We’ve all been there.

You’ve just arrived at your lodge. You’re still clutching your welcome juice, slightly dazed from the journey, and suddenly—drums. Smiling dancers in traditional dress emerge, moving in perfect rhythm. One locks eyes with you. You’re ushered forward, limbs stiff, smile strained. The camera clicks. You clap, you wiggle, you wonder:

“Is this okay? Should people really be dancing for us?”

It’s an awkward question—but an important one. Because behind every dance performance on the tourist trail lies a story far deeper than just rhythm and showmanship. And sometimes, it’s a story we completely miss.

Which is why I want to talk about it.

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What Are We Actually Watching?

One of the most common complaints I hear from travellers is that cultural shows “aren’t authentic.” That they feel staged. Plastic. Manufactured for the camera.

But what if our understanding of “authenticity” is the real issue?

We love to imagine culture as something untouched—spontaneous, sacred, something that happens when no tourists are watching. But if that’s true, how are we ever supposed to learn about it?

Let’s take Scotland. Bagpipes are basically national background music. But you don’t hear them playing on every street corner. They come out during special occasions—weddings, funerals, festivals. And when they do, it’s magical. Goosebumps. Chills. A spine-tingling moment of cultural connection.

So what happens if that same performance is on a stage? For a crowd of foreigners? Does that make it fake?

No. It just makes it a show—and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. In fact, many of us wouldn’t hesitate to buy tickets to that very show!

Let’s Talk Economics

Now let’s get practical. Because while the ethics of performance are interesting, the economics are unavoidable.

A lot of the time, these dances aren’t just a nice-to-have cultural moment—they’re someone’s income. Someone’s rent, food, school fees.

In Tanzania, I’ve met teenage Maasai boys who herd cattle by day and dance by night. They’re talented. They’re proud. And they’re choosing to do this work. Some of them use that money to study. Some support their families. Some simply enjoy the thrill of the performance.

Yes, they know it’s a show. Yes, they laugh when tourists awkwardly join in. But no, that doesn’t make it meaningless.

Not every performance needs to be some ancient sacred ritual. Sometimes, it’s just a job. A joyful, rhythmic, sweaty job.

And what’s the alternative? That they stop dancing so we can preserve the fantasy of some “pure” culture—while leaving them with no income? That seems more exploitative than the performance ever could be.

When Does It Feel Icky?

But let’s not pretend it’s all rosy.

There are moments when these shows cross a line—from cultural celebration into something uncomfortable.

Like when kids are pulled from school to “perform” for tourists.

When women are expected to wear traditional dress every day of the week, regardless of weather or comfort.

When the show feels like it’s reinforcing colonial-era stereotypes.

When it’s clear someone’s being watched, but not seen.

If people are being pressured into performing, or aren’t being paid fairly, or have no say in how their culture is being presented—that’s not a cultural exchange. That’s exploitation.

It’s not the dance itself that’s the issue. It’s the power dynamics behind it.

Authenticity is Overrated (Sometimes)

Now, I know this might be controversial—but I think we’re all a little too obsessed with authenticity.

We want the untouched village. The secret ritual. The meal cooked over fire “just like they’ve always done it.” But here’s the thing:

Culture evolves.

That Balinese fire dance you saw with thirty other tourists? It probably started as a sacred ritual. And now? It’s also a livelihood. A point of pride. A bridge between worlds.

Culture doesn’t disappear because it changes. It disappears because it’s no longer valued.

And if a performance helps preserve language, music, or costume traditions that might otherwise be lost—well, maybe a few claps from the audience is a fair trade-off.

Let’s stop treating authenticity like a museum exhibit and start appreciating it as something living, breathing, and adaptable.

So… Should People Dance for Tourists?

Here’s my take:

If someone is choosing to dance…

If they’re being paid fairly…

If the performance is done with dignity and pride…

Then what’s the harm?

Not every cultural encounter has to be spontaneous. Not every tradition needs to remain locked in history. Sometimes, the show is just that—a show. And sometimes, it’s also a form of resistance. A way to say, “We’re still here. We remember. We’re proud.”

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t ask questions. We should. But the right questions aren’t “Is this authentic?”

They’re “Who benefits?” “Was this freely chosen?” “What’s the story behind this performance?”

Final Thoughts: Don’t Ditch the Dance—But Do Think Before You Clap

Travel is full of these little ethical dilemmas. Moments that make you pause, raise an eyebrow, feel a flicker of discomfort.

But that discomfort isn’t a sign to shut down—it’s a sign to lean in.

To listen.

To ask.

To learn.

And maybe, if invited… to dance.

Have you ever witnessed a cultural performance that made you feel conflicted? What made it feel beautiful—or uncomfortable? I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’re curious about experiencing cultural connection on a deeper level—not just as a spectator but as a participant—come travel with me.

Let’s go beyond the highlights. Let’s ask better questions. Let’s dance—ethically.