passion of the moves. Kellie Pickler and I did a great one, partially in silhouette so you could see every line. It earned raves from the judges. Len loved it; Bruno called it sublime; Carrie Ann said it was perfection.
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LEADING LESSONS
Criticism can be useful.
I’ve taken a beating from the DWTS judges on many occasions. Most of the time, because I’m always aware of the cameras in my face, I just suck it up and take it. Here’s the thing: I realize that maybe they’re seeing something I’m not. Sometimes you’re too close to a situation, too connected to it, to be 100 percent honest with yourself. Or your ego gets in the way and won’t let you improve, because that would mean changing course and admitting you were wrong. I tell my partners to listen carefully when Len, Carrie Ann, or Bruno has a constructive criticism for us. Yes, sometimes it boils down to taste and opinion (and I don’t always agree), but often it’s a valid point. They want us to succeed. The way I see it, you have lots of choices on how to handle it: the first is to lose your temper, get defensive, and spend the rest of the night beating yourself up about it. The second—a natural reaction for most people—is to mentally shut down when someone points out your flaws. Who wants to hear that? Let me just drown it out and ignore it. The third option is your best: keep your mind and your ears open. You can learn about your weaknesses and how you can improve them. A leader is never scared of criticism, but instead knows there is always room to grow and improve. So bring it on.
Fake it till you become it.
Before DWTS, I was not a choreographer; I was not a teacher. I was neither of those things and had never attempted them before. So the best I could do was fake it. I had to play the part of the pro for the cameras. I couldn’t walk into the studio and confide in Jennie or Shawn or any of my partners, “Gee, I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.” I had to take the lead and be strong. When I was dancing with Brooke Burke, they asked us to do the Lindy Hop. I had never done it before in my life. I went on YouTube and watched videos of how to do it. Then I printed out a floor plan of the steps and learned it right along with Brooke. Did I ever let her in on the fact that I was a novice here as well? No. I just projected confidence and assurance, and she picked up on that vibe and went along with it. We did a damn fine Lindy.
My first Argentine tango was with Lil’ Kim, and again, I was completely learning it as I went along. Now it’s become one of my favorite dances to do. Whenever people say to me, “You’re such a great choreographer,” or I look at my Emmy, I remind myself that I came into DWTS with no experience, no education in many of these dances, and certainly no clue how to teach anything to anybody. I simply committed to learning them and then taught them to my
partners. I drew upon how I had been taught and what I thought my partners would respond to. I felt my way along, just as they did, till I became the teacher I wanted to be.
I threw myself into the effort without hesitation because I had no choice. There were only two options: I could go out there and throw my hands up and say, “Just kidding! I’m a phony,” or get it done. I couldn’t let myself or my partners down.
This was the stage I was given, and I always want to be the best at whatever I’m doing. I never wanted my partners to feel they couldn’t rely on me. I had to go in there and make it happen. With that mentality, I found a way.
Be real.
In work as in life, when you commit to a partner, you need to be willing to be personally vulnerable if you expect them to do the same with you. Letting down your guard isn’t easy; it means revealing who you really are, your authentic self. For me, it has been the only way to make my partners feel the trust that’s necessary to help them open up to conquering their fears. And in becoming vulnerable with others, I’ve learned many things about myself. Asking for help or admitting you’re lost or overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re strong enough to allow your true self to be seen. Opening up to someone is the ultimate act of courage and faith.
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REFLECTING ON DEREK
“Derek helped me remember to carry myself with confidence. Even when I felt completely out of my comfort zone, he reminded me to not underestimate myself.”
—JENNIE GARTH
