As social animals we herd in very strange fashion on hallowed ceremonial floors. As genders we each have our own peculiarities that emerge as we mingle and promote ourselves. Though the lengths women can tend to go in this self-promotion can be vexing, I believe the guys out there trying to entice and attract while they squirm and shudder have the ladies beat. When The Bee Gees sang “You Should Be Dancing” I don’t think they had any male Night Fever in mind. You DON’T know how to do it.
Have you ever really watched men dance? It’s kind of hypnotizing, like a car wreck that keeps happening with an attempt at rhythmic repetition, and looks about as natural as if the cars were battleships or pickle jars. There are about as many heterosexual men capable of dancing, as there are White Christmases in Vancouver and doctors with good penmanship. The saddest and baddest thing to behold, as they flail and kick, and thrust their thumbs and elbows about randomly, is that they’ve convinced themselves of the impossible. They’ve somehow overtaken both instinct and reason, and ventured into a realm they should dare not tread. In their blindly ambitious attempt to trot with the foxes they’ve convinced themselves that they have a strut worthy of glorious plumage and that they have moves that can entice and enrapture. The truth about this ritual is that guys tend not to attract the ladies with their dancing but more often in spite of it.
Men dance for the very reason they dress, exercise, study, toil, demonstrate, feed, flee, fight, and 4nicate; to pursue. There’s always a very simple and primal goal, and rarely an interest in the experience itself. If there’s no hunt, there’s usually no interest. It is that splice of focus, between posture and pounce, wherein guys find their heavy feet. Men appreciate the destination not the journey, the food and not the cooking, the sex and not the foreplay… or the post-destination cuddling. Simplicity can be a virtue but men are single-minded to a fault. For the purposes of this essay and consistent joke-making let’s assume, unless otherwise stated, the ‘men’ I’m referring to are hetero-dance-incapable. I’ll get to you other jokers later.
Women seem to have an inherent ability to dance well. Some are certainly better than others, but very few lack the basic skills. Anthropologically it makes sense; girls are essentially designed to dance. Much of their lives are spent dancing; on the dance floor, walking down the street, in the supermarket, walking down the office hallway, they are dancing all the time, regardless of who it is for or what the end is to their means. By dancing of course I mean presenting, and in the wild it is the woman’s part of the primal courtship to present and it is the guy’s job, or whomever the recipient of the presentation might be, to pursue.
PC Notice: Girls, please do not be offended by the above. It is not my intention to objectify your equal partnership in modern society or your virtues during your immaculate interpretation of the rhythm… as it gets you.
As men misguidedly find their identities amidst the beat, the boom, and the babes, one of three distinct types of male dancers, or mancers emerges. The first type of mancer is The Mancer out of Water. This poor soul knows he doesn’t belong but tries to dance to be accepted in the herd or to a perspective mate as his means to his end. By ‘an end’ let me be clear that only one thing can generally force this first mancer on to the dreaded floor; the possibility of sex. This mancer is a fish, and the dance floor is sadly the sandy shore. A part of me always suspects that unsympathetic girls enjoy watching this fish flop around. The Mancer out of Water is the most forgivable because frankly as a gender men do far worse in their quest for the end he seeks. He tends to be the one that eventually sees a distant mirror and then inevitably the error of his ways.
The second mancer is The Mechanical Automaton. This tends to be the most docile of these creatures, as he believes he is in his element, content that he is succeeding in his pursuit, and therefore least likely to do something hazardous like a cornered animal, which the earlier mancer has been known to become in extreme bar-closing-hour situations. At some point on this man’s travels through life someone has imparted to him that his one dance move works. It works for any song and any given forum, this dance is all he’ll ever need and he staunchly subscribes to its effectiveness. This mancer’s dance is more or less harmless, nothing innovative or offensive; it’s simply a couple of shimmies to the left, then two to the right, and repeat. We’ve all seen this guy swaying around mindlessly. The feet move slightly within a tiny radius but sometimes not at all. His arms sway back and forth like he is landing a small plane or holding a bull-fighting cape. We’ve all wondered at what point in the eighties he learned that move, and how it has worked for him in the years since Solid Gold has left the air. We watch him fall out of beat momentarily, stumble helplessly, and find his version of the beat again. Occasionally we see him try a new combination, kick his feet out a new way, and see a feeling of accomplishment as he returns to his pendulum. The main point that distinguishes this beast from the previous is that he wants to be out there and his presence, no matter how painful or ridiculous, encourages more misguided mancers to try their luck. The majority of mancers are found in this group, and frankly it’s the safest. One, two… one, two… feet together, feet apart… keep the two beats going boys!
