If what the experts say about first impressions being the most important is true, then depending on where you meet him, you might think Bebe is an angel or an abrasive asshole.

On the dance floor, he’s an iconic villain – the kind that makes you want to cover the eyes of any children who might be watching.

He dances with unmistakably sharp movements, swooping and skipping as he jabs and stabs at his opponents. Between unrelenting burns and cock-serves, he executes endless variations of spins and airchairs. He even has a trademark airchair where he jams his fist and forearm through the fly of his pants to – yep, you guessed it – cock his opponents.

He even looks the part. His long trademark dreads rip through the air like a flail daring anyone to interrupt their path. His face seems to be stuck in a perpetual b-boy smirk, with his eyebrow cocked and his lips pursed as if to say, “You’re kidding me, right? I am going to eat your family.”

And then there’s the matter of names – one of the most vital elements of first impressions. While some might associate the name “Bebe” with a woman’s clothing line, there’s no denying the controversy of a crew called “Ground Zero” or the sheer aggressiveness of naming a jam “Who Can Roast the Most?”

On the other hand, he’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever talk to, period.

Bebe’s a longtime supporter and contributor to the b-boy community worldwide as a competitor, judge, and event organizer/promoter/and, uh, throw-er. He encourages unity within the b-boy community and is known for what he refers to as his “hippy tendencies,” including his longtime vegetarianism, his experience as a yoga instructor, and his “different” spiritual beliefs. He’s also easy to approach, quick to give thanks, and solidly grounded in his roots.

These seemingly opposing sides of Bebe – scowling angry guy vs. smiling peace-loving guy – might seem a little strange or confusing at first.

But as we found out, finding a balance – both literally and figuratively – is nothing new for him.

Born Alejandro Fernandez in 1981, Bebe (who is half-Puerto Rican and half-Cuban, for those of you who care to know) was a 12-year-old weathering the Miami heat when he first saw b-boying at a skating rink right down the street from his home.

The Hot Wheels Skating Center was a hotbed for b-boys who would congregate in the middle of the rink on the wood floor. (Years later, Bebe would rent out the venue for Who Can Roast the Most? 5, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.)

“I was mesmerized by the intricacies of footwork that drew me primarily to the dance,” Bebe says. “I can’t put into words how special and what a catalyst that place was. I’ll pretty much just sum it up with this: any influential b-boy who came out of Miami spawned from that floor.”

When Bebe was in the eighth grade, he and his family (including younger brothers Zoob and Boo Rok) relocated to Puerto Rico. The fact that there wasn’t a lot to do ended up working in their favor; while others spent their free time playing ball, Bebe and his brothers danced.

As they gained experience and technique, the puzzle pieces of the crew that would grow out of their brotherhood began to fall into place.

Bebe found his b-boy name in the form of a suggestion from his younger brother Zoob. “Bebe” was a testament to the common nickname for Puerto Rican kids as well as Bebe’s own tendency to be the little fiery kid in the baggy clothes.

Their crew name, Ground Zero Crew, also reflected their hunger to battle, though it then was hardly as ominous as it is in the current post-9/11 landscape.

“I like what the word means,” Bebe says. “Square one, from the beginning. The place of impact at which some disaster has happened and scorched the landscape. I think that really fits our battle style and philosophy and what we attempt to accomplish.”

And what, you might ask, is Ground Zero Crew trying to accomplish?

“We came out at a time when people weren’t battling like they were really battling,” Bebe explains.

“They were shaking hands and smiling and giving each other ice cream cones. As far as just fundamental intensity – I’m not even talking about moves – at end of the day, you should be able to beat people on presence, aggression, aura, intimidation, strategy, confidence, uniqueness, used as weapons – without moves. I just wanted to be a bad-ass battler.”

For Bebe and his crewmates, this meant not only dancing aggressively but also being outspoken in what they perceived to be biting.

“We strongly advocated originality. We eliminated and pointed out people using other’s original moves in a way that was mean and aggressive. People were biting a lot,” Bebe says.

“If it’s already been done before, get off of it. It’ll get you more interested in what hasn’t been done before. Your philosophy and perspective and practice will change too. If you want to join the ranks of the people who changed the game, change yourself and the people around you as well.”

And therein lies the rub. As much as Bebe and his crewmates may stand out for being harsh critics of biting and won’t hesitate to tell anyone so, on the positive tip, they are also proponents of creativity and originality.

“Nothing – and I repeat, nothing – should change the way you naturally respond to music,” Bebe says. “Of course, there’s learning your foundation. But by the same token, do not limit yourself to the rigidity of foundation that doesn’t allow you to experience your own stuff as well. You can’t just go in and think its 1974 again.

“Some people say, ‘Not everybody can be creative.’ If you’re a musician, that’s just like saying you can’t create an original song,” Bebe continues. “If you’re not bringing anything back into the artform, then how are you practicing the artform? If you want to be creative, we all are unique beings and have a unique story to tell from different walks of life. Breathe inside yourself and find a place inside with your creativity at one with the creator of creation, then you’ll have no problem creating things.”

