Editor's note: Anna Kaufman is a former reporter at USA TODAY, who trained with a pro dancer from "Dancing with the Stars" to see what the process is really like. This story originally ran in November 2025.
LOS ANGELES – In journalism, a reporter rarely dons the costume of their subjects. You are not the story, common dogma dictates.
But, every once in a while, you throw that out for the chance to earn yourself some blisters and dance in bedazzled heels. At least that's what I'm thinking when, sitting on the floor of the sun-soaked "Dancing with the Stars" studios, I'm handed a plastic bag full of them in different sizes.
The show, which pairs celebrity contestants with ballroom dancing pros, represents a white whale for network television – a linear
program, on air for two decades, riding a ratings wave. What's more? The wind propelling Season 34 is comprised increasingly of Gen Z and millennial viewers.
I'm here, in the show's heavily mirrored rehearsal space, for a crash course.
Days later, when I enter the ballroom to perform, I'll find myself cursing the long car ride when this idea was born, after a vigorous debate amongst friends over which reality competition show we might fare well on.
Clear eyes, blistered ankles, can't lose
But before the fated ballroom entrance, I'm marveling at the height of the heels I've been tasked to dance in when Brandon Armstrong, my assigned pro, strides into the rehearsal space. If there's an invisible Mr. Congeniality contest afoot on set, Armstrong certainly has a claim on the crown.
He greets me like an old friend, instantly helping to fade the several nightmare scenarios from my fitful sleep the evening before.
He assures me that our dance, a salsa, involves some lifts – a thought that doesn't feel all that soothing – until he adds, "If things go south, I'll just pick your little butt up and we'll be spinning for Jesus." When I tell him I'm not a dancer, he insists, "I'm going to make you look like one." It's his job, after all.
That fact becomes abundantly clear as we crack into our eight-counts. Armstrong is the picture of encouragement, elongating the vowels in his "yeses" to signal awe, giving each move a quaint sound effect and joking easily between instructions.
While my time on set was heavily scheduled, I was struck by how free people felt to speak with me, a stark contrast to the micro-managed press access to which I've grown accustomed.
During rehearsal, Armstrong seemed free of any cellophane wrapping. He spoke candidly about the increased pressure of social media creation alongside traditional pro duties, his concern over the conflicts in Sudan and Palestine, and an 80-year-old contestant who obliterated his chances on night one.
That same candor felt palpable in the hair and makeup trailer, where show veterans Zena Green and Kimi Messina told me mid-glamification that many of the male contestants opt for body makeup to contour their abs. They also revealed they can sometimes see "showmances" bubbling up between contestants and pros behind the scenes.
The showmances, a point of particular intrigue for viewers, have been plentiful and varied.
Longtime "Dancing with the Stars" casting director Deena Katz applies a similar honesty when discussing the tendency to fall for your partner. "I think it's fantastic. You get really close," she says, adding that sometimes she pairs people up precisely because she thinks there may be a spark.
"You don't plan it. Sometimes my gut kind of says it, but … I don't know sometimes when it happens," she says.
What makes a good 'DWTS' contestant? Lack of ego
Back in the studio, Armstrong and I are halfway through the choreo when we land on a six-step turn that scrambles what little confidence I've built. As he counts me in for the umpteenth time, I'm beginning to understand the stakes.
My twirls are sloppy, I'm adding extra steps, and all those grand investigative plans are quickly melting from "small town girl busts major move" to "how to lose your dignity in 10 days."
Armstrong keeps us level, molding his teaching style to my questions and disarming me with quips about my personal life. A dancer since he was 10, he's been on the show for nearly a decade, but has yet to nab the coveted Mirrorball trophy (He came in third last season with partner Chandler Kinney).
At some point, Mark Ballas, half of one of the season's leading couples, pops into our rehearsal. We met an hour earlier when I dropped into his practice session with "Secret Lives of Mormon Wives" star Whitney Leavit. His advice, which Leavitt echoed, was "don't hold back."
"Throw yourself headfirst into it," he says. Armstrong seconds that.
"It's a mentality. I think if [contestants] come in and they're like 'I got this,' they're going to struggle," he says. "They have to be excited to learn."
