taijiquan

The split happening inside modern tai chi — and why the World Taijiquan Championships are suddenly huge

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Competitive tai chi is growing fast around the world — but not everyone in the traditional community is happy about what that means

There’s a version of tai chi that most people think they know. It happens slowly in parks. It’s mostly associated with retirees, stress reduction, gentle movement, and the occasional vague mention of “energy”. In the Western imagination, tai chi often exists somewhere between meditation, physiotherapy and soft exercise.

But another version of tai chi has also been growing in parallel. One involving national teams, international judges, choreographed routines, competition scoring systems, and athletes performing explosive movements in brightly lit arenas. And it’s getting big.

The recent World Taijiquan Championships in Bulgaria drew competitors from more than 40 countries, with hundreds of athletes taking part in solo forms, weapon routines although I didn’t see any evidence of push hands events, or anything approaching sparring. For many outsiders, the sheer scale of the competition may come as a surprise. But for people inside the martial arts world, it highlights something that’s been developing for years: tai chi is splitting into several very different cultures.

Take a look:

One culture sees tai chi primarily as an internal martial art rooted in body mechanics, structure, pressure, balance and cultivated force. Another treats it as a performance discipline, one judged visually, packaged for audiences, and optimised for competition. Another sees it as the aforementioned health version done by older people in parks as a kind of meditatve exercise.

That tension between these different versions of taijiquan has existed for a long time, but events like the World Taijiquan Championships make it impossible to ignore.

When tai chi becomes a spectator sport

Competitive tai chi performance changes things. The moment movements are judged publicly, practitioners begin optimising for what judges and audiences can easily see. Stances become lower. Movements become larger. Expressions become sharper and more theatrical. Routines drift toward athletic spectacle.

That doesn’t automatically make them bad, but you’ll notice that the event also seemed to incorporate dance troupes, cheerleaders and gymnasts.

The fact is, competitive athletes are phenomenally skilled. The flexibility, balance, coordination and body control required at elite level are extraordinary. Some modern taiji competitors move with a degree of precision that most traditional practitioners could only dream of.

But critics argue that something important can get lost in the process.

Traditional tai chi training often focuses on subtle internal qualities that don’t necessarily look impressive from the outside: relaxation under pressure, whole-body connection, efficient force transfer, breath regulation, sensitivity, and structural integrity. Those things are difficult to score visually. A judge can easily reward height, speed and extension. It’s much harder to reward sung — the relaxed but connected quality that many internal stylists consider central to the art.

This is where the divide starts because it leads to the question, “is this still tai chi?” And then to the almost inevitable, “what is tai chi anyway?”

The gymnastics problem

The problem isn’t unique to tai chi. Almost every martial art changes when competition becomes the dominant measuring stick. Brazilian jiu-jitsu drifted toward increasingly sport-specific positions once tournaments became central to the culture. Judo changed dramatically after leg grabs were restricted. Olympic taekwondo evolved into something many traditional practitioners barely recognize.

The tai chi world is fractured, but for some this can be positive. Competitive formats bring structure, international exposure, younger athletes and a clearer pathway for progression. Without competition, tai chi risks becoming culturally invisible outside wellness circles.

But others worry the art slowly transforms into a kind of martial gymnastics — technically difficult, visually impressive, but increasingly detached from the body method and martial function that originally gave the movements meaning.

The tai chi world is made even more complicated by the fact that as well as the wushu performers, and the traditionalists, there’s another group — the martial artists who want to use tai chi as a real martial art.

You might imagine they’d be naturally aligned with the traditionalists, however, in my experience the traditionalists hate any attempt to put on gloves and ‘prove tai chi works’ and refer to it as ‘just kickboxing’. 

The irony is that all three, or even four, sides often genuinely love tai chi. They just value different things.

The global expansion of tai chi

What the World Taijiquan Championships really demonstrate is that tai chi is no longer a niche cultural practice confined to China or small traditional schools.

Competitors are emerging from Europe, South America, Southeast Asia, the Middle East and the United States. Universities teach it. Health systems study it. Sports organizations organize around it. Younger athletes are entering through competition pathways rather than traditional lineage structures.

That changes the art whether people want it to or not.

World Tai Chi Day is 10.00am on Saturday.

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It’s World Tai Chi Day this Saturday. So what’s it all about?

World Tai Chi & Qigong Day is held each year in over 80 nations on “the last Saturday of April” each year. April 25th, 2026 … at 10 am local time all over the world. It begins with mass Tai Chi, Chi Kung, and Mind Body events in the earliest time zones of New Zealand, and then spreads at the world turns, 10 am local time worldwide, ending with final events in Hawaii (USA).