Of course, it can seem like a dying message nowadays with the Internet’s impact on the culture.

With unlimited access to hours of other b-boys’ and b-girls’ moves, potential biters don’t even have to shell out money for a VHS like they did only a few years ago.

Furthermore, inexperienced dancers who might have been too scared to talk shit in person or who would have been quickly silenced at jams now have an outlet to run their mouths.

“[You have to] acknowledge that the message boards can be an area for all these people’s undeserved voices,” Bebe says. “Lots of toys are going online to bite and download moves. This is part of a plague of irreparable homogony. It’s reached almost an unreversible point.”

He pauses.

“I’m not angry,” he continues. “I’m not young and full of, whatever. You know what, let them do what they’re gonna do. They’re gonna quit in two years. If they don’t realize what they’re doing is wack, whatever.”

It’s a surprising surrender that almost seems uncharacteristic of Bebe. But perhaps it’s a reflection of his attitude towards b-boying as a whole: showing all-out aggression to his individual opponents, but never hesitating to contribute to the entirety of the culture.

Plus, there’s always the option of handling beef the “old-fashioned” way – round for round in a battle.

It’s how Bebe silenced one particular West Coast b-boy who talked shit online but could only hang his head and apologize after a battle in person. And it’s how Bebe says he settled his now-legendary feud with the French b-boy Benji.

“Me and Benji was like the greatest showdown of the new millennium,” he says.

The story goes that in 1999 Bebe and the rest of Ground Zero were at the Rock Steady Anniversary in New York when b-boy Flubber of France approached them and told them how he appreciated their styles as well as the styles of the Lionz of Zion.

He also introduced them to a “quiet French little small guy” named Ben, with whom Boo Rok and Zoom sessioned. Bebe says at the time, Ben was clearly influenced by a West Coast style, especially dancers like Poe1 and Vietnam.

Years later, Bebe would encounter Ben, now known as Benji, at the B-Boy Masters Pro-Am in 2001. Benji’s style and presence had changed in a way that Bebe felt was reflective of his biting Ground Zero and Lionz of Zion’s moves.

“Maybe I’m not making a lot of money off this. I’m not a rich rapper or whatever. But I live to at least know that I’m influencing somebody, whether I realize it or not. Shit makes me choke up inside, how good that feels.”

A dramatic confrontation climaxed with a showdown in the semifinals, but the rivalry continued to a battle at Mighty 4 in San Diego and once more in a park.

“After that, it was a wrap,” Bebe says. “In France, they’re still like, ‘You and Benji! You and Benji!’ What am I supposed to think of him? As far as I know, he doesn’t break anymore. I’m still a practitioner. I was dancing before he was and still am after he was. I don’t have bad blood with a brother. If I saw him in person, I would probably thank him for our rivalry.”

Bebe’s intensity seems at least in part to be a byproduct of his roots in Miami, where he says the overall atmosphere is rawer than in other cities.

And that Miami rawness has helped him to travel all around the globe. Bebe’s personal favorite b-boy trips include his visit to Japan in 2002 where he battled Korean b-boys and met hip-hop pioneers as well as a trip to Spain in 2003, where he and his brothers felt a connection to the culture through their language and heritage.

“Traveling the world and meeting people I touched firsthand is the greatest blessing of all,” Bebe says. “Maybe I’m not making a lot of money off this. I’m not a rich rapper or whatever. But I live to at least know that I’m influencing somebody, whether I realize it or not. Shit makes me choke up inside, how good that feels.”

Bebe also lived in California for the past four years in an attempt to further his career in the entertainment history.

Successful as the move was, landing him some key appearances on TV shows, music videos, and commercials, he found that he couldn’t stay away from Miami, where he moved in 2008.

While the scene was bigger and more advanced in LA, Bebe said he was quickly burned out on the fakeness and the nepotism of the industry.

“The more noise I started making on the b-boy tip in LA, the more I started traveling,” Bebe says. “I didn’t want to subject myself to that prostitution. The main different it’s just more laid back over here [in Miami]. Miami’s about that fire – that hot Latino energy and shit. LA’s got a dope scene, but it’s more raw out here, that’s for damn sure.”

So in an effort to collide the coasts, Bebe threw Who Can Roast the Most? 7 (read our review on the DVD here) in California before moving back.

“The whole reason for Roast was I was sick of these little microwave battles with one round or two rounds. Anybody can get over anybody in one or two rounds,” Bebe says. Look, the thing about Roast is you don’t need any judges. In 10 rounds, it’s clearly evident who wins the battle, no discussion, no disputing it. 10 rounds is very revealing.

“When you become a combatant of Roast and join the chain of the Florida warrior b-boy passage and endured 10 rounds against a b-boy of equal or greater stature, it changes you. Just in preparation to go 10 rounds, that’s a lot for you. You get put through the flame of truth. You kinda see highly-acclaimed b-boys fall to pieces or do well. It really humanizes some of these names sometimes. It changed the way people battle. You have to battle with strategy.”

