The Dancing Bug

Posts Tagged ‘people

Okay, so awhile back I mentioned how I decided that whenever I was dancing with someone who made me feel intimidated, instead of trying my hardest to dance perfectly, I was going to try to dance badly. Remember that? The idea being that at least I wouldn’t be all tense and stressed out and overthinking, and maybe, just maybe, I’d relax enough to actually dance okay.

This has turned out to be the best idea I ever had for my dancing. I swear, since I decided this, I have not had a bad dance. Seriously!

So what’s going on here?

Well, first of all, it should go without saying that my A-number-one rule is that I don’t dance badly in a way that might physically hurt the other person. So no dragging or pulling or throwing myself around.

But see, that wasn’t the stuff that was stressing me out before. No, I was stressed out about things like this: Did I do that turn fast enough? Am I doing my swivels correctly? Isn’t there cuter styling I should be doing? Oh no, he was trying to lead a move, did I follow it right? It was this kind of thing that made me sort of hate dancing with “good” dancers.

What I finally had to realize was this: There are always going to be better dancers than me. And no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to dance better than the best dancers. I’m never going to impress a really great dancer with my amazing dance skills, because I haven’t got any. And besides, to a really accomplished dancer, everybody dances worse than them anyway, so they’re used to it.

I figure my dancing is just another aspect of my personality, like my laugh. Chances are, most people don’t find my laugh too annoying, but I imagine there are some people who do. Do I work really hard to make my laugh like the perfect tolling of bells on a distant hillside when I’m in the presence of someone important? Of course not, I just laugh how I laugh. If someone hates my laugh, they can avoid telling me a joke or simply avoid me altogether, and that’s just how it goes.

Same thing for my dancing. Most people think my dancing is totally fine; I know this because they keep asking me to dance, and they don’t run away when I ask them. And I’m sure there are people who can’t stand the way I dance, and that’s great. Everyone’s entitled to his own opinion.

Obviously this doesn’t mean that I’ve given up on trying to learn to dance better. Of course I want to dance as well as possible, and I work on it obsessively. All it means is that when I’m out on the social floor, dancing with people, I no longer worry about whether I’m dancing “right” or not. I just dance and have a good time, and give myself a break. Workshops and lessons and practice time are where I do my worrying and trying and stressing, but when I’m out dancing I just say to hell with it and dance. As long as I’m not hurting anyone, everything else is just what it is. And that’s the best decision I ever made for my dancing.

You know what’s kinda fun, in a weird way? Going out dancing when you’re the only couple in the place who knows how.

I live in a small town an hour outside Portland. It’s in what they call “Wine Country,” which means up until twenty years ago it was all turkey farmers and hicks. Then the “wine people” moved in, and now along with the hicks, we got a lot of displaced Californians. Both types do an awful lot of drinking, the only difference being that half the population gets wasted on PBR, and the other half on Pinot. But none, I mean none, of these people know how to dance.

So a couple times in the last few months, one of our fancy wine bars in town has inexplicably started hiring small dance bands. I mean proper danceable Django cover bands. Why, I have no idea. It’s kind of surreal. After all, I’ve spent the last ten years of my life driving miles and miles each week to seek out places to dance. All of a sudden, there’s this place two blocks from my house – well, it’s just weird.

Both times it’s happened, my DH and I have shown up and there’s this great jazz happening, nice clear dance floor, and a bunch of people sitting around drinking and watching the band. I mean, just watching them, you know, like it’s a lecture or something. All serious.

So of course the first thing we do is we barge out there and start dancing. I mean, we got the whole floor to ourselves, and we’re not gonna let that band go to waste. Years ago, of course, when I was a kid I never would have done such a thing, but dancing changes you. And I guess maybe getting older changes you too. Because nowadays I’ll dance anywhere, I don’t care who’s looking. (I even danced in Staples one time when a good song came on, and another customer started dancing with me. Surprised both of us!)

Anyway, so naturally, at this bar, as soon as we start dancing, people start watching us. And we’re doing Balboa, so of course everyone is staring down at our feet, which I always find hilarious. They’re all just staring at the floor. But for a while it’s kind of cool; it’s like we’re part of the show.

But what’s really awesome is that after a couple of songs (and admittedly, after a couple of drinks), the other folks in the room start standing up to try it. And you can see that they’re not just dancing any old way, like they would if it was just from the buzz or the way they did at their senior prom. They’re actually trying to do what we’re doing. They’ve observed that we’re in a certain kind of close embrace, and they try that. They see we’re doing this sort of quick stepping business, and they try to make that happen. It’s really pretty adorable.

