Social dancing is something that’s becoming increasingly a thing of the past. It’s either considered anachronistic or misconstrued entirely. Most people seem to automatically translate the phrase “going dancing” to “going clubbing.” Mind you, I have nothing against people who spend Friday nights at a club. It’s their way of letting off steam, but I’m not the kind of person who finds grinding up against total strangers enjoyable. I also have a problem with $35 door fees, an intense dislike of expensive watered-down drinks, a profound hatred for rooms full of people who are drunk or drugged out beyond comprehension, and a general disinterest in clubbing fashion. To each their own, I suppose. [Aziz Ansari has a wonderful bit that sums up my view up clubbing. Check it.]
Latin dancing, particularly salsa, is a whole different ball game. It’s got a rich cultural history, and it takes a lot of practice to master. Contemporary salsa dancing began in the 1970s in New York, drawing on cha-cha-cha and mambo influences, but the tradition goes way farther back. There’s actually an argument about whether or not mambo and salsa are the same dance, and there’s also a raging debate about who actually owns the dance. Some people trace it to the turn of the century, when American soldiers did stints in Cuba during the war and got a taste for Latin rhythms. The Spanish claim it through a tenuous linguistic link, the Dominicans feel very strongly about it, and others view it as a cornerstone of Latin American identity. It’s a very flirtatious dance, and several of the moves are easily translatable to other dance genres, like the merengue and the bachata.
(While we’re on the subject, tell me bachata isn’t the most beautiful and intimate dance you’ve ever seen!)
Fact: salsa isn’t easy. It may not take a lot of effort to learn the basic steps, but mastering them, uniquely styling them, and performing them with another person is a whole ‘nuther story. I will never forget my first time dancing it. Despite his past failures at dancing, one of my friends was kind enough to humor me and accompany me to a class in West Oakland at a local salsa studio. I picked up the footwork pretty easily, but adding another person into the mix made things ridiculously complicated. (It didn’t help that he was hopelessly clumsy, but he had a great attitude about it all, which is all that really mattered.) I didn't step on any toes, but I definitely did not like what I saw in the mirror.
A salsa dancing couple has two components: a leader and a follower. Purely through pressure on the shoulders and hands, the leader communicates to the follower what steps to take. Gaining the confidence to lead another person through a set of super involved and intricate moves is quite a feat, and it takes a special skill to for the follower to be able to successfully anticipate where on earth (well, the dancefloor) the dance is going. Put all of the complex moves over a song that’s anywhere from 160 to 220bpm, and you have a recipe for disaster. Mis-stepping, getting off the beat, kicking your partner in the knees, and accidentally elbowing somebody are all common plights of the beginner.
Personally, I’ve found the challenge to be quite engaging and very rewarding. Among other things, it’s a great way to get to meet new people. As somebody who recently graduated from college and had most of her friends move far, far away, this is a draw. By nature, salsa dancers are a very friendly breed -- a characteristic that may have something to do with the difficulty of the dance. Partners are frequently rotated, and nobody frowns down upon you for being a beginning dancer. It’s also a great character study. You can tell a lot about a person from their dancing frame -- ie, are they confident? Do they hold themselves upright? Do they trust themselves enough to lead, and do they trust you to know how to follow? Sometimes, you’re partnered with somebody who’s there with the sole intention of having a good time, and it feels great. Other times, you’re partnered with a diva who feels the need to show off and ends up slouching and sulking when they make a mistake (something that’s bound to happen). Depending on the character of your partner, you either never want the song to end, or you can’t wait for the dance to be over.
It’s a disciplined kind of enjoyment. You have to invest time into learning the steps, you need to stay with the rhythms, and you have to feel confident about yourself and your skills to be able to dance with a partner. A drink or two may help you loosen up a bit, but you cannot go out to a club, get mindlessly drunk, and expect to rock the dancefloor. It's one of those endeavors that gives you back exactly what you put into it. But who wouldn’t feel good being able to dance like this?
I’m not saying it’s for everybody, but I definitely enjoy it. Come dancing with me?
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