Derek Hough: Redefining What a Dance Star Can Be in the 21st Century | The Rest of the Story | Ep 36
October 11, 2025 • 24 mins
Derek Hough is one of the most recognizable dancers of the 21st century — six-time Dancing with the Stars champion, Emmy-winning (and record-breaking) choreographer, World of Dance judge, and Las Vegas headliner.
But his story didn’t start under spotlights.
It began in a Utah kitchen — a restless kid who couldn’t sit still, whose mother dragged him into a dance class kicking and screaming.
From there came discipline, drive — and one decision that would change everything.
At eleven, he made a move so bold it would alter the course of his entire life — a choice that took him far from home, into a world of champions, and set him on a path few dancers ever dare to take.
Years later, that risk paid off. By eighteen, he was a world Latin champion.
Then came the leap few dancers ever make: from competition floors to theatre on the West End. Dancing with the Stars. Choreographing Olympic gold for Meryl Davis and Charlie White. Creating a sold-out national tour (often with his sister, Julianne Hough) that proved dance alone could fill arenas.
In this episode of The Rest of the Story on the Hey, Dancer! podcast, I trace how he turned a childhood obsession into a career that redefined what a dance star could be in the 21st century — one built entirely on movement, music, and mastery.
He didn’t just make dance popular again.
He made it personal.
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
[music]
(00:02):
The era of the dance star had long passed
until he came along, broke the mold, and became that rare thing.
A dancer with a household name.
Welcome to the rest of the story, my weekly series on my podcast, "Hey, dancer."
My name is Miller Daurey, and if you're loving this weekly deep-dive mini-documentary of sorts
(00:25):
into the lives of dance legends, make sure you are following along.
Subscribe, hit that notification bell so you always know when a new episode drops.
And please give a like and a comment, and if you know anyone who might appreciate
an inspiring story, feel free to share the podcast and pass along.
(00:45):
These things all tell the platform to spread the dance love, and as I've mentioned,
I'm a one-man team, so hey, any engagement is just really appreciated.
All right, let's get into it.
He was born on May 17, 1985 in Salt Lake City, Utah.
His parents met on a ballroom dance team at their college in Idaho,
(01:08):
a beginning that in hindsight feels almost poetic.
His father, Bruce, worked in radio, before starting a satellite communications company.
His mother, Marianne, raised five children, four girls and him, the only boy.
Both of his parents had been raised Mormon, and they brought that same faith into their home.
(01:30):
Sundays were for church, and once a month the family fasted.
Swearing wasn't allowed.
Prayers were said before every meal and service to others was part of daily life.
And music was a big part of family life too, even if their collection was small.
They didn't have many CDs, but the ones they did have,
(01:51):
Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seeger, YouTube, a few Broadway albums and Disney soundtracks,
played on repeat.
They gravitated toward that kind of music, energetic, classic, clean, and familiar.
When the music played, he and his sisters would start dancing around the kitchen,
knocking plates and glasses off the shelves.
(02:11):
That's where it really began for him.
The joy of moving to music without abandon surrounded by family.
He fell toward the middle of the sibling pack, always looking for attention.
And it showed a local bishop once told his mother,
"Your job is to keep that boy alive."
He was constantly jumping, climbing, and running,
(02:33):
restless energy in motion.
Rather than trying to quiet him, his mom filled his days with activities.
Baseball, soccer, karate, drums, swimming, art.
Sometimes he protested, but she knew that keeping him busy kept him safe.
But danger had a way of finding him.
When he was about six, a pair of older neighborhood boys began tormenting his family.
(02:58):
One afternoon, they tied him up, dragged him face down across the ground,
and hung him by his ankles from a tree, taunting him with what looked like a gun.
He thought he was going to die.
The trauma stayed with him.
Sleepless nights, nightmares, fear that never quite left.
Not long after, the family moved a few miles away to a new neighborhood in South Jordan,
(03:20):
hoping for a fresh start.
School was hard.
He was awkward, slow to trust, and struggled to make friends.
No one seemed to understand him or his kind of energy.
He tried to act like the other kids to talk and even swear like them,
but it never landed.
Instead, he stood out.
He was labeled weird, so that's how he felt.
(03:43):
His mother had been taking his sisters to dance lessons at Center Stage Studio in Orham.
One afternoon, while his oldest sister, Shari, was in ballet class,
he tagged along for the ride.
Sitting in the parking lot, his mom looked over and said,
"You're just sitting here, doing nothing.
You might as well go in and take a class."
He refused, saying dancing was for girls.
(04:06):
She wasn't having it.
She pulled him into the studio, kicking and screaming.
But the moment he stepped inside, something changed.
Surrounded by music and movement, the noise in his head went quiet.
For the first time, he could focus.
Dance gave him a place to put all that restless energy.
Within weeks, he was out of the children's classes and training with the adults.
(04:30):
Even then, rhythm came easy, came naturally to him.