I mean, they’re awful, of course. They’re all dancing really big and sort of humorous, covering up the fact that they feel kinda foolish out there. But all the same, they’re having a good time. And it’s great because the only reason they have the courage to try it is that we stood up and did it first. They didn’t have to be the first ones. At least, they would have needed to drink a lot more before they would have dared to be the first ones.

Anyway, so now these people are like sheep without a shepherd. I just gotta figure out how to get some more teaching gigs in town so the folks will know how to dance without killing each other.

But it’s definitely a start!

Last night I finally got up the nerve to ask one of our hippest and most accomplished young follows, a girl I don’t even know, to dance one with me. We had a acceptably fun dance, and she thanked me graciously not only at the end of the song, but later as she was leaving. That was awesome.

And a lot of other awesome stuff happened last night as well:

I also had a fun dance with a young man where we seamlessly switched roles for each of the verses of the song we were dancing to. It was great, you’da thought we’d choreographed it ahead of time.

I saw one young man who was doing more following than leading. I think he got around to dancing with mostly all of the top-end leads who were out last night. Lots of times I saw him switching off roles with his partner during a song.

I saw a girl leading her male dance partner during several songs.

I saw both men and women freely jumping into the jam circle to dance with same-sex partners, like it wasn’t even any big deal.

I think the funniest thing was when two excellent leads realized they were approaching the same girl to ask her to dance. To be goofy, they started dancing with each other instead. They went on to finish out the song together and it was an amazing dance to watch.

Need I say that all this role-switching warmed my heart? And on just a regular old DJed night at a regular old weekly venue too. I’m proud of Portland for generating all this crazy dance energy. And if the beautiful city of my birth were to end up known as the most ambidancetrous scene in the world, that wouldn’t hurt my feelings one bit!

 

Okay, a lot of folks have justifiably called me out on one aspect of my last post that really was unchill. I practically accused people of being homophobic if they don’t want to dance with a same-sex dance partner. And that wasn’t nice of me.

So now, I need to confess something. As much as I’ve been going on and on about how great it is for follows to learn to lead, have I ever mentioned that I don’t really like to dance with other women?

It’s something I’m trying to get over.

Part of the problem is that “real” follows – females, usually – know the difference between a good lead and a bad lead, while most guys don’t. So I feel like I don’t have to be perfect when I lead a guy, we can just goof around and have fun.

But the bigger and far more disturbing problem is that women just feel strange to me. I mean their actual flesh feels strange.

When I dance with men, there’s a solidness about them. Even men who aren’t particularly fit feel muscular and substantial. And they feel warm to the touch.

When I put my hand on a girl’s back or on her upper arm, it doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels cool to the touch, and mooshy. I feel like my hand sinks in too much, more than I expect. It’s a peculiar unsubstantial feeling. And with really skinny girls it’s even worse – they feel so flimsy, like they’re made out of straws.

And I don’t know, maybe there is just a lingering touch of social stigma about it for me.

When it comes to the stigma part, I can only imagine it’s a hundred times worse for men than for women, particularly in some parts of the world. And if girls feel creepily squishy to me, I must assume that men would feel bizarrely brittle to other men who aren’t used to that much physical contact with them.

I’m committed to the idea that this is something we owe it to ourselves to get over if we’re going to progress as dancers, and as human beings. But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a significant hurdle. At least it has been to me.

What do you all think? Has anyone else experienced what I’m talking about?

I’m becoming more and more convinced that there’s something fundamentally wrong with the way we as a dance culture approach the process of learning and teaching Lindy Hop.

Specifically, the issue I’m concerned with is this: why doesn’t everyone start out as a follow and then work towards learning to lead? Why should beginner guys, who generally know less about dancing and body movement than beginner girls do anyway, immediately start out leading?

It’s truly a situation of the blind leading the blind. In no other field of endeavor would a new person be shuffled immediately into the role of guiding someone else when they don’t know the first thing about it themselves. I’m not saying that following is easy, but it seems like any beginner dancer should logically be taught to move and control his own body before concerning himself with choreographing dance routines on the fly, which is what leaders have to do.

But as my friend Ben said, when I mentioned this rant, er, idea to him, “The problem is, if guys had to start out following, they wouldn’t.”

I guess there’s two reasons I can think of why this might be. One is that guys get interested in dancing primarily as a way of getting to touch girls. And if they had to start out following, they might, horror of horrors, occasionally find themselves dancing with guys instead.

