Guys! Get out there on the dance floor! And dance!

I have recently had the opportunity to supervise several dances at both the high school and middle school levels. And at both levels I have seen pretty much the same thing: while most of the girls are out there dancing and having a great time, most of the boys are standing around with their hands in their pockets looking not quite sure what to do with themselves. Acting goofy. Acting superior. Acting cool. Or “assisting” with the event in such numbers that it makes the massive over-employment that characterized the old Soviet state-run factory system look positively lean by comparison.

(It should be noted that the schools I have been in have student populations that are mostly white. And while I certainly do not want to reinforce ethnic stereotypes, it is nonetheless true that some of the young men of color in those schools are far more eager than their white peers to get out there on the dance floor and have some fun. By and large, it is just the white boys who are holding themselves back. This observation fits with the research that shows that masculinity is often enacted very differently within various cultures.)

But as I stood there observing this phenomenon of the white boys’ nonparticipation, it occurred to me that they are missing out on some great experiences. They are denying themselves the opportunity to have fun, and they are failing to make memories. When they look back, there will simply be very little to look back at.

So, in the interests of helping all of our young men to experience the stuff of which memories are made, let me put forth the following notions:

“Cool” is boring. It just is. Standing there on the sidelines looking like you’ve got everything under control is not going to make you any good memories. It is just an empty pose. It makes you a witness to life’s events – rather than a participant in them.

“Did you go to the dance?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you dance?”

“No. But I watched other people dance.”

The masculine emphasis on being “cool” stops so many of us white guys from dancing. It stops us from expressing ourselves physically. It stops us from embracing and experiencing the passion that is buried within us. It makes us numb.

Idiocy is boring. Another acceptably-masculine route for negotiating the threat presented by the dance floor is to act like a fool. Jump around, run around, act silly. I well remember when I was in middle school and some of the high silliness that some of the boys would get up to. My classmate “J.B.” would pass the time entertaining other boys through the rather disgusting practice of turning his own eyelids inside out. It was not a pretty picture.

A lot of the other boys performed acts of idiocy as well. Sometimes these antics made the girls laugh… but it always seemed to me like the girls had actually come to the dance to… well…. to dance!

Being the “third soda pop assistant” is boring. A third way to negotiate one’s existence at the dance is to join the helping crew. It is another role that keeps you off the dance floor – ostensibly for a legitimate reason. But a role that has no real function is ultimately unsatisfying.

“How was the dance, dear?”

“It was great. I got to take ice cubes from one guy and then hand them to the guy next to me who handed them to the guy next to him who put them into cups.”

Zzzzzzzzz…..

But it seems that many young men are rather desperate for anything that keeps them off the dance floor. And being the “third soda pop assistant” fulfills that role.

What about the guys who are dancing? Certainly there are some guys who are out there on the floor. And some them actually are dancing. And dancing very well. I admire those kids for still allowing themselves to have fun.

But most of the other guys on the dance floor are still just standing around. Talking. Texting. Or “grinding.” Which brings us to….

Grinding is boring. For those who are uninitiated, “grinding” is a nondance that involves a young male standing behind a young female, placing his hands on her hips, pulling her close, pressing his crotch up against her rear end, and guiding her hips from behind as the couple rock back and forth and back and forth and back and forth to an endless thumping beat. It is an image of simulated sex that one simply does not want to see. And having to witness it should make dance chaperones eligible for hazard pay!

(To their credit, the schools in my region have worked hard to crack down on this inappropriate and purely sexualized form of movement – this “dance” that turns the dance floor from a place of fun and flirtation to a den of overt, sleazy sexuality featuring an act that should only occur in private – an act for which most teenagers are doubtless not ready.)

But if one does find one’s self in the unfortunate position of having to witness this endless bump and grind, once one recovers from the revulsion, one then risks being traumatized by the sheer mindlessness of it all. “Grinding” is simply not dancing. It is the rubbing of one body against another. And it presents the viewer with a unique experience of witnessing something that manages to be simultaneously both explicit and tedious.

Slow dancing is boring. There is another way that a lot of the guys will dance as well. When the slow songs come on, many a boy will take a girl into his arms and hold her close. (Unfortunately, within our high schools and middle schools “compulsory heterosexuality” remains the social norm. Same-sex couples would probably not get away with holding one-another close at a dance.)

But now that I think about it, and if memory serves me correctly, slow dancing for me actually wasn’t boring at all! As a heterosexual teenager I had the social permission to do it – and I actually thought it was pretty great!

But the question remains: why are so many guys who are brave enough to dance slow so afraid to also dance fast?

The threat of the dance. I would argue that this is because so many of us are held hostage to the message we get from the dominant model of white heterosexual masculinity that says that we men are not supposed to be physically adept when it comes to dancing. We white, straight guys are not supposed to enjoy grooving to the beat. We are not supposed to get a thrill from dancing enthusiastically, from gyrating our hips, or from shaking our butts while sporting a smile on our face because we are so taken in the moment, swept away by the music.

Being a good dancer means taking risks. It means expressing physical vulnerability. It means being present in your body and finding your soul. It means being emotional. It means letting go of control and giving yourself over to the experience. And all of this flies in the face of what white, straight masculinity is supposed to look like: always being in control, being stoic, being “cool,” never risking that you might look the fool.

We straight white guys take ourselves so damn seriously that we often deny ourselves the basic pleasures in life. Like enjoying the beauty and the aroma of flowers. Like connecting emotionally with a buddy over a great cup of coffee. Like crying in the arms of a good friend when life is not going so well. Like dancing ecstatically.

Our lives are greatly impoverished due to our attempts to adhere to this model of rigid masculinity. And that is a shame. It is a loss for us, and it is a loss for those with whom we share our lives.

My wish for young men: So many of our young men, in their desperate desire to appear masculine enough, are continually reducing their behavioral choices. Most are opting out of much of the richness that life has to offer – just as so many of us adult men did while we were growing up. And hence, as adults, too many of us have a terribly limited behavioral and emotional repertoire. If I could think of one message I would like to say to men everywhere, young and old, it would be this: Life is for living. It is about the experience, and not the pose.

And I would like to borrow a line from a well-known country song by Lee Ann Womack. Although I doubt this song was written with adolescent males in mind, I would like to dedicate it to them even so:

“When you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance.”