Like he could see the beats before he heard them.
At Center Stage, he came under the guidance of Rick Robinson and Kim Del Grasso,
teachers who demanded discipline and drive.
They taught him how to channel chaos into precision,
(04:51):
how to show up, how to work as part of a team.
Rick specifically made dance cool.
He was his first true mentor.
He also met one of Kim's daughters, Autumn Del Grasso,
who happened to need a competition partner.
He volunteered.
It didn't hurt that he had a crush on her,
(05:11):
but the connection ran deeper.
Training turned intense fast.
They weren't just learning steps.
They were preparing to compete.
rehearsals stretched late into the night,
and his mother drove 40 minutes each way,
sometimes twice a day, to make sure he could train.
That's where he started to find his voice.
(05:32):
On the competition floor, he took chances,
adding humor and spontaneity to routines that were usually rigid.
Sometimes it cost him technical points,
but the audiences loved it.
Competing soon became less about fun and more about focus.
Once he won, he wanted to win every time.
He started seeing dance as a sport,
(05:55):
something to master completely.
As his competitive drive grew, things at home were falling apart.
His parents' marriage ended,
and he split time between their nearby apartments in Oram.
The divorce left him uncertain and unsteady,
but dance became his anchor.
It was where he still felt capable,
(06:15):
where effort always led to progress.
At 11, he was invited to compete
at the Blackpool Dance Festival in England,
the most prestigious event in Ballroom.
It was his first trip overseas,
and he couldn't wait to go.
Traveling was a revelation,
surrounded by dancers from around the world.
(06:36):
He realized how high the standard truly was.
Their costumes, technique and confidence were
worlds away from what he knew in Utah.
He and Oram were eliminated in the first round.
For a boy used to being the standout, it was humbling.
Back home, he promised himself that one day,
he'd be good enough to stand beside dancers,
(06:57):
like the ones he'd just seen in competition.
Not long after, two master teachers
arrived at center stage studio.
Korki and Shirley Ballis,
world champions in Latin Ballroom,
larger than life personalities with energy to match.
From the moment they walked in, he was mesmerized.
(07:19):
Shirley was sharp, exacting, unflinching.
Korki was unpredictable and magnetic.
Together, they filled the room.
He planted himself in the front row,
hand always up desperate to be chosen.
He brought them sketches he drawn, small tokens,
anything to show how much he wanted to learn.
(07:39):
Shirley pushed him hard, counting out rhythms,
making him repeat steps until he nailed them,
and he loved it.
Then, the Ballises left town for a six-week performance tour.
When they returned, no one was waiting
at their car with gifts or greetings.
Other teachers told them this boy had been missing classes,
(07:59):
skipping school and getting into trouble.
Shirley knew it would take a lot to keep him away from her classes,
and when she learned what was happening at home, she understood.
He was lost.
Her solution was unexpected.
Come live with us in England, study dance,
(08:20):
compete, see the world.
The boy didn't hesitate.
He wanted to pack his bags that day.
For his parents, though, the idea was harder.
Sending their 11-year-old across the world felt unthinkable,
but the divorce had left everything unstable.
Shirley said it would be temporary, that he had promise,
(08:41):
and that her son, Mark, who happened to be the same age,
would be a good companion.
It was a chance to reset something steady
when everything else was falling apart.
And so, his parents agreed.
At 11 years old, he packed a suitcase
and boarded a plane for London.
He was leaving Utah, his family, and everything familiar,
(09:04):
but this time he wasn't escaping.
He was following something that finally made sense.
He arrived in London in the fall of 1996.
11 years old, anxious and eager.
The ballast family lived in Dullich Village,
a calm, tidy part of South London.
Shirley had already told her son, Mark,
(09:24):
that a boy from Utah would be moving in,
and that he'd be sharing everything, his toys, his space, his time.
From day one, they were brothers by arrangement.
Within a week, Shirley began holding partner auditions.
Three girls came to the studio.
One was a familiar face from Utah,
but he chose Leanne Noble, whose focus matched his own.
(09:46):
It was a clear signal he was there to work.
He enrolled at the Atelier County Academy of Theater Arts,
a school that balanced academics with performance.
He was up by 6 a.m.
Catching a series of trains and tubes
that took over an hour to reach school.
From 9 to 6, each day, the schedule was relentless,
(10:08):
academics in the morning,
then acting, voice, music, and dance training,
ballet, jazz, and tap in the afternoon.
Those hours in different styles of dance class
were not the headline, ballroom was still the mission,
but they laid the foundation beneath his versatility.
Then, the second half of his day began.
(10:30):
After the long ride home from school, he'd scarf down dinner
and head straight to the assembly practice hall.
There, under Shirley's direction,
he trained two and a half more hours.
Latin and ballroom technique drilled
until muscle memory took over.
Corkey pushed performance, presence, personality.
By 11 p.m., they'd pack up, take the drive home,
(10:53):
and collapse into bed, only to do it again the next morning.