It seems a shame to me that Lindy Hop should still be tied into outmoded notions of dance-as-mating-ritual. Why should the swing culture cling so tenaciously to “one man, one woman”? There’s nothing fundamentally romantic or sexy about this dance; only the obsessively homophobic would find anything disturbing about same-sex Lindy. I don’t know anyone who gets particularly inflamed by shaking someone’s hand or putting an arm around someone’s shoulder, which is about as touchy-feely as this dance gets. And if a man is only learning to dance so he can pick up chicks, he can more efficiently do that hanging out in bars anyway.

The other reason why men wouldn’t start out as follows is even worse than the first reason. It’s the idea that men are “natural leaders” and women the opposite.

This is patently absurd. I’m sure we can all think of real-world proof that the capacity for leadership in a general sense is not a function of one’s physical gender. But it’s even more evident in dance class.

It has often struck me that the natural capacity, or desire, for leadership in dancing is less about gender and more a stage-of-life thing. Think about it. In dance class, young beginner girls are so often the ones with the noodly arms who are afraid to move on their own; they panic if they’re not being led every second of the dance, and they love being thrown around. But when women of a certain age start out dancing for the first time, they completely refuse to be led. Their arms are stiff, they’re holding their ground and you can’t move them no matter what you do. They’re the ones looking over their shoulder at the instructors, making sure the leader is leading everything correctly, and they’re so concerned with doing their steps right that they don’t follow at all.

It’s the same thing with guys. Younger men who start out dancing are often too reticent to lead properly. Their arms are floppy, they’re diffident and not clear with their ideas, and often they’ll just be holding hands with their partner and moving themselves around in various exotic ways without really affecting their follow at all. And of course, middle-aged men learning to dance are the notorious arm-breakers and thumb-clampers who seem content to just stand in one place, not really dancing, just steering ladies around by their arms. The way they know they’re doing it right is when they get their follow to move from point A to point B.

So I propose that it would be much more rational if everyone were expected to start out as a follow, with the additional expectation that everyone would eventually learn to lead. So you tell me. What’s wrong with this idea? What am I missing?

 

 

I got so disgusted with my leading last night. See, here’s the problem…

Normally, I’m a follow. So when I try to lead things, if the person following me doesn’t follow me just perfectly, I tend to revert right back to my normal role. Then I start following my follow and doing whatever she was inadvertently backleading.

I know I need to just press manfully on with what I was trying to lead and give the follow a chance to pick up on it. But in order to do that I have to overcome a whole bunch of training. See, followers are trained to be responsive, and that’s not such a helpful skill when you’re trying to lead something.

I’m sure it’s exactly the same thing, in reverse, with leads who try to follow. As soon as their leader gives them any sort of opening, I’m sure it’s very easy for them to just jump in and start leading things without waiting to be led. Am I right?

Now, it just doesn’t make sense that as a leader, the only people I can lead are the ultra-accomplished, super-responsive followers. I should be able to lead normal followers or even beginners. I really want to be able to do this. But beginners who try to follow me just end up getting confused.

Yet I don’t want to overcompensate and turn into some kind of roughhousing armbreaker. Just as, I’m sure, leaders learning to follow don’t want to turn into passive noodle-armers.

Anyone else having this problem? Does anyone out there have any good advice?

 

So I’ve been going through this phase where I sorta hate dancing. Do you ever feel this way?

I’m not sure what it is.

Part of it is just me. I’ve been feeling old, fat and ugly, and not sure I care one way or another. It seems like a pointless task to try and make myself presentable enough to go out.

Another thing is my dancing. I feel like I take lessons after lessons, but I still dance just as bad as ever. It’s been a long time since I had a really spectacular dance with anyone, and I know it isn’t their fault, it’s mine. Dancing with me must be roughly equivalent to trying to move a grand piano with one broken wheel.

Then when I look around the room, all I see is these kids. Cute young guys dancing with cute young girls, all probably looking to get romantic with someone, and here’s me, this random old married lady. What’s wrong with this picture?

Plus, everybody dances bad. The leads either yank me around all over the place like I’m some kind of sports equipment, or they’re diffident and wimpy, and none of them has any imagination. Then when I try to lead the girls, they’re either as immobile as a tombstone, or they’re leaping around everywhere without waiting for me.

Of course, the DJs are awful. Why can’t they, just once, just for a lark, play a song that actually makes me feel like dancing? It’s always just the same old stuff, over and over.

In other words, I’m depressed.

Well, it happens once in a while. I’ve hated dancing before, and I’ll hate it again. But it never lasts long.

Anybody got any great advice for getting out of dance depression?

So I’m out the other day at a place where a lot of people are dancing who normally don’t. I mean that the event wasn’t specifically a dance event, just one where there was music, and people were drinking, and some of them got a little carried away and started dancing.

Now, I don’t drink, or I’d have an excuse for what happened. Maybe it was just my natural exuberance.

