Bring back dancing in the club

There has been an ongoing discourse about how gen Z was robbed from our 20s, and especially the clubs. Growing up, we watched shows like Jersey Shore and constantly heard songs about getting drunk in the club. But now that we are old enough to go out, we feel cheated. People just aren’t dancing the way they used to, and I think dance has become a thing that a lot of people think is embarrassing or “cringe” most of the time. I thought about this after reading “As the Earth Dances,” because it reminded me of how important dance is for individuals and society at large. In a way, I feel like dance has been somewhat colonized much like everything else. Even thinking about a more accepted form of dance… the TikTok dances. Those dances are usually created by black people, and are then watered down for others to easily learn. But even TikTok dances are products which can be bought and sold. But anyway, when someone starts freestyling in the club (which are usually older adults or very drunk people), people record them instead of joining in, further isolating the person. I mean they might like the attention, but it is so individualistic you know? There is no communal dancing. But when I see videos from HBCUs, people have choreography and there are so many people dancing all together and having a good time at almost every event. Its almost like dance has been whitewashed, and it makes me so sad because I love to dance, but I rarely feel comfortable doing it in public without people looking at me like I have 4 heads.

I think bringing back dancing without shame would help society tremendously. It would make people feel more connected to the community, to friends, to music, to nature, and so much more. It would help us start valuing art that is not made to be bought or sold, and also help us to value one another and their bodies. Dance also elevates people’s moods and releases feel good chemicals in the brain. Instead of dancing alone in your room, could you imagine dancing in a club full of people ALL dancing without caring about how they looked? That would be amazing. And there is no doubt that cellphones have impacted this experience. Because everyone is worried about getting recorded and possibly losing their jobs or being made fun of for what they look like while dancing.

Society would be so much better if we valued art that isn’t a product. Because dance IS valuable and it IS necessary. Art is amazing because it communicates through itself, and not necessarily through words. Art has the power to bring people together, and right now it is very individualistic. Going back to my example of TikTok dances, most people learn and perform the dance by themselves and then post it for everyone to see. How isolating is that? We don’t need to make dance an online thing, I wish instead, we could have community dance events where people learn and perform dances together you know – “live.” It’s actually pretty dystopian to think about, especially in comparison with other cultures where they value community and interconnectedness.

PS: We need better music in the clubs and more DJs who identify as women!!

Embodying Music

Music makes me feel gender. Whether it’s moving my body, feeling the beat, watching live performance, or playing the drums, music is the one thing that helps me make sense of my tangled mess of a mind and body. I haven’t played the drums in a while but I have been practicing since I was 15. My Chemical Romance had a profound effect on me when I was younger and I became so enthralled with the motions and flow of playing the drums. I started practicing on my dad’s drum kit in our basement. In some weird way, it helped me feel connected to my body. For some time, I was a cyborg and my wooden drumsticks were merely an extension of my flesh. Playing the drums is kind of a dance, too. My left arm held a steady snare beat while my right flailed between crash and hihat and ride. Meanwhile, my legs were running in place as they pedaled away. I felt connected to myself and I was playing music that helped process the anguish and loneliness I felt at the time. I was at home in my body.

Later on, I understood gender in a different way. I took a class called Transnational Feminisms and I was introduced to Mia Mingus and her idea of “moving towards the ugly.” I became fascinated with the idea of reclaiming ugliness and finding beauty and empowerment in its subversive nature. For my final project in that class I made a zine highlighting queer people in hardcore and how they embody gender through their music.” Many of these people are queer and POC making music about those embodied experiences. As a queer POC myself, I felt recognized myself in this messy and chaotic music because it’s how I feel about my own damn self! As part of my zine I created a Spotify playlist called FEMME TUNES to showcase the liberating hardcore music created by queer and POC femmes. This felt relevant to share since the class made a shared playlist. So I am sharing mine for anyone who is interested:)

Finals are literally killing me

The last 2 weeks have been a living hell for me. I have been so stressed out because of exams and finals, it just feels like my entire life is breaking apart. No matter how much I study, it feels like it will never be good enough. This week I had two exams, a quiz, and had to do an 8-page essay. Later on Wednesday found out that I got a B on an English essay, that I worked so hard on which now changed my grade from an A to a B in the class. In that moment of seeing that B, I cried. I just felt worthless the moment when I saw that grade because, in the back of my mind, I just thought about how I would never be good enough no matter how much I studied or put effort into an assignment or exam. No matter how much effort I put into all my classes, my grades just keep on going down, and I just feel like I was a mistake in life and should have never existed. That I’m just a useless human being that can’t even do the simplest things like a damn essay. This has even caused me to have a fear of losing my scholarship if I don’t study enough and it has even caused me to become more depressed.