This was Monday through Friday,
but Saturdays were no break.
Dance lessons started at 10 a.m.,
and ran straight through the night.
Sundays meant competitions, long drives,
early call times, and late night returns.
The cycle never stopped.
(11:14):
That rhythm, seven days a week, dawned to midnight,
became his entire world,
and for the first time, structure didn't suffocate him.
It focused him.
At last, his restlessness had somewhere to go.
He wasn't the odd kid anymore.
He was a dancer among dancers.
After three months, he flew home to Utah,
(11:36):
as originally planned,
but the quiet of home felt foreign now.
The divorce, the back and forth between parents' homes,
the noise, it all felt small,
compared to the order and purpose of London.
So when the ballacys invited him back to continue training,
his parents agreed.
This time, there was no set return date.
(11:57):
He moved in permanently.
A few years later, when Mark's partner outgrew him,
surely sought potential in another young dancer.
The boy's nine-year-old sister.
She arranged a trial, then an invitation.
With the boys' encouragement, their mother agreed,
and soon, the siblings were reunited in London,
(12:19):
sharing training halls and late-night rehearsals.
Neighbors back home in Utah questioned
how a mother could let both children move so far away.
Her answer never changed.
How selfish would I be to stand in the way
of my children's dreams?
He didn't burst onto the scene.
He climbed it, round by round.
(12:40):
Years of travel, endless rehearsals and a calendar
packed with competitions turned him into one of the most respected young dancers
on the UK circuit.
Each weekend meant another city,
Manchester Liverpool, Brighton.
Sometimes even a flight to France.
Train stations, practice halls, and competition floors blurred
(13:02):
into one long rhythm.
Soon, he wasn't just competing.
He was winning.
Regional titles, national finals,
international placements at the British Open
in Blackpool and Beyond.
Each year brought new challenges, new partners,
and a higher bar to clear.
The repetition-bred confidence, the travel,
(13:23):
built stamina, the pressure sharpened focus.
And then came the world stage,
the World Youth Latin Championships.
He was 18, and he arrived injured.
Next stiff from a training accident just days before,
every turn sent a bolt of pain down his spine,
but he kept dancing, round after round, refusing to stop.
(13:48):
When they announced he and his partner,
Aneta Pietrovska, made the final that alone felt like a victory.
But there was one last round, one last dance.
By the time it ended, the adrenaline had drained away.
All he wanted now was an ice pack and a nap.
Then came the results.
Sixth place was called fifth, fourth.
(14:09):
He stood backstage, half-dazed,
whispering to his partner.
We're top three.
Then second place went to the couple beside them.
A beat later, his name.
World Champions.
He shouted, "What?
Jumping fists in the air, pain, forgotten."
It didn't feel possible, but it was.
(14:31):
He was in disbelief after everything.
The pain, the pressure, the years of training competition,
he was a world champion.
For most dancers, that would be the peak for him.
It was the turning point.
The competition floor, the very place that had once made him feel alive,
suddenly felt small.
(14:52):
He wanted something more, something inside him began to shift.
He printed headshots, built a resume,
and started auditioning around London.
At first, he heard every version of "No, there was."
Too blonde, too tall, too short, too American.
But the rejections only fueled him.
He kept showing up.
(15:13):
Eventually, one audition landed,
an ensemble role in Chidi-chidi bang-bang at the London palladium.
The dressing rooms were cramped and the pay modest,
but it was a professional stage contract.
He was in.
From there, things moved quickly.
He auditioned for fame, the musical, and didn't get it.
(15:33):
But the choreographer, Karen Bruce, remembered him.
Months later, she called again with a new project, "Footloose."
He auditioned as a dancer, and somehow walked away with the lead.
The producers hesitated he was young, American,
and new to the West End.
But one callback after another changed their minds.
(15:55):
When rehearsals began, the pace nearly broke him.
Eight shows a week, acting, singing, dancing, non-stop.
Pace yourself they warned, but Ballroom had taught him only one speed.
Full out.
He spent Christmas break running on a treadmill while singing,
training himself to breathe through motion.
(16:16):
When the curtain finally rose, the show was a hit.
Critics called him "Nagnetic."
He got raves.
His family flew in from the States,
watching from the audience as he carried a musical built on rhythm and rebellion,
themes that mirrored his own life.
When the run ended, exhaustion set in.
(16:36):
He'd been running full throttle since childhood,
so he flew home to Idaho and Utah,
seeing family for the first time in months.
Then came the call.
He thought he'd finally caught his breath, but no, he hadn't.
His sister, Julien, had joined the Dancing with the Stars tour and wanted him to come.
(16:57):
He said no at first, but eventually agreed,
joining as a background dancer on a 38-city run.
Afterward, he returned to London while she was offered a regular spot as a pro on season 4
on Dancing with the Stars, joining the show full-time in Los Angeles.