To be honest, a lot of the websites I’ve found about it seem outdated and unloved. It doesn’t really feel like there’s much of an organisation behind it these days, however, you might like to practice at 10.00am on Saturday. There could be an event in your local area, so have a search.

Photo by Alexander Schimmeck on Unsplash

What if tai chi posture is about class, not biomechanics?

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The debate over leaning vs upright posture may have less to do with force and more to do with identity

Sun Lu Tang performing tai chi


Does your tai chi style lean forward or stay upright? The debate over which is “correct” has been raging for decades now. Well, maybe “raging” isn’t quite the right word for a group of tai chi practitioners, but at the very least there’s been some polite disagreement.

The usual way of looking at this issue is biomechanical. Which structure delivers force—jin—more efficiently? Which alignment is stronger, more stable, more effective?

But what if we’ve been looking at this the wrong way?

What if the difference isn’t really about efficiency at all, but about who the posture was for?

I’ve just been watching a lecture by Sander L. Gilman called Stand up Straight! Cultural Perspectives on Posture, and it adds an angle to this debate that feels like it’s been missing.

Gilman’s core idea is simple, but powerful: the body isn’t just biological—it’s cultural. The way we stand, move, and hold ourselves isn’t neutral. It’s shaped by what society thinks is healthy, respectable, or even fully human.

Historically, posture has been loaded with meaning. Standing upright has been associated with discipline, control, and refinement. Slouching, or anything that deviates from that ideal, has often been framed as a lack of those qualities.

Crucially, those ideas have often been tied to class.

In one example Gilman highlights, early 20th-century medical writing didn’t just describe posture, it judged it. Working-class bodies and rural populations were sometimes compared unfavorably to “primitive” forms, while upright posture was framed as something closer to a civilized ideal. (source).

Strip that down, and you get a striking idea: “respectability” is something performed through the body. Posture becomes part of that performance.

So what happens if we apply that lens to tai chi?

Most histories trace tai chi back to Chen Village in Henan province, but its spread through Beijing brought it into very different social contexts. Some styles developed in courtly or intellectual circles, others among martial artists, soldiers, and working practitioners. And when you look at the postures, a pattern starts to emerge.

Styles associated with more scholarly or “refined” figures, like Wu (Hao) style or Sun style, developed by the famously intellectual Sun Lutang, tend to emphasise a more upright frame.

By contrast, versions of Yang style and Wu style, shaped by professional martial artists and military figures, often include a noticeable forward lean.

Of course, these systems evolved over time and weren’t defined purely by class. But the contrast is hard to ignore.

Even Cheng Man-Ch’ing, often described as a scholar and artist as much as a martial artist, modified what he learned from Yang Chengfu into a distinctly upright form. His idea of the “five excellences” — calligraphy, painting, poetry, tai chi, and medicine — paints a clear picture of the kind of cultivated identity he was expressing.

Seen through Gilman’s lens, this looks like a cultural divergence, rather than one based on pure technique.

Maybe upright posture isn’t just about alignment. It’s about signaling control, refinement, and education. And maybe the forward-leaning versions reflect a different set of priorities: function, application, and practicality over presentation.

The latest issue of Tai Chi and Internal Arts is out!

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Magazines are still a thing in the digital age


I haven to admit, I wasn’t aware that Tai Chi magazines still existed, but it turns out that they do! In fact, there’s one called ‘Tai Chi and internal arts’, which is up to issue 76.

I can’t work out how you buy a physical copy, or where it is sold, but it’s made by the Tai Chi Union for Great Britain, and it looks like you can read it for free online.

If you are a regular listener to my podcast you might recognize the cover star – that’s Tina Faulkner Elders who I interviewed back in episode 33:

And inside you’ll find an article about Chen style Cannon fist by Nabil Ranné who I interviewed in issue 30:

Why are there so few group pictures in tai chi?

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It occurred to me the other day that I’ve been running a tai chi class for a couple of years now but never taken a single group picture. In jiu-jitsu you’re lucky you get out of the door without somebody taking your picture at least once — it’s a totally different culture and it’s interesting to reflect on the reason why.

In a martial arts class you expect your picture to be taken and shared on social media, or maybe you’ll even be captured briefly in a video of the class. I suppose it’s because you’re doing something exciting and worth bragging about. As an activity it’s ‘loud’ – there’s loud music playing a lot of the time.

The instagram for my jiu-jitsu academy is full of pictures of students, for example.

Tai chi is a different sort of activity — it’s quieter, softer and less about showing off. Taking a picture in that sort of environment feels a bit like going against the grain. It’s a shame because pictures can act as markers for when you started tai chi and how long you’ve been doing it, and a reminder of who was in the class then.

But anyway, I did take a group picture of the Tai Chi class last Friday, and I’m glad we’ve got at least one. I won’t post it here because it was just for the group’s Whatsapp. I’ll probably wait a year before I take another one.