I even thought of just giving up at one point but at the same time, the fear of getting a bad grade still motivates me to still try and not give up. After having my therapy session today, my therapist made me realize that a grade can’t define how smart or good I am. That it’s just a letter and that I’m already good enough. At this point, I just want to study, finish my exams, and go back home and be with my cat!!!!

Also good luck on exams everyone, you got this :)) (here’s a pic of my baby to help with the stress)

Music has kept me alive

Since I was in middle school I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety. I had to find ways to keep myself from going over the edge because sadly during that time I didn’t really feel like I had someone to talk to. Both of my parents are immigrants and if you know, you know. Mental health isn’t a very big thing to them because they grew up being told to get over things and that they’re fine. So they only passed on what they were taught, which is fine I can’t really blame them too much. That only meant that I had to figure it out on my own, so I indulged in music. Mostly Jhene Aiko, she brought me a sense of peace, the beats were soothing, her voice was calm and gentle so honestly she was my escape for a while. Since she helped me so much, whenever I would be sad or in my head I would play her music and it would help me get out of my head. A song by her that has helped me a lot is called W.A.Y.S. Which stands for “why aren’t you smiling”, this song would help me realize that although I’m sad and how I’m feeling is valid, there’s so much to be grateful for.

Now realizing how much music helps me, I try to listen to more upbeat music when I am feeling sad or anxious because it can completely change your mood and vibrations. Honestly, before i used to listen to sad music which would make me sadder. I feel like we’ve all done it before because sometimes you just want to listen to how you feel, but i realized that for me i need to try to get out of the mood as soon as possible before it gets worse. Don’t get me wrong though, i still very much enjoy my “sad” music because alot of the time i can relate to what they’re saying and going through and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only person that feels a specific way. Music can make you realize that we as humans are so much alike.

Music has such a huge influence on people, it can simply be someone’s escape and that’s what it was for me. Unfortunately i don’t have a nice singing voice so i couldn’t really “do” music. But i will always enjoy it, sing other songs, dance to it, just be free when music is on. Thats what it’s about right? Being free and being able to express yourself in a healthy way.

How I Became a “Failed” Dancer

I’ve always said that if I had had the choice, I would have become a professional dancer. 

I grew up in a sports world – soccer and basketball mostly – and I hated all of it. It was a required activity from when I was young because my dad was a coach and held firm to this grandiose idea that all his kids would grow up to be professional athletes. My older sister really inspired this, as she showed great promise in her athletic ability from a young age. Plus, she was naturally tall. I, as the second child, showed little promise as an athlete, with no indication of being tall, coordinated, or athletic, but was still forced into the activity against my will. 

I hated running and sweating. I hated the competition. I hated trying to coordinate my awkward limbs. I hated all of it. My very first soccer game at the age of 7 or 8 encapsulates perfectly my relationship with sports. During the kick-off – the very first kick of the game – the other team launched the ball square into my face, it toppled me over crying, and I sat out the rest of the game, refusing to play anymore. 

My younger siblings were also naturally gifted as athletes and excelled in both basketball and soccer. In middle school, my older sister, younger sister, and I were all on an intramural team that my dad coached. The team was split into the gold squad and the blue squad, both my sisters being natural stars of the gold squad, and I being the skilled bench warmer of the blue squad. I was content in that role, though, because it meant little play time on the court and I could goof off with the other non-athletic girls relegated to the blue squad, pretending to be cheerleaders instead. 

Dance was never an option for me. Growing up in a conservative religious household, dance was seen as inappropriate in nearly all forms. Most types of music were also forbidden so it wasn’t until I started sneaking around listening to “bad” music in my teens did I realize how much my body enjoyed moving to certain rhythms. Movement felt natural and instinctual, and it allowed me to tap into a confidence about myself that never existed when I played sports. 

As soon as I graduated from high school I left home, got a job, and immediately enrolled myself in jazz dance classes. I loved most everything about it, with one exception: as a late bloomer, I had grown into a decent basketball playing height (ironically) and was taller than every single person there, most of whom had been dancing from a young age. My lack of experience and lanky stature made watching myself dance, in the ceiling to floor mirrors of the dance studio, difficult to bear. As natural as I was, my inability to embody dance technically was frustrating and I did not have the self confidence to persist and give myself the time and consistency needed to improve. So I quit and moved on, swallowing the disappointment that dance was not the pathway I had thought it could be. 

