I still remember my first fierce dance competition. It was 1980 and my arena was my babysitter, Mrs. Daniels’s basement. Her daughter was the judge, the soundtrack was “Rapper’s Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang and my opponent was my twin sister Lynne. I can’t remember my moves, but I know I was the loser. By a long shot. The criticism: “Why can’t you dance?”

There was no good reason for that. As a little black girl growing up among black people, rhythm should have been innate to me. But to my chagrin and that of the Miami Sound Machine, rhythm hadn’t grabbed me. It ran away from me.

This set a pattern, from summer camp talent shows at the Northwood Rec Center to various clubs and dances where I hoped no one noticed I was sticking to the basic step touch. Not being a good dancer – especially in hip hop, a creative gem of black and Latino urban culture – felt like a betrayal, a sign that I was a flawed black girl.

Imagine my confusion when I experienced the dance style of Australian professor Rachael “Raygun” Gunn, who represented her country in the first ever – and probably only – Olympic breakdancing competition (the soundtrack, by the way, was by Baltimore’s DJ Fleg).

Raygun’s collection of kangaroo jumps, snake slithers, and what looked like the move I do when I try to get out of bed when my back hurts didn’t earn her a single point from the judges. But they did provide a real viral moment born out of curiosity, criticism, and genuine admiration for her individuality. But what could I see? My moves couldn’t even win a two-person competition against my own sister, and that girl was in the Olympics.

To quote Malik Dixon, a black New York native currently living in Australia who was interviewed by the Australian Broadcast Corporation (ABC): “I thought: Was Borat your breakdancing coach?”

I don’t question Raygun’s right to breakdance because she is neither black nor brown nor American. The men’s gold medalist, Phil Wizard, is Korean-Canadian and the top female, B-Girl Ami, is Japanese. Unlike Raygun, they are very good dancers.

Australian breaker Lucas Marie, who was interviewed in the same story as Dixon, and Anna Meares, the country’s Olympic mission chief, defended Raygun as a brave, resourceful dancer who fought hard for her place in competitions open to any Australian or New Zealand b-boy or b-girl. If she really is the best Australians have to offer, maybe they should call it a day. (Marie acknowledged that there may have been better dancers without access to the qualifying tournaments. I’d love to start a GoFundMe campaign for transportation for these kids if there’s ever another Olympic opportunity.)

Breakdancing, like hip-hop, is now international but inextricable from its roots in black and Latino culture. As a black girl growing up in the 1980s and 1990s—particularly one whose blackness was challenged in a number of ways, including my lack of beat knowledge—I remember how knowledge and skill in dancing, rapping, and general posturing were tied to identity. And sometimes I felt like I had failed.

I don’t accept it anymore, but it’s hard being called “the twin who can’t dance.”

Raygun’s motivations seem to be to both defend and exploit the roots of the dance’s identity. She co-wrote an academic paper with Marie entitled ‘The Australian Breakdancing Scene and the Olympics: The Possibilities and Politics of Sportification’, in which she questions the form’s inclusion as an Olympic sport and asks whether formalisation takes it away from its creative and street fighting roots.

The article’s abstract states: “This development indicates a growing loss of self-determination, agency and spontaneity among Australian breakers, and will have profound consequences for the way hip hop personhood is constantly ‘redefined and renegotiated’ in Australia.” These are good questions, but Raygun’s expression of marsupial capriciousness struck me and many others as bordering not only on what she challenges, but also on irreverence.

Angry American breakdancing fan Dixon told ABC: “It just seemed like someone was playing with the culture and didn’t realize how culturally significant it was to be in the Olympics for the first time and how important it was to people who really appreciate hip-hop and one of its elements, which is breakdancing.” If, as some have suggested, Raygun wanted to make a statement or performance art, she may have wasted the only chance her country had on that global platform.

She’s not the only Olympian accused of appropriating parts of a culture she doesn’t understand: Lithuania’s silver-winning Nicka was criticized for wearing a do-rag, a protective covering worn to protect African-American hair that dates back to the days of slavery. It seemed like she was wearing part of a culture as a costume, and since it’s something the early breakers in the Bronx wore, she may not be aware that it’s not just a uniform, but part of the fabric.

I don’t have a problem with white people and Asians breaking dance either. It’s just annoying that Raygun’s presence there is not only shocking but also derogatory. I can’t imagine any black American daring to be that bad on the world stage of a cultural art form that isn’t ours. Ask ballerina Misty Copeland if she has to be ten times better than everyone else.

The people who praise Raygun’s ingenuity and unconventional style fail to address the fact that she is unconventional in an art form that deserves respect. Yes, it’s fun and high energy. But put Misty dancing in a babushka in Moscow while miming the making of borscht and see how far she gets. Black expression, which is as respected as anyone else’s, needs to be cautious.

If breakdancing ever makes it back to the Olympics, maybe I should move to Australia and compete for a spot. I’m not good. But I wonder if I’m at least better than Raygun.