He wound up going to LA to do a guest spot with her.
(17:19):
They choreographed it in a couple of hours,
and it was the first time they really danced together,
especially for the world to see.
After the show, one of the producers Rob Wade called him,
"Directly, you should join next season," he declined.
But when the offer came again, he thought better of it,
and packed a single suitcase and a guitar,
(17:40):
and flew back to LA, joining season 5 of Dancing with the Stars as a pro.
His first celebrity partner was Jenny Garth,
best known for starring on 90210.
On the second week of their season, he stepped on her dress,
and they both hit the floor.
The audience gasped, but somehow the fall broke the tension.
(18:04):
There was one problem.
He had never choreographed before.
Each week he went home, studied videos of Lindy Hopp and Argentine Tango on YouTube,
and walked into rehearsal the next morning as if he'd known the steps all his life.
Confidence first, panic later.
The method worked.
He learned to choreograph, to teach and to lead.
(18:27):
Over time, he realized perfection didn't move people.
Honesty did.
That understanding reshaped everything.
The results followed season after season.
His routines grew bolder, more theatrical, more emotionally driven.
Ballroom in his hands became narrative, not just form, but feeling.
(18:47):
His creativity started drawing attention beyond the show.
Directors, producers, and even athletes began to see what he could do.
How he could fuse technique with emotion.
Then came a call, unlike any other two Olympic ice dancers,
Merrill Davis and Charlie White wanted him to choreograph their free dance
for the Sochi Winter Games.
(19:09):
At first, he hesitated.
"What if I ruin it?" he thought.
But he flew to Detroit where they trained,
studied the ice and built a "my fair lady" themed routine
that fused quick step precision with cinematic movement.
When the music ended in Sochi, they made history.
The first Olympic gold for US ice dancing.
(19:31):
Another call followed.
A ballet commission.
Misty Copeland wanted him to choreograph for her at Lincoln Center's
Youth America Grand Prix Gala. The idea terrified him.
But he said yes.
He fused Latin and classical forms,
collaborating with the Talbi brothers in District 78.
Watching Misty work, her discipline, her quiet power,
(19:54):
changed how he thought about dance.
Soon after, he took on a new challenge, a feature film.
Make your move cast him as a New Orleans style tap dancer.
A rhythm-heavy form he'd never trained in.
He relearned the art from scratch, honoring a promise to his father
to master tap one day.
(20:14):
And then came "Move Live" on tour, a cross-country production he built
with his sister Julien, blending concert theater and dance
in a way audiences hadn't seen in years, maybe decades.
It was part rock show, part storytelling, part pure movement.
They wanted to remind people that dance could be the headline,
(20:35):
not the background. Each performance was a fusion of ballroom, jazz,
contemporary and street styles, woven with live music and narration.
It wasn't just choreography, it was choreography as connection,
an invitation for audiences to move, to feel, to remember that dance is for everyone.
They'd grown up learning together in Utah and London,
(20:58):
but this was different. This was the first time they were co-creators.
Equals on stage, building something from the ground up,
what he once described as complete terror,
became one of the most successful dance tours in modern memory,
selling out theaters across the country,
including radio city musical and proving that dance
(21:20):
could fill arenas without a pop star attached.
It marked the start of a new chapter,
not as a competitor or television star,
but as a live performer in his own right.
The boy who'd once been kicking and screaming dragged into a dance studio in Utah
was now one of the most celebrated dancers and choreographers in America.
(21:43):
The years that followed cemented him as something rare.
A dancer who transcended the form without ever leaving it behind,
he became a fixture on television, stage and screen,
but no matter the medium, it always came back to movement.
He returned to dancing with the stars season after season,
(22:04):
building a record no one has touched since,
six mirror ball trophies, the highest honor
the most in the show's history.
Each routine, whether a contemporary heartbreak set to see as elastic heart,
or a passadoblay that turned into riveting theatrical perfection,
pushed the boundaries of what ballroom could be.
(22:26):
Audiences didn't just watch his dance and choreography,
they felt it.
His routines were replayed, study, dissected, proof
that dance could still stop time on live television.
He crossed into other worlds too.
In 2016, he played corny Collins in NBC's "Hairspray Live."
He went on to join Jennifer Lopez and Nio as a judge on "World of Dance"
(22:50):
where he helped spotlight a new generation of dancers,
many of whom had grown up watching him,
then in a full circle moment he returned to dancing with the stars,
this time behind the judges table.
A dancer judging the very stage that made him famous,
a reminder that he hadn't just mastered the craft he had become,
(23:14):
it's standard.
Offstage his reach kept expanding.
He directed music videos,
launched a Las Vegas residency and followed it with symphony of dance,
a national tour that fused ballroom, contemporary, and live orchestration.
And now, even as he takes on new roles,
hosting extra, mentoring, producing,
(23:36):
his work remains rooted in the same thing that started it all.
Movement.
