Hunger Games? In my Dance Moms? It's More Likely Than You Think

by Gillian Brown

For the past week or so, I’ve been stuck in isolation with COVID-19 and I’ve had a little too much time on my hands. Sure, I could be “working on my thesis” that’s “due soon,” but I’ve been choosing to spend my days in a more productive manner: binging the entirety of Dance Moms from start to finish. One thing you need to know about me is that I have a tendency to develop a short-lived but very intense obsession with something for a few weeks at a time. Call it hyperfixation if you want, but I prefer to call it rumination. Before Dance Moms, I was fully absorbed in the Hunger Games resurgence that has been taking TikTok by storm.

Firstly, I would just like to say that I’m really glad The Hunger Games is getting its well-deserved renaissance, and it could not come at a better time–Suzanne Collins, much like Margaret Atwood before her, has masterfully laid out in her book what can easily happen in the United States (and perhaps what has already happened over and over again) if we let people in power take advantage of us. In an era that increasingly leans toward conservatism and fascism, the world of Panem is not too far from reality.
But, that’s not what this article is about. Remember how I have a one-track mind when it comes to consuming media?

Let’s talk about how The Hunger Games came to be. According to a 2018 New York Times interview, it went something like this: late one night in the early-mid-2000s, Collins was flipping through channels on her television, switching between reality TV shows about teenagers competing to win millions of dollars and actual footage of the Iraq War going on a world away. In the haze of half-sleep, these images melded together into what would become Panem’s favorite reality TV show.

“Ok, so what does any of this have to do with you binging Dance Moms, Gillian?” The Hunger Games is a scathing critique of the way we sensationalize war in order to detach ourselves from the real violence of it, but underneath that, Collins also tackles the cultural phenomenon of reality TV, specifically the effects on child stars. Ok, now do you see where I’m going with this?

The first book in the Hunger Games series came out in 2008, and Dance Moms first aired on Lifetime in 2011. For those of you who have not been following Tiktok’s Hunger Games renaissance, let me briefly summarize the first book for you: Katniss and Peeta, two 16 year olds from the poorest area in Panem, a futuristic dictatorship in what was once the United States, are selected to fight to the death along with 22 other teenage “tributes” in the Hunger Games. This game will be broadcast on national television, and serves a source of great entertainment for the Capitol, the wealthiest area in Panem. Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss and Peeta’s state-assigned mentor, is quick to explain that in order to win the games, they must get viewers to like them. If viewers like them, they will get sponsorship inside the arena–things like food, water, and medicine–that could mean the difference between life and death. Peeta jumps on the opportunity in his interview with TV personality Caesar Flickerman to make himself memorable by fabricating a false romance between himself and Katniss. Later, in the arena, the two of them realize that by acting in love (kissing each other, caring for each other, etc) they can get more sponsorships, therefore increasing their chances of making it out alive. The gamemakers even create a “natural” disaster in the form of a giant wall of fire to get Katniss closer to Peeta, allowing their romance to blossom for the cameras. In Catching Fire, the second book, Peeta uses this trick again, announcing that Katniss is pregnant, which results in mass outrage from the audience of Caesar’s show.

Here’s the thing, the Capitol audience can adore Katniss and Peeta’s relationship (ship name: Peeniss), they can feel heartbroken over the cruel irony of them fighting each other in these games, they can even get angry at the gamemakers for allowing bad things to happen to these tributes. I mean, of course they pity these two kids—they’re just kids, and oh God, life is so unfair, and it’s just impossible to look away—but in order for the audience to support these two star-crossed lovers against the odds, they must be complicit in the brutal torture and murder of 22 other children. For there to be tragic heroes in this game, by very definition, tragedy is required.

Now, let’s talk about Dance Moms. The title of the show says it all–we get to follow the lives of (originally) four mothers and their highly talented kids as they compete for the Abby Lee Dance Company at high profile tournaments across the country. We cheer as the kids win, we laugh as the mothers fight for their kids to have stage time, and we get to watch some really great dancing.

Of course, because this show needs to be entertaining, it is full of fighting. In the series, there is an ongoing war between Abby, the owner of the studio and the dance moms themselves, with Abby often acting as the villain. When Abby screams at the young dancers, berates them, and gets angry when they inevitably cry, the viewer obviously feels bad for these young girls. The mothers stick up for their daughters viciously, and we all support them from the comfort of our living rooms. Perhaps this makes us feel like we are morally right. I mean, we don’t support children being verbally abused, do we?

The biggest fabricated rivalry is the one between Maddie (who starts the show as an 8 year old) and Chloe (who starts as a 9 year old). Abby, a textbook narcissist, has picked Maddie to be her golden child, while doing everything in her power to knock Chloe down and make her feel like second best. In the competitions the team competes in, Chloe never beats Maddie, and in fact almost consistently comes in second. This rivalry is only further exacerbated by the pyramid that Abby presents each episode of the girls’ headshots. Maddie is literally on top of Chloe in this pyramid from day 1.