Anyway, this older gentleman came up to me and asked me if I wanted to dance with him.

I mean, he gave me fair warning. He said, “I used to swing dance, but I haven’t done it in years.” I’ve heard this before, and what it always means is that the person went out dancing a few times in the nineties and learned the Pretzel. I know people like this are the absolute worst arm-breakers there are. But I guess I was just being overly-exuberant, and I agreed to dance with him.

Then he proceeded to clamp both my hands in a vice-like grip with his big old thumbs, and started jerking my arms up and down like he was shaking the dust out of an area rug.

Of course, the first thing I did was say “Ow.”

So he goes, “What?”

“Ouch,” I said. “You’re squeezing my hands.”

He smiled broadly. “They’re one of my favorite bands too!”

What could I do? I smiled back. Well, maybe it was more of a grimace. I don’t know.

Then I sorta flexed my hands, to get him to readjust his grip. He did, and then clamped down harder than ever, giving my arms an extra shake in the process.

Okay, well, maybe this was one of those situations where what the follow needs to do is match the lead’s arm strength. I mean, there are still some instructors who tell you to do this. Maybe it would help. I squeezed back with my hands and tightened up my arms.

A sudden jolt of pain through the base of my skull told me this was the wrong tactic.

So then I let my arms go all floppy, and tried to concentrate on breathing through the pain in my fingers.

Feeling the sudden lack of “connection,” the gentleman augmented the area-rug shake with a forward-and-back pumping motion of his arms.

I survived the remainder of the song by mentally repeating “breathe, breathe, breathe” to myself, over and over.

So I’m asking you. What would you have done?

It has come to my attention that my advice yesterday about being friendly when you go out dancing may not be particularly helpful for some people.

As someone rightfully pointed out to me, if he knew how to do that he wouldn’t need the advice in the first place!

Many of us get started at dancing for the very reason that, in the course of our normal existence, we don’t get the chance to meet a lot of people. Writers and artists of all kinds, those of us who work from home or in a cubicle, students and other brainiacs who have to do a lot of reading every day – there are lots of occupations where you’re isolated most of the time. Engaged in our important or not-so-important work all day long, we may gradually lose the ability to connect with people. And if we started out shy or isolated as children, we may never have acquired that ability in the first place.

Basically, our culture tends to make everyone more and more socially awkward.

Going out dancing is a great idea for correcting this! There’s no better way to meet lots of nice people. But the problem is that if you don’t know how to meet people in the first place, then you may go home from dancing feeling more isolated than ever.

So if that’s your situation, never fear! I’m going to quickly run through some of my best advice for the ultra-shy.

  • When you go out dancing, always try to get there in time for the drop-in. Even if you already know how to dance. Actually, I think the drop-in is a lousy place to learn to dance anyway. If you want to really learn to dance, take some privates or go to workshops. But always take the drop-in because it’s a great way to meet people. The main benefit of drop-ins is that they’re full of people who all feel super awkward. So if you feel awkward, you’re not alone – everyone else does, too.

(A side note: Instructors, please remember this. Don’t try to stop people from talking in the drop-in. You’re not going to teach them to be excellent dancers in an hour anyway. So leave them alone. And please remember to rotate a lot! Thank you.)

Say you weren’t able to get there in time for the drop-in. Or you’re in the drop-in, but the instructors are being all weird and not letting you talk. All is not lost! People expect to be asked to dance when they go out dancing, so just ask people to dance. There have been a lot of posts in this blog already about asking people to dance, and there will be many more, so I’m not going to go into it here. But the following advice works equally well whether it’s in the drop-in or during the normal part of the dance.

  • Introduce yourself to everyone you dance with. Just say, “Hi, I’m Howard.” Or Dorothy, or Spike or whatever. Normally, the other person will then offer his or her name. Memorize it. This is important, because I want you to thank them by name when you’re done dancing with them. Come on, you’re a brainiac, memorizing things is what you do, right? You can do this! Try to learn at least a couple of names per night.
  • After you’re consistently able to introduce yourself, start trying to follow up the exchange of names by saying just one other thing. That’s all I’m asking you to do, say one thing. If it leads to a conversation, great! If not, you’re off the hook; just smile and know that you did your part. Remember that while you don’t want to ask personal questions right away, it’s easier for the other person to think of something to say back if you leave a question mark at the end of whatever you say.