Since then and throughout my adult life, I have enjoyed many different forms of dance, but have had to work through bitter feelings of not being able to dance at the level I wished I could, had I been able to pursue learning from a young age. Really, I think the bitterness stems from being forced into the years of experience I have in a form of movement that I dreaded every moment of, instead of having the opportunity to explore areas of movement where my heart was just as engaged as my body was. 

A friend who knows this story about me likes to joke that I’m a “failed” dancer, a seemingly cruel joke about something so dear to my heart, but one that actually makes me smile and gives solace in framing my experience through; because it implies the potential of what was that failed to be, rather than the potential of something that was never even given a chance to begin with. 

How I wished I could have played soccer:

Image: A female ballet dancer dramatically dances atop the bent knee of a kneeling male ballet dancer next to two soccer players diving for a soccer ball in the middle of a soccer field.

The Many Facets of Dance

Dancing is both an art form and a sport. It is one of the few places where the mind body connection is joined and exhibited in a such a way that it can be seen as tangible. There is beauty in watching a piece, its emotions and story, be fully embraced in this more visual way. There is also beauty in being able to commit to the act of dancing, training the body in a way where one can escape the mind and rely solely on the body to perform as it has been practiced. The experience of dancing can be further nuanced depending on the circumstances in which the action is taking place. In the case of dancing competitively, there is the need to have the physical body look and move a particular way and if the situation calls for it a reliance on the team and the desire to feel like a full accepted member for which the utmost requirement, in my experience, has often been felt to be the amount of skill one possesses.  

As someone who has been training in dance since the 1^st grade, and allegedly dancing well before then, my experience with the art has been multifaceted. When my skill-level increased to the point of notice to others (around my last year of middle school) I was offered positions to teach a few classes weekly for my dance school. It was during this time that I finally felt the most included by my peers and their parents. Rather than commenting on the shortcomings of any rehearsal, parents would instead exchange niceties. I was able to exchange practice questions and answers with my peers as they began approaching me in a way they had not before. As the chubby, short girl, I was finally able to prove that I belonged in a space that revolved around bodies, despite mine not being of an “acceptable type”. Such dynamics can, in many cases including my own, a dual judgement first from the other players/teammates and their respective communities as well as judgement from the internal self about the internal self which can have long lasting impacts on self-esteem and the mental self.  

The point of team sports like this can and should be to have fun, create community and experience movement in a healthy way. However, in spaces where the emphasis is placed first most on the body and the specific ways in which it moves, it can be difficult for bodies that do not conform to social expectations to achieve the same community experience.

Little Has Changed

In the last few weeks of class, we talked about black bodies and trans bodies in sports and in general. Instantly my mind went to analyzing and drawing parallels from the past. I thought back to how black people were made to do entertainment and labor for the white masses with little regard for their own financial and physical well-being. I thought back to trans women who did the labor during Stone Wall and how they are still ostracized in the LGBT community.

Black and trans bodies will be seen as discardable despite all we do continuously for our communities and society as a whole. Our bodies are integral to keeping society running yet there are no thank-yous, kindness, or consideration when making a newer and supposedly “better” society. This echoes the history of America, using black bodies to progress in capitalism with no remorse for those that it hurts. Then when black people demand that we get our fair share we are met with violence and get called ridiculous. When will this stop? How long do black people have to get the short end of the stick and get robbed of our fair share?

Trans people are killed at alarming rates and nothing is happening. There is no justice even when we give so much of ourselves to the public. We put ourselves out there to normalize our existence through stories but still, we are called less than. This world does not allow trans joy. When trans people try to do things that would be called normal for any cis person we get called predators and freaks. It is not fair, plain and simple. Society as a whole hates that trans people are being normalized and the last bite of conservatism is fighting for dear life. I wish it would die quietly because I don’t know how much more I can take.

I don’t want to undermine the major improvements in life these communities were able to accomplish but I do wish things were going faster. All of this moving at a turtle’s pace is not enough for me. I want radical change in society, not centimeter towards centralism.