He holds the record for the most Emmy nominations ever in choreography,
13, and he won four times.
Tying him for the top spot among all choreographers in television history.
(23:56):
But awards only tell part of it.
In an era when dance is often background,
a frame for pop stars or viral clips,
he played a pivotal role in bringing it front and center.
He helped to make ballroom cinematic again.
He made discipline feel electric and reminded audiences
that dance isn't just entertainment,
(24:19):
it's expression, athleticism, storytelling, and soul.
In short, he became the rarest thing of all,
a dancer who turned his art into mainstream stardom.
His name, Derek Huff.
And now you know the rest of the story.
[MUSIC]
(24:47):
(upbeat music)
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[music]
(00:02):
The era of the dance star had long passed
until he came along, broke the mold, and became that rare thing.
A dancer with a household name.
Welcome to the rest of the story, my weekly series on my podcast, "Hey, dancer."
My name is Miller Daurey, and if you're loving this weekly deep-dive mini-documentary of sorts
(00:25):
into the lives of dance legends, make sure you are following along.
Subscribe, hit that notification bell so you always know when a new episode drops.
And please give a like and a comment, and if you know anyone who might appreciate
an inspiring story, feel free to share the podcast and pass along.
(00:45):
These things all tell the platform to spread the dance love, and as I've mentioned,
I'm a one-man team, so hey, any engagement is just really appreciated.
All right, let's get into it.
He was born on May 17, 1985 in Salt Lake City, Utah.
His parents met on a ballroom dance team at their college in Idaho,
(01:08):
a beginning that in hindsight feels almost poetic.
His father, Bruce, worked in radio, before starting a satellite communications company.
His mother, Marianne, raised five children, four girls and him, the only boy.
Both of his parents had been raised Mormon, and they brought that same faith into their home.
(01:30):
Sundays were for church, and once a month the family fasted.
Swearing wasn't allowed.
Prayers were said before every meal and service to others was part of daily life.
And music was a big part of family life too, even if their collection was small.
They didn't have many CDs, but the ones they did have,
(01:51):
Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seeger, YouTube, a few Broadway albums and Disney soundtracks,
played on repeat.
They gravitated toward that kind of music, energetic, classic, clean, and familiar.
When the music played, he and his sisters would start dancing around the kitchen,
knocking plates and glasses off the shelves.
(02:11):
That's where it really began for him.
The joy of moving to music without abandon surrounded by family.
He fell toward the middle of the sibling pack, always looking for attention.
And it showed a local bishop once told his mother,
"Your job is to keep that boy alive."
He was constantly jumping, climbing, and running,
(02:33):
restless energy in motion.
Rather than trying to quiet him, his mom filled his days with activities.
Baseball, soccer, karate, drums, swimming, art.
Sometimes he protested, but she knew that keeping him busy kept him safe.
But danger had a way of finding him.
When he was about six, a pair of older neighborhood boys began tormenting his family.
(02:58):
One afternoon, they tied him up, dragged him face down across the ground,
and hung him by his ankles from a tree, taunting him with what looked like a gun.
He thought he was going to die.
The trauma stayed with him.
Sleepless nights, nightmares, fear that never quite left.
Not long after, the family moved a few miles away to a new neighborhood in South Jordan,
(03:20):
hoping for a fresh start.
School was hard.
He was awkward, slow to trust, and struggled to make friends.
No one seemed to understand him or his kind of energy.
He tried to act like the other kids to talk and even swear like them,
but it never landed.
Instead, he stood out.
He was labeled weird, so that's how he felt.
(03:43):
His mother had been taking his sisters to dance lessons at Center Stage Studio in Orham.
One afternoon, while his oldest sister, Shari, was in ballet class,
he tagged along for the ride.
Sitting in the parking lot, his mom looked over and said,
"You're just sitting here, doing nothing.
You might as well go in and take a class."
He refused, saying dancing was for girls.
(04:06):
She wasn't having it.
She pulled him into the studio, kicking and screaming.
But the moment he stepped inside, something changed.
Surrounded by music and movement, the noise in his head went quiet.
For the first time, he could focus.
Dance gave him a place to put all that restless energy.
Within weeks, he was out of the children's classes and training with the adults.
(04:30):
Even then, rhythm came easy, came naturally to him.
Like he could see the beats before he heard them.
At Center Stage, he came under the guidance of Rick Robinson and Kim Del Grasso,
teachers who demanded discipline and drive.
They taught him how to channel chaos into precision,
(04:51):
how to show up, how to work as part of a team.
Rick specifically made dance cool.
He was his first true mentor.
He also met one of Kim's daughters, Autumn Del Grasso,
who happened to need a competition partner.
He volunteered.
It didn't hurt that he had a crush on her,
(05:11):
but the connection ran deeper.
Training turned intense fast.
They weren't just learning steps.
They were preparing to compete.
rehearsals stretched late into the night,
and his mother drove 40 minutes each way,
sometimes twice a day, to make sure he could train.