Here’s some topic ideas:

  1. The crowdedness: “Boy, it’s crowded tonight, isn’t it?” or “Where is everyone tonight?”
  2. The lighting: “I wish they’d turn the lights down a little, you know?” or “Does it seem kind of dark in here to you?”
  3. The temperature: “Why is it so cold in here?” or “It’s like a sauna in here, isn’t it?”
  4. The room: “Aren’t those some crazy light fixtures?” or “Isn’t this floor amazing?”
  5. The building: “Isn’t this a cool old building?” or “Has this always been a dance place, do you think?”
  6. The music: “Is this Louis Prima?” or “I just love Ella Fitzgerald, don’t you?”
  7. The season: “How’s your summer going?” or “Are you all ready for the holidays?”
  8. The band: “Have you heard this band before?” or “Isn’t this band awesome?”
  9. The move: “Am I leading this right?” or “Have you done this move before?”
  10. The instructors: “Those instructors are fun, aren’t they?” or “Did you notice that instructor’s crazy shoes?”

You can use the above steps even when you’re not dancing. If you find yourself standing next to someone in line, or you’re both sitting out the same song, try introducing yourself and saying one other thing. You can think of it as practice, if that helps.

When you’ve done the above, you really don’t need to do anything else. Don’t keep trying to force a conversation if it’s going nowhere. But what I do suggest is listening when the other person answers you. If they’re skilled, they’ll answer you back in such a way that it gives you the chance to say something else, and it can go back and forth. It’s like volleyball; you both keep hitting the ball back and forth until someone drops it.

And someone will drop it. You can’t keep talking forever. If the talking gets too much for you, you can always stop. The other person will just assume you’re listening to the music or thinking about something. Same goes for them if they stop talking. Don’t take it personally. Just smile.

And remember one of the beauties of dancing: at most, you’ve got three minutes of awkwardness with any one person.

Okay, what can you do to make people want to dance with you? I’ve been blathering on about this topic for days, and I swear this is the last piece of advice I’m going to give you (for now). But it’s a pretty good one:

If you want people to want to dance with you, forget about getting people to dance with you, and instead, focus on making friends. Because people always like to dance with their friends.

I need to confess something here. When I go out dancing, I honestly have the best intentions. I always mean to try and dance with as many new people as I can, and sometimes I do a fairly okay job of it. But what always gets in the way is my friends. See, I’ve been dancing in this scene for so long that most of the people who are out there, I’m friends with. And if I don’t squeeze in at least one dance with them, both of us are going to be disappointed. And sometimes that can take up my whole night. Seriously, I have to make deals with myself. Three dances with friends, then one with a new person. Or whatever. Ridiculous, right? I know!

What I’m saying is that if you have a lot of friends in the scene, you shouldn’t have any problem getting dances.

Now, I know you’re not one of these creepy types who is just there to pick up a date. But you can’t tell me that you go to all the expense and bother of getting dolled up and going out because you DON’T enjoy hanging out with people. And honestly, they’re out there for the same reason. We’re social beings, and we can always use more friends.

I think sometimes we get so caught up in our own little world of pain and self-consciousness that we start to think of those other dancers out there as just things. They’re things who yank our arms, things who look at us funny, things who never ask us to dance, things who make us feel bad about ourselves.

But every one of those people is someone with his own pain, or her own self-consciousness. Even those snobby dancers who won’t dance with newbies. Even the cool people who think they’re too awesome to dance with someone who’s awkward. And even those people who are too awkward to dance with. They’re all way more interesting, and in way more pain, than you’d ever guess by looking at them.

They’re not just there to make you feel good or lousy about yourself, or to provide you with some sort of dancing experience. They’re not just machines you can put a quarter in and a dance with you comes out. They have their own issues. You have no way of knowing what’s going on with them if you just sit there and make assumptions based on their appearance. You gotta reach out.

So how do you make friends? Well, how do you make friends in the real world? Dancing is no different. Obviously you’re not going to go barging up to folks and chat them up while they’re trying to dance. But people aren’t always dancing. If there’s someone sitting there who you’d like to talk to, I’d suggest waiting until the song is well underway, until it’s safe to assume they’re not planning on dancing in the near future. And then just do what you normally do. Be friendly. Reach out. Say something nice. Whatever. You know how to do this.

It’s also perfectly legal to chat with people while you’re dancing with them. And it’s a great idea if you feel at all weird about your dancing, or if you can sense that your partner feels awkward in some way. Making a little small talk can be a welcome distraction, and keeps that grim look off your face that you get when you start thinking too much about dancing.

Don’t expect magical results your first night in a new scene. But you should certainly be able to manage at least one or two new acquaintances. And if you keep going back week after week, it won’t be long before you have your own little crew. And you’ll wish the night was longer because you didn’t get to dance with all of them, even though you were dancing the whole time.

I don’t know. Does that help at all?


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 155 other followers

%d bloggers like this: