I grew up in Bogotá, Colombia. And if you know anything about Colombia, you already know — dance is not optional. It's not a hobby you pick up. It's just part of life. The music is always on. Someone is always moving. You learn to feel a rhythm before you ever learn to explain it.
I remember my mom dancing around the house, or catching herself trying a new look in front of the mirror — always moving, always with music. I also remember her taking me to dance lessons. That was just how it was.
I've been dancing for as long as I can remember — not professionally, but genuinely. Lessons, practice, social dancing, all of it. Dance was always part of who I was.
And then I left.
I packed up and moved to Hong Kong. Then São Paulo. Then Rome, where I worked in executive education. I lived on four different continents, building a career that took me from import-export trade to entrepreneurship to business school in Italy.
Each place was different. The food, the language, the pace, the people. But the one thing that stayed constant — the thing I carried with me everywhere — was music. And the body's need to move to it.
Being away from Colombia changes your relationship with Latin dance. When you're home, you take it for granted. It's just there. But when you're living in Hong Kong or Rome, surrounded by people who've never heard cumbia in their lives, you start to hold on to it more consciously. You start teaching your friends a basic step at a dinner party. You realize that what you grew up with is actually something special — and something most people in the world have never had access to.
That realization planted a seed.
The question I couldn't stop asking
Over the years, I met so many people who wanted to dance. Smart, confident, accomplished people who would say, almost apologetically: "I wish I could dance, but I just don't have rhythm."
And every single time, I thought: that is not a talent problem. That is a teaching problem.
I've seen what good dance instruction looks like. I've also seen what bad instruction looks like — an instructor demonstrating steps at full speed, counting to eight, and moving on, while half the class quietly decides they're just not cut out for this. That's not teaching. That's performing and hoping someone keeps up.
The truth is that every Latin dance style has a logic to it. Salsa has a pulse. Bachata has a feeling. Reggaeton has an attitude. Merengue is so accessible that almost anyone can feel it within the first five minutes. None of that is mystical. None of it requires a Latin upbringing or special genes. It just requires someone who knows how to explain it — clearly, patiently, step by step — without rushing.
I knew what that looked like. And I couldn't find it anywhere online for complete beginners.
So I built it!
Zero to Dance Studio was born from that gap. Four courses — Salsa, Bachata, Reggaeton, and Merengue — built from the ground up for people who have never danced before. No partner needed. No studio. No prior experience. Just short lessons (6–7 minutes each) that you can fit into a real life, wherever in the world you are.
Rhythm is not something you're born with or without. It's something you develop — with the right guidance, at the right pace, with someone who actually breaks it down instead of assuming you'll just "feel it." In most classes, beginners are thrown into the deep end and left to figure it out. The problem was never the student. The problem was how dance was being taught.
That's what I wanted to change. Together with Mau and Derian — two exceptional instructors who truly understand how to teach beginners — I set out to recreate the feeling of a real Latin dance lesson, as if you were right there in the room with us. Not a performance. A lesson.
I know what it takes to build something from zero. And I know that the hardest part is never the idea. It's caring enough about the problem to actually solve it.
Dance gave me joy my entire life. I want to give that to as many people as possible.
Why this matters (beyond the steps)
Dancing is not just exercise, though it absolutely is that. It is also good for your mind — the focus it takes to learn something new, the small victories when something clicks. It is good for your soul in ways that are hard to put into words but that anyone who has truly danced understands immediately.
I genuinely believe that everyone can learn to dance. Not everyone will become a professional. But everyone can find that feeling — that moment when the music and your body finally agree — if someone just teaches them the right way.
That is all Zero to Dance Studio is trying to do.
Where to start
If you've been telling yourself you "don't have rhythm" — I'd like to challenge that. Pick one style that appeals to you, give it six short lessons, and see what happens.
The dance floor is for everyone. I grew up knowing that. Now I'm spending my time making sure more people find out.
