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DANCING CARICATURES: RACE, AND GENDER IN BALLROOM DANCING
KAREN ANGUS
A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
MASTER OF ARTS
GRADUATE PROGRAM IN SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY YORK UNIVERSITY TORONTO, ONTARIO
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1+1 Canada Dancing Caricatures: Race, and Gender in Ballroom Dancing
By Karen J. Angus a thesis submitted to the Faculty of Graduate Studies of York University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
©2010
Permission has been granted to: a) YORK UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES to lend or sell copies of this thesis in paper, microform or electronic formats, and b) LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA to reproduce, lend, distribute, or sell copies ofthis thesis anywhere in the world in microform, paper or electronic formats and to authorize or procure the reproduction, loan, distribution or sale of copies of this thesis anywhere in the world in microform, paper or electronic formats.
The author reserves other publication rights, and neither the thesis nor extensive extracts from it may be printed or otherwise reproduced without the author's written permission. Abstract:
In ballroom dancing, rigid ideas about gender and racial differences are embedded into the narratives and movements of each dance. As such, ballroom manifests and reinforces social inequalities. Through participating at weekly social dances and dance classes in the Greater Toronto Area as well as interviewing several dancers, this thesis explores how and why the gender and racial politics of ballroom are maintained and cherished while simultaneously being critiqued by dancers. Exploring issues of agency, politics and pleasure, this thesis argues that these contradictions hold because the strict rules of the dance facilitate physical expression. Moreover, it is through limiting the possibilities of interpretation with regard to both the gendered lead/follow roles and the performance of racial stereotypes that enables dancers to feel exciting sensations, spark their imaginations and experience new ways of moving.
iv Acknowledgments
The researching and writing of this thesis could not have occurred without the generous help I received from disparate places. I'd first like to thank my Supervisor, Natasha Myers for providing invaluable comments, resources and insight, and for helping me work through my ideas in our many meetings. I would like to thank David Murray for his comments, and suggestions. They were invaluable in helping me focus my work and integrate my often discordant ideas. I would like to thank Kenneth Little for providing a space for me to explore my ideas in a more experimental fashion, some of which was integrated into later drafts. I owe a great debt of gratitude to all the dancers in the Toronto area that I have encountered over the last few years, but most of all to Cathy Gullo and the instructor I've renamed "Christopher" throughout this text for permitting me to conduct fieldwork at the social dance and group lessons respectively. I couldn't have written this without all of the participants I interviewed, who not only provided me with some amazing insight into ballroom dancing, but also valuable feedback on early drafts of this thesis. Lastly, I'd like to thank Jason Timermanis for proofreading this draft in record time.
? Table of Contents
Abstract iv Acknowledgments ? Introduction 1 Dancing into the Field 1 Division and Inseparability. 8 Chapter One: Categories of Race: Bodies, Movement and Authority 15 Ballroom Classifications 20 ABrief History of Ballroom 23 Classifications and their Narratives 27 Movement, Bodies and Proximity. 37 Inventing Techniques of the Body 41 Dying to be Latin 44 Chapter Two: The Gendered Experience of Dance 49 Introduction: Gendered Roles and Embodied Knowledge 49 The Power of Gender Roles 55 Dancers' Understandings of Gender Roles 62 Backleading 68 Crossing the Floor. 71 Same Sex Dancing 76 Conclusion 81
Chapter Three: Enjoyment on the Ballroom Dance Floor. 84 Part 1: Cultivating an Atmosphere for Expression 89 Learning to Express Yourself 90 Structure and Control 93 Taking Pleasure in Norms of Decorum 94 Trust 98 Part 2: Seeking Pleasure 102 Addiction 102 Gender and the Possibilities of Sensation 104 Continental Imaginaries 107 Playing a Character 110 Joy, Critique and Contradiction 113
Conclusion 116
vi Introduction
In recent years there has been a renewed interest in ballroom dancing, with such popular television programs as Dancing with the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, America's Ballroom Challenge, and the popular British show Baby Ballroom captivating audiences throughout North America and Europe. More dance studios are opening up throughout North America, and enrollment is increasing among most age groups. My entrance to the world of ballroom dance did not result from this increased media attention, but from the persistent efforts of my mother, herself a ballroom dancer, to share her favorite pastime with me. My reactions to the ballroom world were ambivalent. On the one hand, I was infuriated by the imperative that I learn a particular role simply because of my sex. On the other hand, I love dancing, and have always been driven to learn as many forms of dance as possible. My initial reactions to ballroom dancing reflect my experience as a white, lower class, feminist woman in my late twenties. As a woman, the gender dynamic was immediately apparent. My recognition of racial issues followed a few weeks later. This delay in recognizing the racial aspects of ballroom likely resulted from my privileged position as a white woman in a predominantly white art form. Recognizing the rigid gender roles and oppositional depictions of Europeans and Latin Americans made me question the reasons for this increase in popularity, as well as why they were not subjected to critique by anyone in the community. I was most intrigued by the seeming lack of feminist criticism among the women at the studio and so I decided to continue taking classes in the hope that I would come to understand why 1 such archaic gender roles were maintained. Less than a week after my first dance class, I received a phone call asking if I wanted to work the door charging admission at a weekly ballroom dance on the outskirts of Toronto. The woman who organized the dance had been calling around the community to see if anyone would be interested in the position, and my instructor passed on her number to me with strong recommendations that I take the job in order to speed up my learning process. I accepted and began working there, making connections that would later be crucial to this study, asking questions, and continuing to observe this strange new world that I had entered. While I had been dancing for about two years before I formally undertook this