The world stopped for a second in August 2024. Not because of a world record or a photo-finish sprint, but because of a university lecturer from Sydney wearing a green-and-gold tracksuit. If you spent any time on the internet during the Paris Games, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Rachael Gunn, known in the breaking world as Raygun, became the most talked-about person at the Olympics. It wasn't for a gold medal.
It was for a kangaroo hop.
The Australian break dancer Olympics moment didn't just go viral; it became a global Rorschach test for what sports "should" look like. For some, it was a brave display of individual expression. For others, it was an embarrassing mishap that felt like a mockery of a culture born in the Bronx. But behind the memes and the late-night talk show monologues, there is a much more complex story about how a 36-year-old academic ended up on the world's biggest stage, and what it actually means for the future of breaking.
How the Olympic Selection Process Really Worked
People keep asking: "How did this happen?" They think there was some backroom deal or a lack of talent in Australia. Honestly, that’s not it. The qualification path for the Paris 2024 breaking competition was incredibly specific.
To get to Paris, breakers had to win their respective continental championships. For the Oceania region, that event was the WDSF Oceania Breaking Championships held in Sydney in October 2023. Raygun won that event. She beat out other top Australian b-girls like Molly and Holy Molly. Because she won the continental qualifier, she secured a direct spot.
It's basically the same way a small island nation gets a swimmer into the Olympics. They might not be as fast as Katie Ledecky, but they are the best in their designated zone.
The judging at that Sydney event followed the World DanceSport Federation (WDSF) Trivium judging system. This system looks at five main criteria: technique, vocabulary, execution, musicality, and originality. Raygun’s style has always been heavy on the "originality" and "vocabulary" side of things—focusing on narrative and quirkiness rather than the high-power moves like air flares or headspins that most people associate with breaking. In the context of the Oceania qualifier, the judges decided her creative approach was superior to her competitors on that day.
The Gap Between "Breaking" and "Sport"
There is a massive divide between the grassroots breaking scene and the version we saw at the Olympics. Breaking was born in the 1970s as a street art form. It was about battle, style, and community. When it was funneled into the Olympic structure, it had to be quantified. It had to be "sportified."
Raygun, who holds a PhD in cultural studies and researches the "cultural politics of breaking," knew this better than anyone. Her performance in Paris was almost an academic statement. She knew she couldn't out-power the younger b-girls like Japan's Ami (who took gold) or Lithuania's Nicka. Those girls are elite athletes with strength that rivals gymnasts.
So, she went for the "art" angle.
The result? Zero points across three round-robin battles.
The judges didn't hate her, necessarily. But in a head-to-head battle, if your opponent lands perfect power moves and stays on beat, and you respond with a creative "sprinkler" move or a floor crawl, the points are going to the athlete every single time. The "Australian break dancer Olympics" saga showed us that while breaking can be an Olympic sport, the judging criteria will always favor the athletic over the conceptual.
Breaking the Silence on the Backlash
The fallout was brutal. Raygun had to step away from the spotlight for a bit. There were petitions claiming the selection was rigged, which the Australian Olympic Committee (AOC) vehemently denied. AOC Chief Executive Matt Carroll called the online bullying "disgraceful."
It’s worth noting that Raygun wasn’t the only Australian breaker there. Jeff Dunne (J-Attack) competed in the men’s division. He was 16 years old. He also didn't make it past the round-robin stage, but his style was much more "traditional." Because he looked like what people expected a breakdancer to look like, he didn't receive a fraction of the scrutiny Raygun did.
The irony? Despite the "zero points" and the mockery, Raygun actually reached #1 in the WDSF world rankings shortly after the Olympics.
Wait, what?
Yeah, the internet lost its mind over that too. But the explanation is boringly technical. The WDSF rankings are based on a rolling 12-month window. Many major events hadn't been tallied yet, and because she won the Oceania championships (a high-point event), her ranking shot up when other athletes' points from previous years expired. It was a "perfect storm" of bureaucracy that made the situation look even more surreal than it already was.
The Technicality of the "Zero Points"
Let’s talk about those zeros. In the Olympic judging system, you aren't getting a score out of 10. You are being compared directly to the person standing across from you.
