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Ever loaded into Fortnite, eliminated an opponent, and hit them with a cheeky dance? Chances are, you’ve seen or even performed the game’s so-called “Default Dance.” For millions of Fortnite players, these emotes are pure fun—a way to celebrate, taunt, and show off some personality across an island packed with chaos. Fortnite’s emotes, from carlton-style shuffles to instantly recognizable viral moves, are as much a part of the experience as the battle itself.
But beneath the surface of that goofy charm, Fortnite’s dance emotes opened up a controversy that pulled in rappers, actors, and even questions of cultural ownership. At the center: Did Epic Games, the developer behind Fortnite, cross a line by selling digital versions of real-world moves—often sourced from Black creators—without credit or compensation?
The spark for this controversy goes back to 2018. That year, Epic added a dance called “Swipe It” to Fortnite as a purchasable emote. The move closely mirrored the “Milly Rock,” a dance created by Brooklyn rapper 2 Milly—real name Terrence Ferguson. 2 Milly first performed the move at a neighborhood block party in 2011, and it started going viral in summer 2015 thanks to celebrities, football celebrations, and social media. Rihanna did it, NFL players did it, and Travis Scott brought 2 Milly onstage at Summer Jam. Milly Rock wasn’t just a meme; it was a piece of Black internet culture with deep roots.
But 2 Milly didn’t just want recognition—he wanted compensation. In November 2018, he filed a lawsuit against Epic Games, accusing them of profiting from his creation without permission. The lawsuit stated that Epic “should not be able to profit from Ferguson’s fame and hard work by its intentional misappropriation of Ferguson’s original content or likeness.” This wasn’t just about money; it was about Epic selling a digital move, for real cash, that millions would use in-game with no nod to the creator.
He wasn’t alone. That December, Alfonso Ribeiro—known for his role as Carlton Banks on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air—filed a similar lawsuit against Epic. Ribeiro’s “Carlton Dance,” a comically exaggerated shuffle set to “It’s Not Unusual,” became an iconic sitcom moment in the 1990s. Fortnite’s “Fresh” emote mimicked the Carlton, and when Epic made it available, Ribeiro and his lawyers argued that his creative work had been turned into a product without his consent or payment.
What made this more than just two lawsuits was the way Fortnite’s emotes are monetized. Like most in-game purchases, they’re bought with V-Bucks, the currency that can be acquired with real money. Fortnite had over 200 million registered accounts by November 2018, and at its peak, it was earning over $318 million per month, as measured in May 2018. Cosmetic items, including emotes, were a core part of that revenue. For creators like 2 Milly and Ribeiro, seeing their dances packaged and sold inside a billion-dollar ecosystem without a share of the profits or even public credit felt like a slap.
The controversy grew louder as other artists and celebrities, including Chance the Rapper, accused Epic of exploiting African-American culture. The claim: Epic was taking dances that had traveled through Black communities, gone viral, and turned them into profitable in-game content for a largely young and diverse audience—without giving back to the originators.
Epic’s response came through legal channels. Dale Cendali, one of Epic’s lawyers, argued in a February 2019 motion to dismiss that dances like the Milly Rock or the Carlton had too few steps to be copyrightable. Cendali claimed: “No one can own a dance step.” The United States Copyright Office agreed. When Ribeiro applied for a copyright for the Carlton, the office described the routine as “a simple routine made up of three dance steps,” not eligible for copyright protection. 2 Milly’s dance was denied copyright status twice, and without that legal protection, his lawsuit faltered. Both 2 Milly and Ribeiro dropped their lawsuits by March 2019.
The effects rippled out beyond the courtrooms. Fortnite’s controversy became a flashpoint for a much larger debate about how internet culture, especially Black culture, is mined, repackaged, and sold in the digital age. The Verge noted that 2 Milly’s lawsuit was “the first formal legal challenge against the widespread game industry practice of appropriating pop culture, like dance moves and memes, and turning it into virtual items for sale.” As Fortnite’s popularity exploded, the stakes got higher—by 2020, the game had generated over $9 billion in revenue.
Players and creators alike were pulled into the tension. For some Fortnite fans, emotes are just part of the fun—an endless remix of internet and pop culture. Others argue that buying and using these dances without credit is a form of erasure. The debate flared on social media, with hashtags, think pieces, and heated arguments about what’s fair, what’s legal, and what’s right.
The controversy also highlighted a generational split. Younger fans often see Fortnite’s dances as harmless references, unaware of their origins or the feelings of the creators behind them. Meanwhile, artists see their work—sometimes the product of years in underground dance scenes—turned into mass-market entertainment, no longer connected to their own stories or communities.
Not every creator has taken legal action, but the Fortnite emote controversy set a precedent. After 2 Milly and Ribeiro, other public figures, like the Instagram star Backpack Kid, also filed lawsuits against Epic over their signature moves. All faced the same legal hurdles: U.S. law traditionally protects choreographed routines, not individual steps or short sequences.
Inside the Fortnite community, debate continues. Some players argue that emotes are meant to celebrate, not steal, and that pop culture is always remixing itself. Others insist that credit and compensation matter, especially when the source is a marginalized community whose contributions are often overlooked. The discussion extends to other games, apps, and social platforms, where dancing, memes, and viral trends are a currency of their own.
Today, the Fortnite emote controversy remains unresolved in the minds of many fans, creators, and legal experts. Or is this just the nature of culture in an internet age, where everything is remixable and nothing is sacred? What would it look like if game companies developed new systems to share profits or offer recognition to the people behind the moves that make their games so memorable?