'BRING IT ON' IS STILL RELEVANT 25 YEARS LATER (AND THAT MAKES ME KINDA SAD)

In 2021, Charli D'Amelio, once the most followed person on TikTok, faced criticism for stealing and not properly crediting Black TikTok creators for the dance moves that made her a household name—notably a dance called the "Renegade". The dance was originally created by Jalaiah Harmon, a then 14 year old Black girl who, despite finally being given the recognition she deserves, has yet to amass the mainstream fame, tv gigs, or wealth of the thin, conventionally attractive, white woman who robbed her flow. In the aftermath, one truth became self-evident: white imitators amass legions of fans and massive wealth while Black originators are left behind.

So, what does any of this have to do with the lighthearted, camp-tastic, cheer movie Bring It On? Well, everything, actually.

I'm Sexy, I'm Cute, I'm Popular to Boot

Twenty-five years ago today, in the late summer of 2000, a bubbly sports comedy set in the cutthroat world of competitive cheerleading debuted at number one and became an immediate teen staple. With its tight choreography, pop-punk soundtrack, and Kirsten Dunst’s endlessly watchable blend of wide-eyed optimism and high school angst, the film quickly vaulted into the teen movie hall of fame.

But the legacy of Bring It On extends far beyond helping an entire generation understand the difference between jazz hands and spirit fingers. Beneath its peppy chants and high-flying stunts lies something more subversive—a sharp-edged satire about race, class, privilege, and the cost of stolen culture.

What? You didn't know?

Set in a sun-drenched, upper-middle-class San Diego suburb, the film opens on the Rancho Carne Toros, a predominantly white cheer squad riding high on a legacy of national championships. Their perky perfection is a metaphor for whiteness at large—structured, polished, and palatable. But when newcomer Missy (played by a scene-stealing Eliza Dushku) joins the team and pulls the thread on their perfectly hemmed routines, everything starts to unravel.

Turns out, those crowd-winning chants weren’t homegrown after all. They were swiped, step-for-step, from the East Compton Clovers—a Black squad with raw talent, real grit, and zero access to the same resources or spotlight. Gabrielle Union’s Isis, the Clovers’ unshakable captain, embodies that imbalance: poised, proud, and fully aware that her team’s steez has been hijacked.

This is where Bring It On becomes more than a teen flick—it becomes a reflection of the cultural tension simmering just under the surface of American pop culture. The Toros, cushioned by wealth and whiteness, have been benefitting from the labor and creativity of the Clovers without a second thought. And even now, 25 years later, the film feels eerily current. Swap out chants for TikTok dances, and it’s the same conversation.

Brr, It’s Cold in Here

But what makes Bring It On endure isn’t just its critique of race. The Clovers, all sharp elbows and DIY spirit, have the talent but none of the institutional support. While the Toros fret over losing their title, the Clovers are out here fundraising just to get on a bus to nationals. Where the Toros have fresh uniforms and a sleek gym, the Clovers are holding bake sales just to show up. And it’s a biting indictment of how access—whether to training, funding, or just a seat at the table—remains deeply stratified. The Clovers have to work twice as hard just to be seen, a reality many marginalized communities still face in every industry.

The genius of the film is that it doesn’t let anyone off the hook. Torrance (played by Dunst), the Toros' newest captain, isn’t a villain, but she is complicit. And the film shows us just how easy it is to be her—good intentions, bad awareness, and the luxury of ignorance. And you sit with that discomfort. It doesn't really matter that she “didn’t know” her team was plagiarizing. Once she finds out, it matters what she'll do with that knowledge.

Spoiler: She does the bare minimum and still wins the moral high ground. She’s horrified, sure. But not horrified enough to give up the trophies.

Meanwhile, Isis and the Clovers carry the weight of being brilliant, broke, and invisible. They don’t want handouts. They want recognition. They want the right to show up as they are—in their full power—and win. And by the film’s end, they do. But not before reminding the audience that talent alone isn’t what gets you the trophy. Resources are everything. Institutions matter.

That's Alright. That's OK. You're Gonna Pump Our Gas Someday

If the early 2000s were a boom era for pop culture built on the backs of Black creativity, Bring It On remains one of the few films from that time that had the guts to interrogate that dynamic. Is it perfect? No. Some of its critiques are softened for the sake of its PG-13 gloss. The Clovers don’t get as much screen time as the Toros. And the film hedges its bets, staying within the comfort zone of a white protagonist’s redemption arc. But in its best moments, it asks audiences to question who gets recognition and who gets nothing.

In today’s age of cultural reappraisal, where every “Y2K revival” mood board borrows heavily from Black aesthetics, it feels necessary to revisit Bring It On with fresh eyes. Because while the scrunchies and shimmery eyeshadows may be back in style, the bigger message still rings out louder than any spirit chant: It’s not enough to borrow culture—you have to honor its origins, and more importantly, its people.

It’s easy to forget that Bring It On was released during the apex of glossy white teen cinema—10 Things I Hate About You, She’s All That, Cruel Intentions. And within that landscape, Bring It On offers something sharper. It shows how whiteness not only replicates culture but polishes it just enough to sell it back to you. And it exposes the quiet violence of aesthetic theft, decades before it became a trending topic.

And while the film wraps things up in a satisfyingly choreographed finale, the underlying message lingers: those at the top aren't always there because they're good, but because they're good at "borrowing." And that's certainly more than most of its peers of the time dared to do.

For me, Bring It On is, and always will be, more than just a cheerleading movie. It’s a primer. And the real twist? 25 years later, we're still learning the same lessons. Rewatching, it almost feels prophetic. The Clovers aren't just the underdogs; they're the blueprint. The Toros aren't just cheaters; they're the system working exactly as it's designed to. Bring It On was never just about pom-poms and pep. It's about power—who holds it, who builds it, and who reaps the benefits.