That's where he started to find his voice.
(05:32):
On the competition floor, he took chances,
adding humor and spontaneity to routines that were usually rigid.
Sometimes it cost him technical points,
but the audiences loved it.
Competing soon became less about fun and more about focus.
Once he won, he wanted to win every time.
He started seeing dance as a sport,
(05:55):
something to master completely.
As his competitive drive grew, things at home were falling apart.
His parents' marriage ended,
and he split time between their nearby apartments in Oram.
The divorce left him uncertain and unsteady,
but dance became his anchor.
It was where he still felt capable,
(06:15):
where effort always led to progress.
At 11, he was invited to compete
at the Blackpool Dance Festival in England,
the most prestigious event in Ballroom.
It was his first trip overseas,
and he couldn't wait to go.
Traveling was a revelation,
surrounded by dancers from around the world.
(06:36):
He realized how high the standard truly was.
Their costumes, technique and confidence were
worlds away from what he knew in Utah.
He and Oram were eliminated in the first round.
For a boy used to being the standout, it was humbling.
Back home, he promised himself that one day,
he'd be good enough to stand beside dancers,
(06:57):
like the ones he'd just seen in competition.
Not long after, two master teachers
arrived at center stage studio.
Korki and Shirley Ballis,
world champions in Latin Ballroom,
larger than life personalities with energy to match.
From the moment they walked in, he was mesmerized.
(07:19):
Shirley was sharp, exacting, unflinching.
Korki was unpredictable and magnetic.
Together, they filled the room.
He planted himself in the front row,
hand always up desperate to be chosen.
He brought them sketches he drawn, small tokens,
anything to show how much he wanted to learn.
(07:39):
Shirley pushed him hard, counting out rhythms,
making him repeat steps until he nailed them,
and he loved it.
Then, the Ballises left town for a six-week performance tour.
When they returned, no one was waiting
at their car with gifts or greetings.
Other teachers told them this boy had been missing classes,
(07:59):
skipping school and getting into trouble.
Shirley knew it would take a lot to keep him away from her classes,
and when she learned what was happening at home, she understood.
He was lost.
Her solution was unexpected.
Come live with us in England, study dance,
(08:20):
compete, see the world.
The boy didn't hesitate.
He wanted to pack his bags that day.
For his parents, though, the idea was harder.
Sending their 11-year-old across the world felt unthinkable,
but the divorce had left everything unstable.
Shirley said it would be temporary, that he had promise,
(08:41):
and that her son, Mark, who happened to be the same age,
would be a good companion.
It was a chance to reset something steady
when everything else was falling apart.
And so, his parents agreed.
At 11 years old, he packed a suitcase
and boarded a plane for London.
He was leaving Utah, his family, and everything familiar,
(09:04):
but this time he wasn't escaping.
He was following something that finally made sense.
He arrived in London in the fall of 1996.
11 years old, anxious and eager.
The ballast family lived in Dullich Village,
a calm, tidy part of South London.
Shirley had already told her son, Mark,
(09:24):
that a boy from Utah would be moving in,
and that he'd be sharing everything, his toys, his space, his time.
From day one, they were brothers by arrangement.
Within a week, Shirley began holding partner auditions.
Three girls came to the studio.
One was a familiar face from Utah,
but he chose Leanne Noble, whose focus matched his own.
(09:46):
It was a clear signal he was there to work.
He enrolled at the Atelier County Academy of Theater Arts,
a school that balanced academics with performance.
He was up by 6 a.m.
Catching a series of trains and tubes
that took over an hour to reach school.
From 9 to 6, each day, the schedule was relentless,
(10:08):
academics in the morning,
then acting, voice, music, and dance training,
ballet, jazz, and tap in the afternoon.
Those hours in different styles of dance class
were not the headline, ballroom was still the mission,
but they laid the foundation beneath his versatility.
Then, the second half of his day began.
(10:30):
After the long ride home from school, he'd scarf down dinner
and head straight to the assembly practice hall.
There, under Shirley's direction,
he trained two and a half more hours.
Latin and ballroom technique drilled
until muscle memory took over.
Corkey pushed performance, presence, personality.
By 11 p.m., they'd pack up, take the drive home,
(10:53):
and collapse into bed, only to do it again the next morning.
This was Monday through Friday,
but Saturdays were no break.
Dance lessons started at 10 a.m.,
and ran straight through the night.
Sundays meant competitions, long drives,
early call times, and late night returns.
The cycle never stopped.
(11:14):
That rhythm, seven days a week, dawned to midnight,
became his entire world,
and for the first time, structure didn't suffocate him.
It focused him.
At last, his restlessness had somewhere to go.
He wasn't the odd kid anymore.
He was a dancer among dancers.
After three months, he flew home to Utah,
(11:36):
as originally planned,
but the quiet of home felt foreign now.