Higher The Competition= Less Fun :(

In its simplest form, soccer is a joyful and expressive game, especially for young players between the ages of 6 and 13. Carefree practices marked those early days, when the main objective was to enjoy yourself and the pure joy of playing with friends. The teams were chosen by us, and halftime snacks consisted as much of eating orange slices as taking a breather. When the game moved into the collegiate and professional levels, it changed dramatically. Soccer transformed from a hobby into a career, requiring a level of commitment that was unthinkable in the carefree days of childhood. Turning in phones the night before games and arriving hours before a game were part of the preparation rituals. retaining strict bedtimes. During training, the intensity increased dramatically, and friends turned into rivals as they competed for a desired starting spot. Managers upheld a no-nonsense personality by carrying severe expressions. Coaches had little patience and their window for players to make mistakes narrowed as players advanced to higher levels. The significance of roles and the seriousness of competition gradually stole the shine from the game, which had once been a source of pure joy. On the field, there was less freedom to express yourself and more pressure to live up to high standards. In this journey from youth soccer to profession, soccer underwent a change, leaving behind the joy of youth in exchange for the demands and pressures of the elite levels, ultimately transforming the beloved game into a serious business.

I remember in class we talked about how at some point when we love something I think someone mentioned dance and how they started to hate it because it became much more serious than dancing. So I thought of this because when I played, I just remember how serious the game became the higher the level. My coach would stop the entire session during a drill if you made a mistake. He would say things like “Immaturity you’re 20 years old making mistakes my youth team makes. USE YOUR BRAIN AND PLAY!” it would get to the point where you would doubt your own skills. But off the field he was calm and cool. I know it’s constructive criticism, but sometimes it would get so serious you ask yourself “how is this fun?” Overall I just think sometimes people never understand how sports become the older you get. Theres no longer any fun, it’s a business and competition.

Gender’s got nothing on me.

Alt text at bottom of page.

In high school, I heard the rumors. I knew that I was not the epitome of femininity. It was not the first time I had to evaluate what being a woman meant to me.

It started in 3rd grade, with the best friend of my best friend, who asked why I had a mustache. I didn’t think I had one, but suddenly it was all I could see. Only boys had mustaches—but I was a girl. When I went home, I begged my mom for help. We spread pink Nair on my face and I locked myself in the bathroom where no one could see me washing away my insecurity.

But that wasn’t enough (spoiler: it never is), so in 4th grade, my crush told me my new haircut made me look like a boy—but I was a girl. The “teasing” didn’t stop until my hair had grown past my chin again. I still flinch when I pull my hair too far back and see the more masculine features of my face.

In high school, I’d had enough of hiding behind long hair and getting chemical burns underneath my nose. I decided I would try to stop caring—or at least appear to stop caring. I shrugged off the barbed comments about my face from classmates, refusing to give a reaction, even if it made me think no one could ever love a face like mine. Even if it shook my femininity to the core, even if I began to think my own face was ugly, I refused to cave.

In college, I tried to leave it all behind me; I was grown now. I could shake it. But some people never grow up, and they would match with me on dating apps just to ask me if I knew I had a mustache. An ex of mine told me I should shave my eyebrows and my lip (I should have left him right then).

Then the pandemic hit, and I had more time on my hands than before. I had a coworker who identified as nonbinary, and I started to wonder what that would mean. I shrugged off “woman,” which had caused me problems for so long, and I tried on something different.

But gender is weird. I found myself somewhere in between the two, sometimes feeling like nothing but a person inhabiting a body, and at other times like I was more of a woman than I’d ever been (occasionally, I even reveled in my masculinity). But the more scrutiny I put my identity under, the more it seemed to move. Like my gender, my identity is fluid.
When I shook off the weight of performing femininity, my biggest insecurity became nearly null. If I don’t have to identify as a woman, then it’s not an insult for someone to point out the ways in which I don’t perform as a woman. Rather, it can signal to others that my identity is not what they assume it to be. Most importantly, it is a (much needed) reminder to myself that I decide what I want my body to look like—not others.

♥ ♥ ♥

ALT TEXT: An image excerpt from “Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation” page 177. In background: Grayed out images representing an insecure internal monologue. They are saying: “Have I always been this way? Which way? Have I always had a sense that I am neither man nor woman… well… no. I was quite certain that I was a girl, even as a teenager. Have I always straddled the line between masculinity and femininity in my presentation, likes, dislikes, mannerisms, activities? …I suppose so. Have I always…”

The internal monologue is cut off by the person in the forefront, saying, “Fuck this ALWAYS nonsense! How could I always be anything? I’ve been constantly changing and growing and adapting since I was born! Isn’t that what humans are meant to do? Every piece of information, every experience, has served to mold me into who I am at this moment just as what I am undergoing in this moment is shaping who I will be tomorrow. The only thing I have always been doing is growing. Who cares whether we have always been this way? Let us instead say: I have always been becoming what I am right now.”

I always feel like somebody’s watching me

To be a woman is to perform, I believe this all while hating the idea of it. I don’t want to perform, I don’t want to be watched– I don’t want to be judged.