I try to channel that sentiment in the last hour of my training, remembering I am there to report on the process, not to ensure I don't embarrass myself. That thought does engender some real admiration, though, for the celebrities who put themselves through this.
Sure, it's an invaluable PR move, and yes, it's a relatively toothless environment for stars who hope to share their story – but to sideline months of your life, train for hours a day, most days of the week, and on the other end still contend with the risk of live-on-candid-camera failure, is also an act of bravery.
It's that quality that makes the show a success. Fans need look no further than Andy Richter, this season's breakout star, for the evidence. Richter has escaped elimination week after week, not because his samba is white hot, but because it's refreshing to see a star stripped of their usual affectations. He's miles out of his comfort zone, offering an authentic view of what it's like to venture that far, in a later season of life.
"Anytime there's an audience member at home that thinks that they can't do it … to have somebody on our show that says, 'look I’m doing this, you can do this too' … it's such a good role model for America," Katz says.
"DWTS" is also, seemingly, a meritocracy. Fans vote for their favorite dance duos, a metric then combined with scores from the judges' panel.
"It's very, to me, reflective of real life," Armstrong says. "You can choose to run away from it, but eventually the rent is due."
Under the 'Dancing with the Stars' ballroom lights, it all falls apart
The rent came due Monday morning when, sitting in the hair and make-up trailer – my salsa just barely pieced together before our rehearsal time wrapped – I was preparing to perform under the disco ball.
Green expertly applies fake eyelashes, thick foundation and a dessert brown eye look, while Messina goes to work piling tight curls atop my head. The look feels over the top, but that's by design. If they don't turn it up to 10, under the lights and cameras, "it's going to look like you don't have anything," Green tells me.
Spackled and sprayed, I'm led to a mini-rehearsal space off the ballroom where, the following night, I will overhear the stars feverishly practicing during commercial breaks. Just after we've been told there will be 30 minutes to practice, someone pops their head in to inform Armstrong and I that they'll be ready for us in 10.
Walking into the ballroom, albeit smaller than the cameras make it seem, my heart makes quick work of finding its way to my baby toe. Unlike the celebrities (and one Los Angeles Times reporter who immersed herself in the show similarly in 2009), I won't face a live studio audience. But the backdrop alone, along with the smattering of pros in the audience, gives my nerves a jolt.
While I woke up in a state of semi-confidence, it seems the stage lights have quickly burned it off, and, after three passes through the performance caught on tape, I feel deflated. My hand wandered into Armstrong's face during the lift and my motions felt jerky.
But that's the show. When I return the following night to watch the real stars dance, I see firsthand their last-minute practice backstage, the urge to do the steps – by the vanities, next to the snack table, everywhere – to ensure they remember every flicked wrist.
When the lights come on, though, I wonder how many of them, like me, miss a step they performed perfectly in rehearsal, or spend too much time in their brain and not their body, only to watch the instant replay and kick themselves.
When I finally see some of the video back, though, my feelings are mixed. Those same mistakes I made were there, but there was also something else. In the rare moments I hit my marks, to see my body – the one I haul to work every day, and nitpick in the mirror – make elegant shapes is really emotional.
From my vantage point behind the scenes, it seems that "Dancing with the Stars" is popular right now for the same reason its stars weren't skittish when they talked to me. They didn't fear controversy because the show isn't built around it.
Cameras are rolling at all times on set. In rehearsals alone, Armstrong points out several I hadn't noticed. If you're a diva, it's caught on tape. But, where much of reality television has become fertile ground to play out larger tensions in the American landscape, spilling into cultural and romantic discourse, "Dancing with the Stars" is not interested.
"We're not there to make fun of you, or to call you out. And there's certainly things that have happened behind the scenes on camera that we don't show," Katz says. "It's not like other shows where that's what a producer waits for.
"It's not controversial. I don't want to be political. I think there's enough of that in the world," she adds. "To know that for two hours on Tuesday nights you can just sit down and smile and enjoy yourself, I think, is really important."
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: The truth of 'Dancing with the Stars' – What training with a pro is really like