The divorce, the back and forth between parents' homes,
the noise, it all felt small,
compared to the order and purpose of London.
So when the ballacys invited him back to continue training,
his parents agreed.
This time, there was no set return date.
(11:57):
He moved in permanently.
A few years later, when Mark's partner outgrew him,
surely sought potential in another young dancer.
The boy's nine-year-old sister.
She arranged a trial, then an invitation.
With the boys' encouragement, their mother agreed,
and soon, the siblings were reunited in London,
(12:19):
sharing training halls and late-night rehearsals.
Neighbors back home in Utah questioned
how a mother could let both children move so far away.
Her answer never changed.
How selfish would I be to stand in the way
of my children's dreams?
He didn't burst onto the scene.
He climbed it, round by round.
(12:40):
Years of travel, endless rehearsals and a calendar
packed with competitions turned him into one of the most respected young dancers
on the UK circuit.
Each weekend meant another city,
Manchester Liverpool, Brighton.
Sometimes even a flight to France.
Train stations, practice halls, and competition floors blurred
(13:02):
into one long rhythm.
Soon, he wasn't just competing.
He was winning.
Regional titles, national finals,
international placements at the British Open
in Blackpool and Beyond.
Each year brought new challenges, new partners,
and a higher bar to clear.
The repetition-bred confidence, the travel,
(13:23):
built stamina, the pressure sharpened focus.
And then came the world stage,
the World Youth Latin Championships.
He was 18, and he arrived injured.
Next stiff from a training accident just days before,
every turn sent a bolt of pain down his spine,
but he kept dancing, round after round, refusing to stop.
(13:48):
When they announced he and his partner,
Aneta Pietrovska, made the final that alone felt like a victory.
But there was one last round, one last dance.
By the time it ended, the adrenaline had drained away.
All he wanted now was an ice pack and a nap.
Then came the results.
Sixth place was called fifth, fourth.
(14:09):
He stood backstage, half-dazed,
whispering to his partner.
We're top three.
Then second place went to the couple beside them.
A beat later, his name.
World Champions.
He shouted, "What?
Jumping fists in the air, pain, forgotten."
It didn't feel possible, but it was.
(14:31):
He was in disbelief after everything.
The pain, the pressure, the years of training competition,
he was a world champion.
For most dancers, that would be the peak for him.
It was the turning point.
The competition floor, the very place that had once made him feel alive,
suddenly felt small.
(14:52):
He wanted something more, something inside him began to shift.
He printed headshots, built a resume,
and started auditioning around London.
At first, he heard every version of "No, there was."
Too blonde, too tall, too short, too American.
But the rejections only fueled him.
He kept showing up.
(15:13):
Eventually, one audition landed,
an ensemble role in Chidi-chidi bang-bang at the London palladium.
The dressing rooms were cramped and the pay modest,
but it was a professional stage contract.
He was in.
From there, things moved quickly.
He auditioned for fame, the musical, and didn't get it.
(15:33):
But the choreographer, Karen Bruce, remembered him.
Months later, she called again with a new project, "Footloose."
He auditioned as a dancer, and somehow walked away with the lead.
The producers hesitated he was young, American,
and new to the West End.
But one callback after another changed their minds.
(15:55):
When rehearsals began, the pace nearly broke him.
Eight shows a week, acting, singing, dancing, non-stop.
Pace yourself they warned, but Ballroom had taught him only one speed.
Full out.
He spent Christmas break running on a treadmill while singing,
training himself to breathe through motion.
(16:16):
When the curtain finally rose, the show was a hit.
Critics called him "Nagnetic."
He got raves.
His family flew in from the States,
watching from the audience as he carried a musical built on rhythm and rebellion,
themes that mirrored his own life.
When the run ended, exhaustion set in.
(16:36):
He'd been running full throttle since childhood,
so he flew home to Idaho and Utah,
seeing family for the first time in months.
Then came the call.
He thought he'd finally caught his breath, but no, he hadn't.
His sister, Julien, had joined the Dancing with the Stars tour and wanted him to come.
(16:57):
He said no at first, but eventually agreed,
joining as a background dancer on a 38-city run.
Afterward, he returned to London while she was offered a regular spot as a pro on season 4
on Dancing with the Stars, joining the show full-time in Los Angeles.
He wound up going to LA to do a guest spot with her.
(17:19):
They choreographed it in a couple of hours,
and it was the first time they really danced together,
especially for the world to see.
After the show, one of the producers Rob Wade called him,
"Directly, you should join next season," he declined.
But when the offer came again, he thought better of it,
and packed a single suitcase and a guitar,
(17:40):
and flew back to LA, joining season 5 of Dancing with the Stars as a pro.
His first celebrity partner was Jenny Garth,
best known for starring on 90210.
On the second week of their season, he stepped on her dress,
and they both hit the floor.
The audience gasped, but somehow the fall broke the tension.
(18:04):
There was one problem.
He had never choreographed before.
