This model has its defenders. “When students curate, they feel ownership,” says Kevin Okonkwo, principal of a Bronx middle school that replaced its traditional spring concert with a “TikTok Takeover Night”—a live show where students performed original sketches, dances, and remixes. Attendance tripled.
Some schools are already piloting these ideas.
The crowd erupts.
The challenge for educators is not to resist popular media, nor to surrender to it uncritically. The challenge is to remember what entertainment in schools has always been for: not just to distract, but to connect. To build shared vocabulary. To make a student feel seen.
Today, that model is dying.
And on a good day, to make them laugh without anyone getting hurt. Back in Columbus, the Spring Showcase ends. The final act is a school-wide rendition of a popular “seamless transition” meme—students in different parts of the gym passing a hat from hand to hand, each one performing a micro-dance, the whole thing filmed in one continuous shot for the school’s YouTube channel.
In a now-infamous incident at a New Jersey high school, an assembly meant to promote digital wellness backfired when the presenter—a young influencer hired for his large following—encouraged students to participate in a live “roast session” using viral sound bites. The result was a cascade of targeted insults, a tearful walkout, and a lawsuit. Www Xxx School
“That was great,” she says. “Now, let’s talk about copyright and fair use in Monday’s advisory.”
The question isn’t whether schools should embrace this shift. It’s how—and at what cost. For decades, school entertainment followed a predictable formula: an outside vendor (a juggler, a dinosaur puppet show, a “drug-free rap” artist) would be booked six months in advance. The content was generic, safe, and often met with polite indifference. This model has its defenders
What follows is a 45-minute medley of
By J. Sampson | Feature Writer