When Bring It On premiered in 2000, it was marketed as a lighthearted teen comedy: cheerleading rivalries, high school romance, and a championship finale tied together with humor and sass. That was the lens most audiences saw it through. We loved it for the camp, the catchphrases, and the over-the-top routines.
But more than twenty years later, the film’s cultural legacy has come into sharper focus. Beneath the pom-poms and punchlines lies a story about appropriation, privilege, and what happens when Black creativity finally gets equal footing. The movie is still fun — but it’s also a cultural case study we can easily reference to understand how appropriation works.
The Legacy: A Story About Theft and Privilege
At its core, Bring It On is about theft. The Toros, an all-white cheer squad, rose to prominence using routines stolen from the Clovers, a predominantly Black squad led by Isis (Gabrielle Union). The Toros got the glory and the titles. The Clovers, meanwhile, were sidelined — their originality stripped of recognition.
The confrontation between Isis and Torrance (Kirsten Dunst) is one of the film’s most powerful moments. Isis lays it out plainly: the Toros have been stealing, and the Clovers are tired of watching their creativity paraded around by someone else. That scene captures the core truth of the movie’s legacy: cultural appropriation benefits those with privilege while denying credit and opportunity to the originators.
Why They Couldn’t Truly Fight Back
The Clovers always knew their work was being stolen, and they always called it out. But calling something out and being able to truly fight back are two different things. The Clovers didn’t lack talent — their routines were electrifying, original, and rooted in their own cultural creativity. What they lacked was access and finances.
They couldn’t afford to compete at Nationals, the stage where their routines could speak for themselves and expose the Toros’ fraud. Without money for travel, fees, and sponsorships, their fight remained symbolic, their protest verbal. Meanwhile, the Toros continued to climb the ranks, praised for brilliance that wasn’t their own.
This dynamic isn’t fictional. It mirrors the real-world structures of cultural appropriation. Black artists, innovators, and creators have historically driven culture — in music, fashion, dance, language, and now digital spaces — but systemic inequities often mean they don’t get the credit or the payout. Someone with more access, more resources, and more privilege repackages their ideas, makes them “palatable” for mainstream audiences, and reaps the rewards.
Bring It On captured that reality before many audiences had the language for it.
What Happens When the Field Is Leveled
The Clovers’ eventual sponsorship changes everything. With resources and access, they’re able to enter Nationals and finally compete against the Toros. And when that playing field is leveled, the truth comes out: they win.
This moment isn’t just about cheerleading. It’s an illustration of what happens when marginalized groups are given equal footing. The Clovers didn’t suddenly become talented because they got funding — they had always been the originators. What changed was their ability to showcase their brilliance on the same platform.
The Clovers’ victory is sweet, but Hollywood couldn’t resist centering Torrance’s growth arc. The story still follows her redemption, her realization that shortcuts don’t work, and her journey toward becoming a more “honorable” leader. In the end, Torrance cheers for the Clovers, and the audience is invited to see her as sympathetic, even heroic, for learning a lesson. The white character is still the protagonist, even in a story about Black innovation and white theft.
That framing is important — it reflects how Hollywood often acknowledges Black excellence but still centers whiteness as the lens through which the story is told. It’s progress wrapped in a familiar narrative structure.
Lessons About Originality
Another part of the legacy worth examining through today’s lens is the lesson on originality. The Toros relied on stolen routines for years. When they were finally forced to create something of their own, they stumbled, struggled, and had to put in the real work.
The Clovers, by contrast, thrived on originality from the start. Their routines weren’t just choreography; they were cultural expressions that pulsed with authenticity. Their Nationals win wasn’t just about athleticism — it was about the undeniable power of creativity that hasn’t been watered down, whitewashed, or stolen.
This is where the film feels eerily ahead of its time.
Seen Through Today’s Lens
Seen through today’s lens, in a creator economy fighting for correct ownership, intellectual property, fair pay, and access, the movie feels less like a cheerleading comedy and more like a how-to guide on not appropriating in real time.
On TikTok, we’ve seen Black creators build viral dances, only for white influencers to steal them and get brand deals. In fashion, trends born in Black communities get renamed, repackaged, and sold back to us. In media, Black stories are often sidelined until they’re remixed through a white perspective. The conversation around cultural theft hasn’t gone away — it’s only gotten louder.
What Bring It On dramatized in a high school gym is still happening, just with bigger stakes and bigger platforms.
Why It Still Resonates
And this is the balance: we can still love Bring It On for its campiness, its quotability, and its nostalgic teen-movie charm. But we should also recognize its deeper message and use it as a cultural reference that makes conversations about appropriation digestible. It’s both a time capsule and a teaching tool.
At the same time, the film reminds us that giving credit where credit is due isn’t optional — it’s the bare minimum. If you want to build something lasting, you can’t rely on shortcuts or theft. You have to do the work, create something authentic, and respect the originators.
It’s why the film continues to be referenced in conversations about culture and ownership. It’s not just a relic of early 2000s teen cinema; it’s a parable dressed up in pom-poms.
The Blueprint
Bring It On endures because it shows that cultural appropriation isn’t a minor offense. It’s systemic theft that keeps innovators sidelined until access is finally granted. It shows us that giving credit where credit is due isn’t just polite — it’s necessary for equity. And it demonstrates that originality, authenticity, and hard work will always outshine imitation in the end.
Two decades later, the legacy is the same, but our lens is sharper. Bring It On isn’t just a teen comedy; it’s a cultural blueprint. And if you watch it today, you’ll see more than pom-poms — you’ll see a warning, a lesson, and a reminder that when the playing field is level, Black creativity doesn’t just survive. It wins.