It Started Like So Many of Us Start—In a Small Space, Just Trying to Feel Something

Here in New England, we’re no strangers to doing big things in small spaces. Basement studios. Dorm room stages. Apartments that double as dance floors. That’s where Kelley Heyer began too—just her, a song, and a little spark of something she couldn’t quite name yet.

She didn’t film the Apple dance to get rich. Or famous. She just felt something in her bones and let it move through her. Posted it. Let it go.

And the internet picked it up like wildfire.

One scroll through TikTok and you’d see it—people of all ages in Boston, Portland, Hartford, even little towns tucked away in Vermont, mimicking that clean little shoulder roll, the bounce, the smile. It felt good. It felt like joy.

And then… something shifted.

The Game Took It—But Didn’t Ask First

So here’s the messy part. Kelley was in talks with Roblox about licensing the Apple dance. Nothing signed yet, but conversations were happening.

Then out of nowhere, Dress to Impress dropped the Apple dance emote into the game. Players could buy it. Use it. Love it. All while Kelley sat on the sidelines, watching her moves make someone else money.

Roughly $123,000 worth of money, according to her lawsuit.

Here’s the thing—we get it. Things move fast online. But when you’re the person who made the thing and you find out it’s being sold without your say? That’s not just business. That’s personal.

For Creators in New England, This Feels Too Familiar

It’s not just Kelley. If you’ve ever been part of the creative scene around here, you’ve probably seen your work used without credit. Maybe it was a photo from a community showcase in Providence. Or a clip from a theater piece in Cambridge. Or a dance you posted for fun that somehow ended up in someone else’s reel.

And when that happens, it cuts deep. Because we don’t just make things here—we put ourselves in them. Our stories. Our weathered pride. Our weird little pockets of personality.

So when Kelley says she’s standing up, she’s not standing alone. She’s standing with every indie artist who’s ever said, “Hey, I made that.”

What the Numbers Say (and What They Don’t)

Let’s break it down—not just in stats, but in stakes:

• 1 dance choreographed in June 2024
• 60,000+ downloads of the Apple dance emote
• $1.25 per purchase
• $123,000 in revenue allegedly made by Roblox
• 0 final agreement signed with Kelley

That’s a lot of money for something that started as a dance in someone’s living room.

Roblox’s Response Was… Kind of What You’d Expect

They issued a brief statement. Something about respecting intellectual property and feeling confident in their legal position. It’s corporate speak for “We’re not going to talk about it.”

But around here, we do talk about it. Over coffee. On walks by the harbor. In quiet corners of bookstores and loud corners of open mics. We talk about fairness. About protecting our own.

What Happens When Joy Becomes a Product?

Kelley’s fight is more than a lawsuit. It’s a line in the sand. It says, “This wasn’t just content. This was mine.”

She gave the world something pure. And in return, she got silence. But silence doesn’t mean surrender—not around here.

And maybe this moment will remind people—especially the big companies behind the screens—that real creation starts with real people. People like Kelley. People like us.

So, Where Do We Go From Here?

Maybe it’s time we slow down a bit. Take a beat before we turn someone’s joy into an in-game emote or a monetized trend. Maybe we ask before we take.

And maybe, just maybe, we start giving creators what they’ve always deserved—not just exposure. Not just clicks.

But credit. And care. And a seat at the table they helped build.