Digital Cover: The Quick Style Phenomenon

“You have to make it your own. Bring your whole history to it,” says Nasir Sirikhan.

We’re standing beneath the expansive glass-panelled ceiling at Oslo’s Vigelandsmuseet, surrounded by artist Gustav Vigeland’s towering monolith sculptures depicting masses of tangled bodies carved from granite. I have asked Nasir, a founding member of Norwegian dance phenomenon Quick Style, to teach me a dance move; any move appropriate for a terribly uncoordinated individual (“non-dancers”, as Nasir and his crew politely call us).

He places one foot in front of the other, then smoothly hops to switch directions. Repeat. It looks simple enough. “Now you try,” he says, smiling encouragingly. It takes me a few seconds to get the hang of it, but I manage. “Okay, now add this,” he says, shifting his upper body back and forth in between each switch. I try, with great awkwardness, to mimic Nasir’s movements – needless to say, it’s harder than it looks. “You’ve got this,” he says encouragingly. To my surprise, I fall into step with him. Still, I have the sneaking suspicion that I don’t look quite as cool as he does.

“When we dance, people see diversity – people from different backgrounds – synchronised as one energy and one family,” says Nasir, 31. We’re joined by the other founding members of Quick Style, two guys who just so happen to literally be family, 32-year-old twin brothers Suleman and Bilal Malik. They nod in agreement. Currently, the 11-member dance crew (10 of which appear in our video shoot) represents backgrounds that range from Chinese to Finnish, Norwegian to Taiwanese, moving in a mishmash of hip-hop-infused dance styles originating from across the globe. The impact is infectious; just ask the 92,000 individuals who commented on the group’s viral wedding dance video, which, since it was uploaded last summer, has racked up 103 million views.

“They didn’t even practise,” Suleman says of the dance that first ignited Quick Style mania. While Suleman doesn’t participate in the routine, he plays an integral part: the 12-minute dance was a gift to him and his wife, delivered with gusto at their wedding. Usually, when the guys choreograph their intention is to impress their audience with the most complex and tightly-executed routine possible. This time around, the goal was, as Bilal puts it, to “make them enjoy it” and, perhaps most importantly, to enjoy themselves in the process.

While the wedding video was certainly a moment – the moment, arguably – it was hardly Quick Style’s first. Back in 2009, while the trio was still dancing under the name Quick, they nabbed the top prize on Norske Talenter (Norway’s Got Talent). It was an achievement that captured the attention of beloved South Korean boy band BTS (more on that later). When you watch clips of Quick dancing over a decade ago, their talent is no doubt extraordinary, but with the wedding video, something singular clicked. A culmination of years and years of practice and study was met with the cultural mosaic of the dancers’ backgrounds (notably on the music front, where South Asian music – old Bollywood hits, especially – is interwoven with American R&B). Finally, that winning combo was smothered in that special sauce: joy. “It’s like you’re a master chef and you make super expensive food in this restaurant and then you just make an omelette for some friends of yours and you add some spices, like, I just want to make some comfy food,” says Nasir. “And that comfy food is the hit.” It’s as he said during our brief dance lesson: Bring your whole history to it.

Nasir, who is Thai-Norwegian, and the Malik twins, who are Pakistani-Norwegian, came together at school in their native Oslo during that awkward transition between 13 and 14 years old. “When we met, they were wearing matching clothes. Nobody could tell the difference,” says Nasir, pointing to his twin collaborators. “They wore durags, oversized Ts, baggy jeans and big ass earrings.”

“But you were also wearing baggy clothes,” Bilal interjects.

“I was wearing Eminem clothes,” Nasir agrees.

They had more in common than their aesthetic tastes. “We were so different compared to everyone else,” says Bilal. “There was lots of expression,” adds Nasir. “Everyone was kind of safe in their comfort zone. We were a bit more expressive, and that’s how we connected.” I note that their collective attitude doesn’t sound especially Norwegian, and the trio all nod in agreement. Suleman concludes: “We had that deep connection right away.”

Early on in the budding bromance, the conversation turned to dance. Turns out, it was yet another commonality. Bilal and Suleman grew up with five older sisters who were constantly dancing (“Not professionally, just dancing,” Bilal clarifies). Nasir, meanwhile, was mimicking his dance hero: Michael Jackson. “I mentioned dance and [Nasir]’s suddenly like, ‘I can dance’,” says Suleman. Nasir busted out a moonwalk right then and there. Suleman and Bilal were impressed. “We did not have that confidence,” Suleman adds.

The first time Suleman and Bilal took a free hip-hop class at a youth centre in Oslo, it wasn’t exactly as they envisioned. “It was a lot of women – we were the only dudes there. When the teacher said, ‘You boys come up front’ we just ran out,” says Suleman. “I almost peed myself.” As it turned out, the entire hip-hop and B-boy scene in Oslo was “very small” and dominated by women. Being young men interested in pursuing dance was more than a little unusual.