The final category of mancer is the deadliest. This is the foolish breed of man that thinks he’s got the dance floor conquered. He is known simply as Lord of the Mance. His moves and his gestures have a width and breadth that matches his ego. He spins, prances and cavorts with no regard for those around him or the standing of his gender as a whole. This reject from the Chippendale’s training program has convinced himself that not only can he survive where most men dare not tread, tango, and shuffle, but that he enriches the experience for the unfortunate soul targeted as his prey. It’s not his moves or sway that is necessarily distinctive, but his bravado. He truly believes he’s got it figured out, and can at times achieve success with the prey that responds to that form of brazen machismo, but does something damaging to the vessels of music and dance every time he puts foot to floor, cheek to cheek, crotch to crotch, and grind to the grindstone.
On the other side of the coin, which is an ironically appropriate introduction for the following, we have the gay sector male dancing population. Gay men can dance, at least at a far more notable percentage than the other side of the gender, and I have my suspicions as to why. Take away all the traditional homosexual notions of femininity, gracefulness, and fashion sense and you’re left with a far different presentation-pursuit dynamic. There’s mystery and fear as they prepare to pounce and persuade, but it is not the kind of unknown confronting ‘XY’ in the face of ‘XX’, with the intention of XXX. Though there is presentation and prey in this dynamic, ones understanding of the other changes the movement of the ritual from something that resembles intimidation and punishment to more of a partnership. After all, it’s understandably easier to tango as two that change in the same locker room and coordinate as well as appreciate the others dancing shoes.
There have been approximately five men in the history of the gender that could and should, as the Bee Gees said, have been dancing. Two of them are Michael Jackson, one is that Michael Flatly guy, and the rest are subject of myth and speculation. I realize I am expected to include such notables as Estaire, Travolta, and Swayze, but being that their boogey occurred in Movieland I’m inclined to disregard them for fear of contamination from possible computer and editing enhancement. Frankly, that lifting the girl over the head thing at the end of Dirty Dancing always seemed a little bit fishy to me. Furthermore, Jackson and Flatly are hardly two Michaels that we should be setting as role models. I realize also that some will find it notable that I’ve overlooked the nomination of stage dancers and Swan Lakers that deserve a mention. I do believe that ballet dancers and stage performers of all genres have achieved something admirable but they are doing so in a highly disciplined and choreographed performance and therefore not truly getting down. We must consider what has driven these stage mancers into the careers they have chosen. If they have the same gray in their skulls and red in their veins they are doing what they do to perform for and attract the women before them and therefore are back down at the same level of motivation as the rest of us. I move that we dismiss the notion of any precedent set of admirable male dancing and move on to the cathartic pleasure of putting this thumb-jiving, Macarena-madness behind us.
For every law there is a loophole, for every rule there is an exception, and out there somewhere are men who can be excused for giving dance a chance. In its purest form dance is an honest physical expression. When it manifests itself outside of a nightclub, far from the influence of the pursuit, the alcohol, and a top-forty-techno musical bludgeoning, it can be quite a beautiful, spontaneous thing. There are also times when it can be a rite of monumental significance and splendor. No one in any way, even through the persuasion of my inspired ranting, should ever stop a child from dancing. A child taking advantage of his or her inalienable right to let loose and be ridiculous is feeding a natural human energy that keeps our collective spirit breathing. Any movement built on joy and free of pretense is beyond valuable. By the same token, how can a measurable value ever be attributed to the way an indigenous community welcomes an adolescent into adulthood or the way a father says goodbye to his daughter on her wedding day. Dancing is a gift given to a human race capable of creativity and boundless expression. I have no problem with this gift when it is used as it was intended. I have an issue with this gift when it pokes away at the air around it, wears too much cologne, and offends four or five other gifts in its expression… this leads to euphemism and far too infrequently, euthanasia. If everyone comes to understand that dancing is intended to be a celebration and not a sales pitch, dance floors can again become the terrain of those capable of cutting a rug and not those who deserve to have that rug pulled out from under their two left feet.
I don’t intend for all of the blame for this evolving devolution of the male gender to rest totally on the shoulders of the Brothers Gibb and their colleagues. Musical expression is one of humanity’s finest pursuits, and certainly they can’t be blamed for the way innocent musings such as “You should be dancing” and their many successors have been received. All the Jive Talking aside, as men we have to accept our weaknesses while we revel in our strengths, and while we can’t dance we can all take comfort in the knowledge that we will always be better at killing spiders and barbeque.
One, two… one, two… no time to talk.
Patrick Hughes
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