The Tai Chi salute looks polite — its real meaning is much deeper

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Behind the gesture is a code about power, respect, and control

I always finish my Tai Chi class, which takes place in the UK and is taught by me, a British person with no connection to Chinese culture outside of martial arts, with a small Chinese-style salute.

Often called the “sun and moon” salute, it’s a traditional greeting in Chinese martial arts circles. It’s the same one you see Bruce Lee do to his student at the start of Enter the Dragon. But like most things in Chinese martial arts, it has both an obvious meaning and a hidden one. Of course, you don’t need to know the hidden meaning to use it.

In Chinese, the salute is called bàoquán lǐ, which roughly translates as “fist-wrapping rite.” Your right hand forms a fist — the “sun” — and your left hand presses flat against it — the “moon.” You stand straight, feet together. It’s accompanied by a short, respectful nod of the head rather than a deep formal bow, while maintaining eye contact.

Sometimes the fingers are folded instead. This seems to be a softer, less formal greeting (and it’s the one I usually use). This variation is often called gōngshǒu lǐ (“cupped hands greeting”) and is traditionally gendered — the closed fist is the right fist for men and the left fist for women.

It’s worth noting that this is far from the only hand position used for greeting across China’s long history, particularly within religious traditions.

Why do it?

The bàoquán lǐ isn’t a tradition added to Chinese martial arts — it’s a remnant of a moral code that existed before they were formally named.

At a basic level, the fist represents martial skill or strength, while the palm represents civility, restraint, and wisdom. The palm covering the fist symbolizes martial power governed by virtue or, put simply: I can fight, but I choose respect and control.

When I do it at the end of class, it’s quick and almost reflexive, sometimes even a little embarrassed. I don’t expect my students to do it back. It’s a brief gesture with a clear purpose: it marks the end of the session and acts as a quiet “thank you” for the work they’ve just done.

When I do it to my kung fu teacher, it carries a different weight. My teacher (who is not Chinese) still greets his own teacher (who was Chinese) with this salute every time they meet, and that tradition was passed on to me. I still greet my teacher this way whenever I see him. Even though it isn’t part of my culture, the meaning is clear when I do it.

In that sense, I suppose I’ve passed on a “light” version of the tradition to my own students by using the salute at the end of class. Even if they don’t return it, it’s something they now recognize. The tradition has softened over time, we don’t use it to greet each other, and honestly, I think it would feel strange if we did.

I’d describe my teacher’s period of training with his teacher as serious, and my own training as semi-serious by comparison. People in modern Tai Chi classes aren’t devoting their lives to this with the all-or-nothing commitment that might have been expected in 1860s China. For most people, it’s a hobby. A social activity. Ideally, people leave class feeling better than when they arrived, or at least like they’ve worked hard and learned something.

Hidden meanings

As with most things in a culture that has existed continuously for thousands of years, meanings tend to come in layers.

The sun and moon are obvious representations of yin and yang, shown here as equal forces held in harmony, suggesting balance rather than dominance.

There’s also a practical dimension. A level of formality in martial arts is useful. What we’re engaging in is potentially dangerous, and maintaining respectful ritual helps reinforce that fact.

(Incidentally, that’s one reason I don’t mind bowing in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training too. We routinely put our training partners in potentially life-changing situations, and a moment of ritual respect is a good reminder that what we’re doing carries real consequences.)

One of my favorite hidden interpretations, though, comes from Chinese history, specifically the Ming–Qing dynasty transition.

The Ming were the last ethnically Han Chinese ruling dynasty. The Qing were Manchu invaders from the north, and they were deeply unpopular with large parts of the population. Resistance movements emerged almost immediately.

The slogan “Overthrow the Qing, restore the Ming” (反清復明, Fǎn Qīng fù Míng) became a rallying cry for secret societies and rebel groups from the fall of the Ming in 1644 well into the early 20th century.

The bàoquán lǐ salute was reportedly adopted by some of these movements as a covert signal of allegiance. The closed fist was said to represent the character for sun (日), while the open palm represented moon (月). Together, these two characters form 明 (Míng), meaning “bright” or “to illuminate,” and also the name of the fallen dynasty.

Which means that, technically speaking, every time I’ve used this greeting, I’ve been quietly expressing support for the overthrow of the Qing dynasty.

But no, my Tai Chi class isn’t secretly plotting the restoration of a long-collapsed Chinese dynasty. But I do like the idea that a small, slightly awkward gesture at the end of a community hall class carries echoes of philosophy, rebellion, and restraint. Even if most of the time, it’s really just a polite way of saying: thanks for showing up — see you next week.

Source: an article I once found on bàoquán lǐ.

In Tai Chi you don’t look down — or do you?

