How Cannabis is Shaping the New Dance Underground

By Taylor Engle

On the dance floor, timing’s everything. The bass drops, bodies move and for a moment, the mind goes quiet. For some dancers, cannabis helps them get there.

Across international underground dance scenes, freestyle dancers say the plant can act as a creative catalyst, softening the internal critic and allowing them to slip deeper into rhythm. Whether in house circles, waacking sessions (the ’70s West Coast gay clubs’ faster, more rhythmic “voguing”) or improvised studio jams, cannabis has quietly become part of how an increasing number of dancers explore movement, music and flow.

For one Dublin-based pole dancer and instructor, who asked to remain anonymous, cannabis can quiet the constant technical chatter that often runs through a dancer’s mind. “For me, the effect of cannabis turns off the part of my brain that usually keeps working during a dance class or practice,” she says. “It allows me to actually feel the music more and move more freely without focusing on technique. Sometimes, I feel more in tune with my body, and then I feel like I can enjoy how my body moves more without the need to correct myself.”

That shift from control to sensation is something dancers often spend years chasing. In freestyle communities especially, the goal isn’t perfection but presence. When the analytical mind fades into the background, movement becomes instinctive.

Orange County-based street dancer and athlete Shannon O, who performs with a contemporary dance company, says cannabis can dramatically alter how she hears music, sharpening her awareness of rhythm and musical detail. “Music hits differently when you’re high,” O says. “It helps me notice offbeats, accents and tempo in a deeper way.”

For O, the plant doesn’t always translate into dancing itself. While cannabis amplifies her imagination for choreography and musicality, she jokes that actually moving while high can make her “a hazard to myself.”

Still, the mental experience can be creatively valuable. Listening to music while consuming cannabis often sparks choreography in her mind before a single step is taken. That relationship between cannabis and dance doesn’t exist in isolation. Cannabis’ place within dance culture also varies widely depending on geography and community.

In legal markets like New Jersey, dancer and festival coordinator Ginny Gogarty says cannabis has long been woven into surrounding creative spaces like music festivals. The founder of Karnival of Arts Music Festival and lead singer of costumed jam band Mums The Word, Gogarty merges music and movement through her performance collective, the Bally Girls Dance Team. Her dance style blends heels choreography (a fusion of typically jazz, hip-hop, contemporary and burlesque performed in high heels) with Afro-influenced movement.

“I used to smoke before, during and after dancing,” Gogarty says. “It helped me relax, get in the zone and just let loose.”

Today, she sees cannabis less as a defining part of dance itself and more as something embedded within festival and music culture. “A lot of people in the festival community build their lives around cannabis,” Gogarty says. “Whether they’re growing it, vending it or just enjoying it socially.”

For Indigenous/Latina professional heels dancer and cannabis advocate Marie Vallejo, the relationship between cannabis and dance is more personal. Vallejo grew up in the competitive dance world, where early training often emphasized perfection and comparison over creativity.

“I had a lot of self-doubt,” Vallejo says. “You’re constantly thinking about technique, about how you look, about meeting expectations.”

Cannabis helped her reconnect with dance on her own terms. “When I consume cannabis, I’m in my zone,” she says. “It takes away that anxiety and lets me focus on how the music feels instead of how I’m supposed to move.”

Today, Vallejo dances frequently in her home studio she built in her garage. In this safe space, she can consume, put her music on shuffle and improvise freely. “I don’t know what song is coming next,” Vallejo says. “It could go from something hype to something slow and emotional, and you just build movement as it comes.”

That improvisational approach reflects a broader shift happening within underground dance communities, where dancers are increasingly exploring movement outside traditional studios, competitions and performance structures. In those spaces, cannabis can function as both a creative aid and a social ritual.

Vallejo laughs as she says that sometimes she arrives at heels class smelling a little “dank,” drawing a mix of curious looks and friendly jokes. “Some people turn their heads,” she reveals. “Others say, ‘Why didn’t you invite me?’ But that’s how you find your community.”

Even so, much of this culture remains unspoken. In underground dance communities, cannabis use may not always be openly discussed outside the circle, even when it’s relatively common within it.

“A lot of us in the dance and music community use cannabis regularly,” O says. “But because of stigma, it’s not always something openly expressed to people outside the scene.”

Inside those spaces, however, its presence is often understood. At dance jams, parties and informal sessions, cannabis can function much like alcohol in other social environments: a shared ritual that lowers barriers and encourages connection.

Beyond creativity, dancers say cannabis can influence the emotional and spiritual experience of movement. The Dublin dancer says cannabis tends to amplify whatever emotions are already present. “It enhances whatever I’m feeling,” she says. “Sometimes that means facing things you’ve pushed away, but that can also help you process them.”

At other times, the effect is simpler: freedom from self-consciousness.

“You stop worrying about looking cute or performing for other people,” she says. “You’re just present in your body.”

For Vallejo, that presence is what ultimately matters most. “Dance isn’t about how you should look,” she says. “It’s about how you feel and how you connect with the music.”

As cannabis legalization continues to spread and cultural attitudes evolve, its relationship with dance will likely keep shifting, too. What remains constant is the pursuit dancers share everywhere: the moment when music takes over and movement becomes instinct.

Sometimes, a little green’s all you need to quiet the noise and truly arrive. Like a well-choreographed dance move.

Originally published in Issue 53 of Cannabis Now Magazine.

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