Before I turned 16, I refused to dance. This is difficult as a Latina with a big female-dominated family where the women are bodacious and in sync with their bodies especially at family parties– AKA your chance to show out and show these muthafuckers the kind of moves you got. Dance for me was uncomfortable as a fat girl. I felt judged, keep in mind I never danced but I had felt so uncomfortable with my own body shape, size, color– whatever, that I just refused to move my body for the majority of my life.

I grew up around a lot of white kids. Kids with complete families and what I deemed “normal bodies with more physical potential” whereas I had been told my whole childhood that I was overweight by doctors and that made me retreat back into my own little shell. Moving my body was always calculated, suck in stomach here, tip toe there, and don’t let people see you’re out of breath bc they’ll just think ur fat (I still struggle with this). My elementary school PE curriculum required students to choreograph a dance as a group, keep in mind this was every year approaching the last day of school. Every year I knew it was coming and each year I almost couldn’t handle the panic and sheer mortification that that stupid gym curriculum put me through. I had most of the same friends throughout elementary school: A fellow fat girl who was heavier and taller than me, Shelby, she always saw my beauty and although we aren’t friends anymore I think about her beauty and grace always. Then there was a girl with some kind of physical disability, Ellie, who the other students treated very differently, but she was my friend so I absolutely didn’t give a fuck that she was “different” I think it’s what brought us close together. Although she moved to Cali and we didn’t keep in touch I think of her every time I drive past her childhood home. It was us three against the other groups the class had formed based on who was friends with who. We were the odd ones out, the outcasts and I think everyone could feel it radiating off of us. Shelby was extroverted and took the role of group leader, together we choreographed probably the shittiest dance ever to the song Royals by Lorde. The best dance won and the original plan was for each group to perform in front of the whole class (MORTIFYING TO EVEN THINK ABOUT) but I think the PE teacher felt bad for us so he let us simply perform in front of him in a corner of the gymnasium (while the rest of the class could still watch from about 50 feet away LMFAOOO.) These dances were graded which I think was really unfair and I think this is where my “hatred” for dance began. The feeling of being watched and judged when you’re forced to move your body for the “health benefits”. I hated PE class, the world truly hates fat kids.

Anyway, I never danced at family parties, not even by myself in my room. It felt weird and unnatural “not meant for me.” My mom and sisters are amazing dancers, I was always the only one seated at parties just watching everyone else have a great time. There is nothing scarier than watching the people on the dance floor start pulling the people who are seated onto the dance floor. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tugged and so awkwardly, painstakingly freed myself from the grasp of someone trying to force me to dance. When avoiding eye contact or pretending to be distracted on my phone didn’t work I would simply run off into the bathroom until the picking was over. Moving my body unwillingly had planted an anxiety seed in my heart from a very early age. Not being a dancer for the majority of my life set me apart from my family. It felt like I didn’t know how to have fun and it’s a very lonely feeling to believe that you may be boring.

I can’t remember when exactly I started dancing, but it started in the room I used to share with my sister, she must’ve been 16 or 17 which meant I was helping her sneak out every other night, so I had the room to myself. That means I was 14 or 15. Around this time I was getting into more spanish music, merengue, cumbia, norteñas, bachate, etc.. These genres of music are the kinds we play at parties these are the ones that every latino “should” know how to dance. At least this is how it feels growing up a first gen American. Gotta stay hispanic enough to not be one of those white washed hispanics (no shade). I would get high off my sisters empty weed cartridges and just dance in our room until she texted me to let her back in the house. Dancing alone was the first step I took into getting in touch with my body. Don’t take it as a recommendation, but weed really helped crack me right open. I would practice for hours I would literally break sweats, if only my elementary school gym teacher Mr. B could see my fat dancing body now. It took a few parties to get comfortable enough to dance in front of other dancing people, I thank my older sister for being willing to embarrass herself next to my horrible inability to move my body fluidly or on beat for longer than 4 seconds.

I feel that my body is still thawing from all the years I spent so locked in fear of judgement and I still have a long way to go, but I try to be okay with being uncomfortable for a few songs because dancing, as I’ve found, is electric and so fun. Especially now that I have a boyfriend who loves to dance. He dances to make me laugh, he dances to have fun, and he’s ok if I lose the beat every couple of steps. He helped me realize that nobody else is really watching and if they are to not give a fuck because we’re not doing anything wrong. Dancing is better when you have a partner, romantic or not it’s fun to move together with someone and be in sync. I know that now and look forward to the moments I get to dance with people I love. I like being silly, I like moving my body and everyday I get closer to feeling secure in my fatness and how that affects the relationship I have with movement.