I have strong memories of my first fierce dance battle. It was in 1980, and my arena was the basement of my after-school babysitter, Mrs. Daniels. Her daughter was the judge, the soundtrack was The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight,” and my opponent was my twin sister, Lynne. I don’t remember my moves, but I do know that I was the loser. By, like, a long shot. The criticism: “Why can’t you dance?”

I had no good reason for that. Being a little Black girl raised among Black people, rhythm was something I was supposed to be born with. But the rhythm, to my and the Miami Sound Machine’s chagrin, had not gotten me. It ran from me.

This set a pattern, from summer camp talent shows at Northwood Rec Center to various clubs and dances where I hoped no one noticed me sticking to the basic step-touch. Not being a good dancer — particularly to hip-hop, a creative gem of Black and Latin urban culture — was akin to a betrayal, a sign that I was a defective Black girl.

So imagine my confusion when I witnessed the dance stylings of Australia’s Professor Rachael “Raygun” Gunn, who represented her country in the first-ever — and for the moment, probably only — Olympic breakdancing competition (incidentally soundtracked by Baltimore’s DJ Fleg.)

Raygun’s collection of kangaroo hops, snake slithers and something that looked like the move I make when I try to get out of bed when my back hurts earned her not one point from the judges. But they did earn a genuine viral moment born of curiosity, criticism and some genuine admiration for her individuality. All I could see, though? My moves couldn’t win a two-person competition against my own sister, and this chick was in the Olympics.

To quote Malik Dixon, a Black New York native and current Australian resident interviewed by the Australian Broadcast Corporation (ABC), “It made me think, was Borat her breakdancing coach?”

I am not questioning Raygun’s right to breakdance because she’s not Black or brown, or American. Men’s gold medalist Phil Wizard is Korean Canadian, and the top woman, B-girl Ami, is Japanese. Unlike Raygun, they are very good dancers.

Fellow Australian breaker Lucas Marie, who was interviewed in the same story as Dixon, and Anna Meares, the country’s Olympic chef de mission, both defended Raygun as a bold, inventive dancer who won her spot fairly in competitions open to any Australian or New Zealander B-boy or B-girl. If she’s truly the best the Aussies have to offer, maybe they need to hang up their cardboard. (Marie conceded that perhaps there were better dancers without access to the qualifiers. I would like to start a GoFundMe for transportation for those kids, should there ever be another Olympic opportunity.)

Breakdancing, along with hip-hop, is now international yet inarguably inextricable from its roots in Black and Latin culture. As a Black girl growing up in the 1980s and ’90s — particularly as one whose Blackness was questioned in various ways, including my lacking in the beat department — I remember how knowledge and proficiency in dancing, rapping and general swagger were connected to identity. And sometimes it felt like I’d failed.

I no longer accept that, but it’s rough when you’re referred to as “the twin who can’t dance.”

Raygun’s motivations seem to both champion and exploit the roots of the dance’s identity. She wrote an academic paper with Marie entitled “The Australian breaking scene and the Olympic Games: The possibilities and politics of sportification” in which she questioned the very inclusion of the form as an Olympic sport and whether the formalization takes it away from its creative and street battle roots.

The paper’s abstract notes that “this trajectory points towards an increasing loss of self-determination, agency and spontaneity for local Australian breakers and will have profound consequences for the way in which hip hop personhood is constantly ‘remade and renegotiated’ in Australia.” These are good questions, but Raygun’s expression of marsupial whimsy seemed to me and many others to not only border on the edges of the thing she’s questioning, but also on disrespect.

Disgruntled American breaking fan Dixon told ABC, “It just looked like somebody who was toying with the culture and didn’t know how culturally significant it was being the first time in the Olympics and just how important it was to people who really cherish hip-hop and one of the elements of hip-hop, which is breakdancing.” If Raygun, as some has suggested, was trying to make some statement or performance art, she squandered maybe the one chance her country had on this global platform.

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

Again, I have no problem with white and Asian people breakdancing. It’s just irritating that Raygun’s presence there seems not only shocking but derogatory. I can’t imagine a Black American on the world stage of any cultural artform that didn’t originate with us and daring to be that bad. Ask ballerina Misty Copeland if she has to be 10 times better than anyone else.

The people who are applauding Raygun’s ingenuity and offbeat style don’t address that she’s being offbeat in an artform that is worthy of respect. Yes, it’s fun and energetic. But let Misty dance in Moscow in a babushka pantomiming borscht-making and see how far she’d get. There needs to be caution with Black expression that is respected as much as anyone else’s.

Although if breaking ever comes 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.