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.
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.