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Learning how to extend the qi

When I’m teaching my Friday class one of the things I quite often say is “don’t look down” – however, like most of the short, pithy statements you hear delivered by Tai Chi teachers… it’s not really true. Rather, it depends on the context of what you’re doing. Let me explain.

Yes, generally speaking, you want to be looking at the horizon when doing Tai Chi because you want to keep your head and neck aligned with your spine. Specifically with the head and neck we are talking about the posture principle of ‘suspending the head’. However, there are times in Tai Chi, where it is perfectly acceptable to look down – particularly on moves where the direction of the application is down towards to the ground. 

Like our White Crane Cools Wings, for example:

White Crane Spreads Wings from the ‘short short form’ I teach.

The reason I say “don’t look down” a lot when teaching is that people learning a Tai Chi form have a general tendency to look down (me included!). Generally as we age our posture seems to become more slumped forward, perhaps because we sit down a lot in modern life, but also because scanning the horizon for signs of danger has long since stopped being an evolutionary priority. We also use computers, phones and devices all the time, and they lead to a general posture of our heads being tilted forward slightly.  This can result in people doing the whole Tai Chi form while never looking up from the ground. 

Extending the qi

In Tai Chi you want to have a feeling of a slight stretch all over the exterior of the body at all times – that’s really what following the posture principles of Tai Chi gives you – things like flattening the lower back, rounding the shoulders and suspending the head. This is known as ‘extending the qi’ all over the body. When you stand in a Zhan Zhuang posture you can feel this slight stretch all over the surface of the body that the posture generates – it’s subtle, but that’s what you’re looking for.

Suspending the head is part of that extension of the qi over the head, and you can keep that extended feeling even when you glance down. What you definitely don’t want to do is break the alignment of the spine and neck, which is what typically people do when looking at their phone, or their feet:

Looking down at your phone. Photo by Thom Holmes onUnsplash

If you want a good fix for this then I find regular Zhang Zhuang (“post standing” or “standing like a tree”) practice is a good way to remedy this and retrain your head position on a subconscious level.  Master Lam has a 10-day course on the subject.

The problem with looking down is that our head is rather heavy (between 2.3 and 5kg), and when you take your neck out of alignment with your spine your body automatically compensates for the extra weight that is pulling it forward (or you’d fall) and it does that by tensing some of its posture control muscles, particularly in the middle of the body, and that can interfere with the relaxation and freedom of movement we are looking for in Tai Chi. You also aren’t creating an optimal path for sending incoming forces to the ground or for sending jin up to the head. You are also not ‘extending qi’ to the head.

If you’re going to look down then you need to do it while keeping that slight stretch up the back of the neck and over the head. 

Ward-off and martial applications

‘Ward off’ is another example of a posture where I do look down, although it’s only briefly. I look down because of the martial application I’m thinking of. My active hand in that posture is first the back hand, which I’m using to send my imaginary opponent to the floor. The front hand can then be used as a deflector, so after I’ve dispatched the first opponent to the floor, I then look up and deflect the second attack, which leads into the ‘roll back’ posture.

Here is the sequence:

In this sequence, the ‘ward off’ is the middle picture, and my focus is on my right hand pushing down from where it was in the previous picture, then in the next picture I refocus on the left hand deflecting, and getting ready to perform a ‘roll back’.

Here’s a much younger and hoplessly naive version of myself showing the marital application at around 19 seconds in this video:


As you can see, where you are looking in the Tai Chi form is dependent on what application you have in mind when doing the movement. So, while there are some useful maxims to remember in Tai Chi, such as ‘don’t look down’, it’s important that you know when it’s acceptable to bend the rules so that your Tai Chi becomes a living practice, with things done for a reason, not just blindly following the rules.

Episode 41: Teaching Tai Chi as a Martial Art with Nick Walser and Ian Kendall

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My new podcast is out.

In this episode I talk to two Wudang Tai Chi teachers from Brighton, UK: Nick Walser and Ian Kendall. Both students of the late Dan Docherty, they have continued to practice the tai chi that Dan taught them and developed a new training system called 5 Snake.

5 Snake is a unique and powerful method for finding flow, resilience, and calm through partnered close- quarter practice, and they’re here to tell you all about it.

Find out more at 5 Snake and on Instagram, YouTube and Facebook.

1980s Wushu, China (Bagua, Tai Chi, Northern Shaolin)

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Just watched a great clip of 1980s Wushu in China – featuring Sun Jianyun, Sun Lu Tang’s daughter performing Bagua. But there’s also some clips of Tai Chi and some kids doing Northern Shaolin (at least I think it’s Northern Shaolin). Well worth a watch. The martial arts are on their way to being the heavily performance-based WuShu we have today, but are not quite there yet, with martial technique still a priority.