
Julio Ulises Medina remembers dancing salsa and punta with girls at quinceañeras, as well as grooving to hip-hop and reggaeton during middle school dances.

Since junior high, Medina has always noticed the different dynamics between genders in his social life. He began thinking about his own masculinity and how it fit into the typically male-dominated hip-hop genre.

Medina grew up in South Central Los Angeles, where he was surrounded by break dancing and hip-hop in school and on the streets.

Medina’s 10-year-old sister, Andrea, said she wants to be a dancer like her brother when she grows up.

Aside from being extremely proud of her brother, Andrea also loves taking the hip-hop and ballet classes her brother teaches at St. Agnes Church in downtown LA.

Medina would sometimes sneak out of his room and into his driveway late at night to krump. The dance was a way for him to channel the frustration he faced growing up in a poor neighborhood.

"If you're not directing the anger towards another person, then you're directing it to the universe, to God," Medina said. "(Dance) lets me release my tensions."

“The fact that most of us were low-income resonated with what hip-hop is in itself: a resistance to oppression,” Medina said.

Medina is now interested in how dance portrays race and masculinity through hip-hop and break dance.