When Raygun faced Logan Edra (B-Girl Logistx) from the USA, she was up against a professional who lives and breathes this culture. Logistx's technique was objectively flawless. In that system, the judges use a slider. If one dancer is significantly better in technique and execution, the slider goes all the way to their side.
Raygun didn't "fail" to get points because she was "bad" in a vacuum. She got zero points because, in every specific category—musicality, originality, technique—her opponents were simply more effective according to the WDSF rubric.
It’s like putting a very talented high school basketball player against LeBron James. The high schooler might be great at their level, but in that specific 1v1 matchup, they’re going to lose every possession.
Why We Won't See Breaking in Los Angeles 2024
If you were hoping for a redemption arc for the Australian break dancer Olympics squad in 2028, I’ve got some bad news. Breaking has already been dropped from the program for the Los Angeles Games.
This wasn't actually a reaction to Raygun. The decision to exclude breaking from LA28 was made long before the Paris Games even started. Olympic host cities get to propose a few "optional" sports. Paris chose breaking. Los Angeles chose cricket, flag football, lacrosse, and squash.
Breaking’s future in the Olympics is currently in limbo. It won't be in Brisbane 2032 either, most likely. The sport is retreating back to the Red Bull BC One stages and the underground jams where it started.
Many in the breaking community are actually relieved.
The Cultural Impact: Did It Help or Hurt?
This is where things get tricky. If you talk to old-school b-boys and b-girls, some are furious. They feel Raygun's performance made their life's work look like a joke. They worry that people who never saw breaking before now think it's just about rolling around on the floor and doing animal imitations.
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But there’s another side.
Viewership for breaking was massive. People who didn't know what a "freeze" or a "toprock" was are now talking about it. The Australian breaking scene has seen a surge in interest. Even if the attention started as a joke, it opened a door.
Rachael Gunn has since announced she won't be competing anymore. The level of scrutiny and the "conspiracy theories" made the competitive environment toxic for her. She's heading back to academia. She’ll likely write the definitive book on this whole experience, which, honestly, will probably be a fascinating read on the intersection of meme culture and elite sport.
What You Should Take Away From This
The Raygun story isn't just about a dance. It's about what happens when a subculture meets a massive, rigid institution like the International Olympic Committee.
Here is the reality of the Australian break dancer Olympics situation:
- Qualification was legitimate. She won her way there under the rules provided.
- The "World Number 1" title was a fluke of timing. It wasn't a statement that she was the best dancer on earth.
- The performance was a choice. She knew she couldn't win on athleticism, so she leaned into performance art.
- The Olympics is a brutal place for "originality" if it lacks "technique."
If you want to understand breaking better, don't stop at the Paris clips. Go watch the 2024 Red Bull BC One World Finals. Watch the way the dancers interact with the music in a non-Olympic setting. You’ll see the athleticism that Raygun’s opponents possessed, but you’ll also see the soul that the Olympic judging system struggled to capture.
Moving Forward: Actionable Insights for Fans and Athletes
If you're a dancer or a sports fan looking at this saga and wondering what's next, here is how to navigate the post-Raygun landscape.
First, distinguish between the WDSF and the breaking community. If you're looking to get into the sport, find a local jam or a "culture-first" studio. The Olympic version of breaking is a very specific, polished subset of the actual dance.
Second, understand the importance of "Power" vs. "Style." In any judged sport, from figure skating to breaking, you need both. Raygun had style (in her own unique way) but lacked the power. If you're training, you can't neglect the "boring" stuff—the strength, the drills, the repetitions.
Third, be wary of viral narratives. The "scandal" surrounding the Australian selection was largely fueled by people who didn't understand the qualification criteria for the Oceania region. Before jumping on a "rigged" bandwagon, look at the official qualifying documents provided by the AOC or the IOC.
Finally, appreciate the courage it takes to be "bad" on a world stage. Whether you liked the performance or not, standing up in front of millions and doing something completely different from everyone else takes a level of confidence most people don't have. It might not have been Olympic-level breaking, but it was certainly a lesson in sticking to your guns—literally.
The chapter on the Australian break dancer Olympics is mostly closed, but the conversation about what constitutes "sport" is just beginning. We probably won't see a kangaroo hop at the Olympics again, but we definitely won't forget the time we did.