Now, I say this is a “fabricated” rivalry because it is entirely made up for the show. The editors don’t even do a very good job at hiding this–every clip we see of the girls interacting is kind and genuine. It’s so easy as a viewer to hate Maddie and her mother Melissa, because we see her as the villain to our sweet underdog, Chloe. Maddie often says in her confessionals that she “feels bad” the other girls never get a chance to be on top or win in their solo categories.

Well of course, you could blame Abby for Maddie’s unfortunate villainization, but Abby is not in control of this show anymore than Caesar Flickerman was in charge of the Hunger Games. She is a pawn of the producers, and does whatever will make for the most entertaining storyline. Why are adult producers trying to make us hate an 8 year old girl so much? Because we want to see it. Sure, we can say we’re morally superior because we’re on the “right” side in these fights, but that necessitates there being a fight in the first place. Children have to cry on national television and experience what likely was irreparable trauma (Chloe has stated that she doesn’t remember anything from her time on the show, a common symptom of childhood trauma) for us to be satisfied feeling just bad enough for them.

Listen, I don’t say this from any kind of high horse. I already admitted to binging the entire show at the beginning of this article. That being said, if you watch the whole Hunger Games series back to back and then do the same thing with Dance Moms, you’re inevitably going to start making some unsavory comparisons. And yeah, ok, the girls on Dance Moms don’t have to win or die, but Abby makes it very clear that losing is not an option—”second is the first loser,” after all.

Perhaps the most concerning similarity is in the way these young children are often portrayed for adult audiences. Collins actually addresses the phenomenon of child star sexualization several times in her series: in the first book, a tribute named Glimmer wears a see-through dress for her interview with Caesar Flickerman, clearly because her designer thought it would garner her more (fully grown adult) sponsors. In the second book, former victor Finnick Odair, known for his dashing good looks (he won at only 14, mind you), heavily implies that he was prostituted out to wealthy Capitol citizens after his games. In Dance Moms, the kids are usually wearing way less clothing than would be allowed under any elementary school dress code. When the show features male dancers in B-roll footage from the competition, their costumes usually cover their bodies completely. Even female dancers from other teams are usually wearing longer skirts and shorts.

Of course, competitive dance has its own cultural norms surrounding appropriate costuming, but ask yourself this question–why did the show have to be about kids’ dance? Why not call the show Stage Moms and document the cut throat world of children’s theatre? In one of the very first episodes of the very first season, Abby choreographs a dance to a song called “Electricity,” with incredibly raunchy dance moves. The girls are wearing what is essentially just shiny lingerie. Every single one of the dance moms protests this, saying it is wildly inappropriate for girls of only 8 and 9. It would be so easy to call Abby the villain here, for making her students perform this number, but the fact is, their moms let them perform the dance for national television, the producers gave the dance the go ahead, and we all sat in front of our TVs and consumed it. How are we not complicit in this?

Although Dance Moms has a lot of fans of all ages, most sane people agree that they wouldn’t let their kids on this show. The choice seems easy enough, right? But if your kid had Broadway level talent and big dreams and someone told you this was (maybe their only) chance to be famous, how could you say no? The victors of the Hunger Games do not go unrewarded–they get yearly earnings, a mansion bigger than anything anyone around them has, and the comfort of knowing that their family–their loved ones–will never go hungry again. With this in mind, it’s no wonder that some kids are eager to volunteer for the Hunger Games. It’s a guaranteed path out of abject poverty. In much the same way, Dance Moms takes advantage of these kids’ dreams and their mothers’ desires to do anything to make those dreams come true. But it’s an empty victory. Hunger Games victors like Haymitch end up angry, bitter alcoholics, and how many kids from Dance Moms can you actually name as verified celebrities, besides Maddie Ziegler and Jojo Siwa?

Somehow, three years after Collins’ groundbreaking book hits the market, Lifetime produces a real life Hunger Games. Does that mean watching Dance Moms means you’re on the same level of morality as President Snow or the citizens of the Capitol? No–it’s an old show that aired over a decade ago. And to the show’s credit, the girls are really amazing dancers. The performances at the end of each episode are really fun to watch. But a lot of times when we consume dystopian literature, we have a tendency to think of it as illustrating a possible future. We debate in our ninth grade English classes if the circumstances in Orwell’s 1984 ever came to pass. The thing is, dystopian literature isn’t meant to be a prediction–it’s satire. The Hunger Games is satirizing the reality of the mid-2000s that Collins was living through. It’s not a crystal ball–it’s a mirror. So, no, you don’t have to stop watching Dance Moms. Maybe just feel a little bit more guilty about it. That’s my plan, anyways.