Roast 7 was quickly followed up later in 2008 by Roast 8, which took place back in Florida. Though there were a few snags, Bebe says bringing the battle back to Miami was a refreshing reminder of the energy and the city’s pride, evident in the crowd’s hypeness and responsiveness.

That brought Bebe’s track record for 2008 to two thrown jams, one Spy Award (which he received alongside A-B-Girl, whom we featured here) and countless battles.

But Bebe isn’t showing any signs of slowing down, as Roast 9 is in the works for next year, as well as tentative plans for one in New York.

Bebe says he plans to strike a balance between judging, battling, and promoting while also helping to rejuvenate the Miami scene and its newest generations of dancers.

And he has bigger visions as well, including his long-time goal of establishing an industry standard so that b-boying can provide a sustainable income.

“This is the first time that two generations of breaking have gone uninterrupted back to back completely mainstream,” Bebe says. “Promoters are making mad dough and b-boys who make event aren’t making any money. I feel like people need to stop falling into the same trap. Even if you win a few hundred, where is your longevity?

“Of course I’m going to cause opposition. I’ve been all around the world, and they’ve been all around the World Wide Web.”

“One bad thing about breaking is people don’t value b-boys because there’s already somebody else who will spin on their head for less money or for free,” Bebe continues. “There’s people undercutting each other. If we all start playing hardball, everybody has to pay you what you need. Things like that need to be set in stone because it gives us a base and somewhere to go off of, especially with some bigger events with huge corporations’ backing from giant sponsors and pulling twenty thousand or more people.

“At what point do you start giving back to your community and start looking out for people or creating positions to help people and make sure the artform is continued with its integrity and icons well taken care of? Skateboarding is sponsored. I don’t get why our industry hasn’t gotten there. Part of the spirit of hip-hop and battling is everybody has a chip on their shoulder and nobody wants to work together. But on some real business shit, I think we all want the same thing. Everybody has to sit down and have an industry standard. Until that day, there’s not much to grow off of,” he concludes.

To critics, words about unity and swallowing pride might seem a bit ironic coming from a guy who is reputed to be one of the meanest and the most competitive in the game.

But perhaps years of actively filling different roles in the b-boy community has equipped Bebe to not only handle haters but also to anticipate them.

“If people are hating you, you must be doing something right,” he says. “All the people who love you and hate you are all the same. The people who hate you can’t process that love. Or they’re jealous or have different motives. I had an interview with Breakvision, and they asked me a similar question about being someone who caused a lot of controversy with that swag to back it up. I said, ‘Of course I’m going to cause opposition. I’ve been all around the world, and they’ve been all around the World Wide Web.’”

For sure, Bebe is no stranger to critics shit-talking. Most recently, he’s received flak for a widely circulated video of him kicking a guy dressed up like a pirate in Hollywood.

The incident took place during a session with the Concrete Allstars.

According to Bebe, this particular Jack Sparrow was known to hassle the b-boys and was acting as if he were drunk.

“We go out there to train, and we also go out there to make our money,” Bebe explains. “We were like, ‘Yo, dude, you do not own the streets. You’re blowing balloons and waving, and we’re flipping.’ He was cussing at us and was basically calling us pussies. He started challenging our manliness. Even other costumed characters grabbed him and warned them. There were even people in the crowd trying to push him and beat him. People in the audience were saying, ‘Move, pirate, move!’ They wanted to see a breaking show.

“We were basically doing powermoves to make sure he moved back,” Bebe continues. “I said, ‘I’m gonna do headspins, and if you don’t move, and I hit you, we’re gonna have problems.’ Of course, he didn’t move. I was really angry and I lost my cool. The fact that I was upside down and could have hurt my neck – that was extremely dangerous. It pissed me off so much that I pushed up. Then I was in the air, and I thought I was in the Matrix, and I drop-kicked him.

“I don’t condone violence,” Bebe says. “But when somebody comes to your face, calls you a pussy, and gets in the way of your money, I’d like to see what you do. My manhood was challenged. I had to move.”

In fact, controversy and criticism has been such a factor in Bebe’s life that he has been known to thank his haters and competitors, such as when he won the Spy Award.

“If they hadn’t made me angry and made me practice, I wouldn’t have gotten this good,” Bebe explains. “It makes you think about what’s this guy’s best stuff – how to counter. It makes gets you on your grind. It puts the pressure on. GI Joes need Cobra. Transformers need Decepticons. God needs the devil. There has to be a yin and yang to transcend polarities. Without that rivalry, there’s no way for us to go through and transcend.”

And perhaps it’s that balance of using both the good and the bad to progress that has helped Bebe find such longevity in the game. He is known, after all, to internalize both in himself and his crew.

“I feel like most of the misconceptions [people have about me] have been put to rest already by example of the way I been living,” Bebe says. “People thought we were assholes – mean punks. But I think anybody who comes up to me or said anything to me will find that we’re cool, calm approachable people off the battlefield. But during the battle, we’re absolute warlords and monsters and we’re gonna rip your head off.”