Men and women are different. That is a very important fact to remember when dancing tango. If a woman could see into a man’s past, she would probably see a person brought up in what she would deem harsh conditions. Men can be like dogs at play: biting, punching, kicking, hitting each other in light-hearted simulation of battle. Some men use the most demeaning insults as displays of extreme affection.
Women are not like that…AT ALL! That is all I know about women.
I can, however, tell you what I have learned about dancing tango with women and hope you will find it helpful or entertaining.
Women are kind of like horses, and yet, they are not horses, they are people, just like us guys, but not like us guys. One of the first, and hardest, things I had to learn about dancing was to keep my mouth shut. I’ve got a big mouth and I’m loud. I am 100% certain I get that from my father. People are always telling me to shut up or to speak quieter. Horses don’t like loud people, neither do women.
I am not unlike other men, some have yet to learn about the gift of silence and others learned it long ago. The problem with guys speaking is the words we say, the volume of our voice and our intonation. Horses don’t care what we say but they do pay attention to the tone of our voice and the decibel level. Women pay attention to all three.
I notice that the opposite sex responds positively when I am well-spoken, jovial and calm. That rarely happens, so it is easier just to be quiet. One lesson learned, now to tango.
I have to assume a woman looking to engage in a dance of tango, is coming from a world full of men talking loudly, insultingly, angrily, harshly and/or stupidly. After five years of tango training, I realize my partner does not want to dance with any of those guys. In fact, I think she wants a man who is the opposite of those guys, a man who is calm, certain, reassuring, smooth and intelligent. To her, I believe, this is of the utmost importance and I think she is here to escape from the former male character and is hoping to find the latter traits in her dance partner. She is so desperate for this, she will fool herself into believing it is true as long her companion is silent.
This is my mindset when I’m preparing to take a lady into my arms and begin to dance. I know she is not a horse, that she is a person, and, for the next few songs, my partner. She is deserving of the utmost in respect so I make sure my clothes are clean, my breath is fresh and I am not covered with any foul-smelling fragrances that might remind her of a man she found displeasing. I assume she is here to partake in an exercise of social grace, and, if I endeavor to perform my role to the best of my ability, then she will try to do the same.
Even though we are so different, I constantly remind myself that we both are human and prone to imperfection. When this happens, I try to move with the mishap and absorb it into our dance with the fewest ripples possible. I realize that what we are doing is an attempt to build a fragile and fleeting physical interpretation of tango music. The beauty of what we are doing is not in the perfect execution of the movements, it is in our attempt to do it together, in spite our differences.
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