Each week he went home, studied videos of Lindy Hopp and Argentine Tango on YouTube,
and walked into rehearsal the next morning as if he'd known the steps all his life.
Confidence first, panic later.
The method worked.
He learned to choreograph, to teach and to lead.
(18:27):
Over time, he realized perfection didn't move people.
Honesty did.
That understanding reshaped everything.
The results followed season after season.
His routines grew bolder, more theatrical, more emotionally driven.
Ballroom in his hands became narrative, not just form, but feeling.
(18:47):
His creativity started drawing attention beyond the show.
Directors, producers, and even athletes began to see what he could do.
How he could fuse technique with emotion.
Then came a call, unlike any other two Olympic ice dancers,
Merrill Davis and Charlie White wanted him to choreograph their free dance
for the Sochi Winter Games.
(19:09):
At first, he hesitated.
"What if I ruin it?" he thought.
But he flew to Detroit where they trained,
studied the ice and built a "my fair lady" themed routine
that fused quick step precision with cinematic movement.
When the music ended in Sochi, they made history.
The first Olympic gold for US ice dancing.
(19:31):
Another call followed.
A ballet commission.
Misty Copeland wanted him to choreograph for her at Lincoln Center's
Youth America Grand Prix Gala. The idea terrified him.
But he said yes.
He fused Latin and classical forms,
collaborating with the Talbi brothers in District 78.
Watching Misty work, her discipline, her quiet power,
(19:54):
changed how he thought about dance.
Soon after, he took on a new challenge, a feature film.
Make your move cast him as a New Orleans style tap dancer.
A rhythm-heavy form he'd never trained in.
He relearned the art from scratch, honoring a promise to his father
to master tap one day.
(20:14):
And then came "Move Live" on tour, a cross-country production he built
with his sister Julien, blending concert theater and dance
in a way audiences hadn't seen in years, maybe decades.
It was part rock show, part storytelling, part pure movement.
They wanted to remind people that dance could be the headline,
(20:35):
not the background. Each performance was a fusion of ballroom, jazz,
contemporary and street styles, woven with live music and narration.
It wasn't just choreography, it was choreography as connection,
an invitation for audiences to move, to feel, to remember that dance is for everyone.
They'd grown up learning together in Utah and London,
(20:58):
but this was different. This was the first time they were co-creators.
Equals on stage, building something from the ground up,
what he once described as complete terror,
became one of the most successful dance tours in modern memory,
selling out theaters across the country,
including radio city musical and proving that dance
(21:20):
could fill arenas without a pop star attached.
It marked the start of a new chapter,
not as a competitor or television star,
but as a live performer in his own right.
The boy who'd once been kicking and screaming dragged into a dance studio in Utah
was now one of the most celebrated dancers and choreographers in America.
(21:43):
The years that followed cemented him as something rare.
A dancer who transcended the form without ever leaving it behind,
he became a fixture on television, stage and screen,
but no matter the medium, it always came back to movement.
He returned to dancing with the stars season after season,
(22:04):
building a record no one has touched since,
six mirror ball trophies, the highest honor
the most in the show's history.
Each routine, whether a contemporary heartbreak set to see as elastic heart,
or a passadoblay that turned into riveting theatrical perfection,
pushed the boundaries of what ballroom could be.
(22:26):
Audiences didn't just watch his dance and choreography,
they felt it.
His routines were replayed, study, dissected, proof
that dance could still stop time on live television.
He crossed into other worlds too.
In 2016, he played corny Collins in NBC's "Hairspray Live."
He went on to join Jennifer Lopez and Nio as a judge on "World of Dance"
(22:50):
where he helped spotlight a new generation of dancers,
many of whom had grown up watching him,
then in a full circle moment he returned to dancing with the stars,
this time behind the judges table.
A dancer judging the very stage that made him famous,
a reminder that he hadn't just mastered the craft he had become,
(23:14):
it's standard.
Offstage his reach kept expanding.
He directed music videos,
launched a Las Vegas residency and followed it with symphony of dance,
a national tour that fused ballroom, contemporary, and live orchestration.
And now, even as he takes on new roles,
hosting extra, mentoring, producing,
(23:36):
his work remains rooted in the same thing that started it all.
Movement.
He holds the record for the most Emmy nominations ever in choreography,
13, and he won four times.
Tying him for the top spot among all choreographers in television history.
(23:56):
But awards only tell part of it.
In an era when dance is often background,
a frame for pop stars or viral clips,
he played a pivotal role in bringing it front and center.
He helped to make ballroom cinematic again.
He made discipline feel electric and reminded audiences
that dance isn't just entertainment,
(24:19):
it's expression, athleticism, storytelling, and soul.
In short, he became the rarest thing of all,
a dancer who turned his art into mainstream stardom.
His name, Derek Huff.
And now you know the rest of the story.
[MUSIC]
(24:47):
(upbeat music)
[MUSIC PLAYING]
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