But, with Nasir now on board as well, they kept at it. As their classmates got more and more into football, the trio just kept dancing – studying clips on the internet, taking more and more classes, choreographing and practising their own routines. “The biggest blessing of this journey was not the dance,” says Suleman. “It was that we got to do it together.”

From early on, the group’s influence was varied and widespread. There was Michael Jackson, of course (“He’s like, wow, inspiration,” says Bilal) and newly appointed Louis Vuitton Creative Director Pharrell (“He has something,” says Suleman). But at the same time, they idolised and deconstructed the moves of Japanese and Korean crews, who also provided a blueprint for the type of career they could pursue (competing in worldwide competitions, staging meet and greets with fans, dancing alongside A-list musical acts). They didn’t stop there, next devouring the French and U.K. styles while also looking at German dancers. “In Europe they were more freestylers – very authentic,” says Nasir. Finally, they looked to the United States – specifically Los Angeles – to absorb hip-hop and R&B choreography. “We would study everywhere, have our eyes everywhere,” says Suleman. “Basically, nerds in dance.” Master chefs, if you will.

The name, however, was lifted from something much closer to home: Kvikk Lunsj (Quick Lunch), a popular Norwegian chocolate bar. In 2011, they added “Style” simply because fans kept referring to their approach to dance as “Quick Style”.

Were their families supportive of their dance dreams? “It could be worse,” says Suleman, noting that his and Bilal’s Pakistani, Muslim parents were unusually understanding. “They didn’t stop us,” adds Nasir, whose Thai parents, too, tend to value traditional career paths. “We are lucky. Being a dancer anywhere in the world doesn’t secure you anything.” Early on, in 2009, they set up a studio in Oslo where students as young as nine can partake in their singular approach to dance. Recently, the guys opened another studio in Chengdu, China. Both locations act as creative hubs, where participants can learn not only how to move, but also how to produce and edit videos. That’s all to say that even though Quick Style has been extremely, unprecedentedly successful in dance – the most successful in the Nordics, really – they knew early on to set up a system in which they wouldn’t have to rely solely on income from performing. “We know we will reach 40,” says Suleman, inferring that a career in dance is not necessarily viable long-term.

In addition to the studios, there are the artist collaborations, most notably with BTS. When the South Korean boy band reached out (“probably because they saw us on YouTube,” says Nasir), Quick Style had never heard of them – it was 2016 and BTS, while already major back home, was yet to achieve worldwide recognition. Still, it was somewhat of a dream come true. “Suleman would always say I want to choreograph for K-Pop,” says Bilal. The trio choreographed the acclaimed video for ‘Save Me’. Once it dropped, they came to learn that the boy band was kind of a big deal (today, the video has 701 million views on YouTube). Later on, they reconnected with BTS while they were travelling through Norway. “It was raining, so I don’t think they liked it,” Nasir jokes.

For those hoping to join Quick Style (myself included), the process is hardly standardised. “It’s very natural,” says Suleman. “We don’t have any audition, really.” While they’d long since been casting additional dancers from within the Quick Style studio for specific projects, it was the wedding performance that really solidified the group. “Once we performed at [Suleman’s] wedding, that’s where we felt like everybody had heart,” Bilal says. As if on queue, the murmuring of voices in the adjacent room indicates the rest of the crew has arrived. “These guys here grew up in the studio with us,” says Bilal. “They used to be our students, but in time we became like brothers.”

While Quick Style is still based in Oslo (given that their families live there, Norway is and always will be home), they’re oft travelling the globe, performing, meeting fans and creating videos for their 3.1 million followers. The day after we meet, they jet off to Abu Dhabi (the majority of their fanbase is in the Middle East and Asia). Later this year, they’ll return to Europe for a 37-city tour with Norwegian rap duo Karpe with a show they call Omar Sharif, after the famed Egyptian-born actor. “Rolling Stone wrote ‘The Most Beautiful Show in the World’, and we choreographed it,” Nasir says. They’ll be setting out on a tour bus, the name Quick Style printed large on one side. Travelling the world together, usually in close quarters, does have understandable side effects. “It’s like any other family,” says Nasir. “You love hard, you fight hard. Everything is hard because you care.”

Our conversation winds down and the guys and I head to where the other members of Quick Style are getting dressed in various shades of white for our video shoot. Nasir, Bilal and Suleman give their crew warm embraces, complimenting their outfits. Earlier, they told me that some of the other dancers aren’t accustomed to being styled, but they seem to have settled into their looks, which include a floor-sweeping skirt and clingy knit pants. As I meet the crew, they repeatedly ask me the same question: “Where are you from?”

Back in the museum hall, surrounded by the monolith sculptures, Quick Style begins to dance. They haven’t prepared anything specific for our shoot, yet they move as if they’re one creature split into 11 bodies, somehow knowing when to switch directions, when to spin and when to dip, when to make space for another dancer. It’s stunning to watch. Like seeing the history of 11 men, from far-reaching backgrounds, unfold before my eyes.