Words: Miriam Sands (she/her)
Our humanity, community, and freedom are intertwined with the act of dancing freely, stupidly, and without fear.
‘Every day I count wasted in which there has been no dancing.’ A quote from Nietzsche which, when I first read it, rocked me to my core. From that day onwards, I swore to myself that I would dance even while brushing my teeth. But, how do we navigate ourselves away from this fear of being observed and just let loose instead? Dancing, at its crux, is sacred and liberating, yet intimate and silly. Our humanity, community, and freedom are intertwined with the act of dancing freely, stupidly, and without fear.
Line dancing, or attempting to do something of that nature, in a room full of strangers – maybe that’s when you really feel it. I’d spin round in circles, making myself dizzy, making a fool of myself, not having any rhythm. Catching glimpses of people’s poor choices of footwear. Nobody knew what they were in for. Not letting that feeling of looking too stupid stop you from dancing messily at the Rock and Rodeo night. To be so caught up in every inch of how we move our bodies and how others perceive it is not foreign to me. It’s hard for us to navigate the world and remain unaware of it. So, how do we break free from this to allow ourselves to be wholly immersed in the act of the humble twirl?
How many times have you unwillingly indulged in that “hangxiety” post-night out? Rocking back and forth in your crumpled bedsheets, smudged eyeliner and a dead phone, ruminating on that foolish dance with that not hot/not bad-looking guy at the club, knowing that people maybe/perhaps/probably won’t forget that? We stitch together every bad decision with every possible judgement, scared to be seen and remembered as a fool, so much so that we don’t even attempt to dance. Oh, what a waste to not dance in the face of embarrassment! To be a human is to be a fool, and if you don’t feel a little foolish on the dance floor, then you’re doing it wrong.
Greta Gerwig’s Frances Ha says, ‘I’m so embarrassed. I’m not a real person yet.’ But, who really cares? How can we truly enjoy something without accepting the possibility of failure? I recently took on the role of the leader at my first beginners’ salsa class, despite having absolutely zero idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was fuddled by my inability to move my feet in line with the rhythm. And yet, there’s something oddly beautiful about letting yourself be bad at something.
Still, our paranoid fears of being observed and judged are hardly surprising. With the rise of the iPhone’s surveillance-like persona, the idea of moving freely isn’t so realistic. We dip our toes into the water of careless dancing, hand-in-hand with friends, only to detect a camera lens and sheepishly retreat back into our shells. They’re not filming and ridiculing me, right? Spaces once safe for public dancing are now reduced to a panopticon. The dance floor has become an amphitheatre to point and laugh. But, does this warrant the inescapable access to technology? Film; text; scroll; anything but let loose and dance the night away.
More than to simply enjoy ourselves, you and I must dance to foster liberation. Dancing has been historically used by marginalised communities as a tool of protest. In her journal titled Pleasures of Resistance, Stephanie Camp reflects on dance as a form of emancipation. Enslaved women in the Southern plantations of 19th-century USA would find small joys amidst their exploitation in the woods. Away from slaveholders’ eyes, they would hold secret parties and dance, drink, and court in the face of their suffering. Dance has existed, and still exists today, as a place to venture into a new, liberating world.
Performances on screen also often express movement as a means of liberation. Our consumption of media engages with such storytelling. Parallel ideas exist in the revered musical Footloose. I mean, Footloose linguistically means ‘free’. It centres around a somewhat fictional tale of Chicagoan newcomer, Ren, while also serving as an analogy for real humans fighting for rights. Even amidst the social climate of anti-dancing laws in his new (fictional) town, Bomont, Ren was an agitator. We can sure as hell sing and dance to Footloose, yet we must recognise it as a window to a suppressive reality. Consciously rock and skip in hope and action for a free people.
Dance is just that: an interweaving of humanity, from gossiping about dancing with someone at Polo to radically reclaiming one’s autonomy. Feeling the silliest you can on a Wednesday night out; feeling sexy when dancing for nobody in particular; making spaces to foster community; diving into these unexplored corners of what dance can be. So dance, baby! For our community, for our embarrassment, and for our liberation.