study, I do not consider this to be "insider ethnography," both because of the relatively short duration of my involvement in the community, and because in the ballroom world, I decidedly do not fit in. I am much younger than the majority of ballroom dancers who are regulars at this site, most of whom are in their mid 40s to late 60s. I am not financially secure, am a student (a fact that seems to make some people underestimate my age considerably), and while I am easily identifiable as a woman I am not particularly good at performing my gender. As such, people react with surprise when they find out I dance, indicating that the community largely does not consider me an insider either. In the past few decades there has been an increase in scholarly work on the subject of dance. With regards to partner dancing, much attention has been given to the way particular dances are used in the production and reinforcement of national identity (Daniel 1995, Taylor 1987); the movement of dance styles across class and race 2 boundaries (Desmond 1997); the ways in which dance acts as a site where whiteness and 'otherness' are embodied in performance (Bosse 2007); transformations the tango underwent when popularized in Japan (Karatsu 2003); and how codification acts as a civilizing process as dances become international (Savigliano 1995). These contributions take a critical look at the way dances embody racial and ethnic differences, and are thus useful for inquiring into the ways in which structured movements contain normative ideals of racial difference. Despite these important contributions, scholarship centered on partner dancing has overwhelmingly explored the construction of ethnicity and national identity rather than the ways in which race and gender intersect with pleasure. Previous scholarship has not explicitly addressed the processes that produce and maintain gendered ideas of dominance and subordination through opposing raced and gendered characters that are performed through dance. It is important to note that race and gender shape the possible sensory experiences available to dancers, a subject that has been neglected in much scholarship on dance. As such, this thesis seeks to build on the work of these scholars by exploring how dancers find pleasure in ballroom dancing. My aim is to shed light on the motivations of dancers and enrich an understanding of how stereotypical depictions of sex and race play into their desires and enjoyment of dance. In examining these dynamics I hope to provide valuable insight into the agency of women in the role of follower, sensual pleasures, and imaginative desires as they intersect with these axes of difference.
3 Dancing into the Field Ballroom dancing is a heavily structured dance form whose rules encode sex/gender and race politics that seem counter to general trends within society. In a time when affirmative action policies and the Employment Equity Act are embedding the desire for equality within the very structure of our society, it is troubling to witness a rise in popularity of an art form whose politics run counter to these aims. While there are many within the community who unabashedly hold bigoted opinions and the occasional woman who claims disdain for feminism, these individuals are not reflective of the community as a whole. It is this question that has driven my inquiry into the ballroom community: what drives people who otherwise argue for equality and against sexual and racial structures of privilege to engage and invest in a pastime that appears counter to these aims?
Attempting to answer this question, I immersed myself in the community, continuing to work at the ballroom social and joining in the dancing once my duties were completed. Located at the northern limits of the city, the weekly social dances were frequented by dancers from Toronto and neighboring cities, with some devout regulars driving over an hour to attend the dance. Regulars at the social dance are primarily in their mid forties to late sixties, middle-class and heterosexual. The dance attracts both singles and couples, and there are always more women than men, often by a large margin. As a result, I often found it hard to find a partner, and would be lucky to get more than two dances on any night.
4 My work offered me an interesting position from which to observe the ballroom social. My view of the dance was broken up into two blocks of time, the one where I was seated at a table in the lobby next to the entrance with a full view of half the tables and the floor, and the one when I had finished my shift and entered the hall. While my inability to enter the hall for several hours may seem like a hindrance, it was in many ways a blessing. Not only did I have a view of all the people who stopped by to check out the hall but did not enter, but my table was often a bit of a social hub as well. Men and women chatted with me on their way to the washrooms or while snacking on the candies provided at my table. In many ways I was a sitting duck for the commentary and opinions of dancers who had trouble finding partners or needed to take a break from dancing. While I did not always find the content of these comments palatable, they did broaden my understanding ofthe community and the politics involved in partner dancing. In addition to the social dance, I took two lessons per week at a studio in the west end of the city that attracts dancers from both Toronto and neighboring suburban areas. I began watching instructional ballroom videos and the popular dance programs on television that my classmates were discussing each week, taking notes on performances and transcribing the judges' evaluations of them. For this particular endeavor, the show Dancing with the Stars proved quite fruitful. This show pairs professional dancers with celebrities and each performance is evaluated by a trio ofjudges, only one of whom has an extensive background in ballroom dancing. This aided in gleaning an understanding of how ballroom is being marketed to the general public. As I watched this show, I focused on the discourses that frame each dance, and how different styles of movement 5 were evaluated by the professional ballroom judge Len Goodman,1 as well as the two judges with an expertise in more popular forms of dance, Carrie Ann Inaba2 and Bruno Tonioli.3 According to the biography provided by the Dancing with the Stars website, Len Goodman is a regular judge at both World and British Championships. His judging of competitors is thus particularly useful for my attempts to understand how performances of gender and race are celebrated or critiqued at these prestigious venues. Additionally, I read every book on ballroom that I could locate, including older texts written by the dancers who popularized Latin ballroom dances in Britain. These include such texts as Doris Lavelle's 1975 edition ??Latin and American Dances. During the 1930s and 1940s Lavelle was the dance partner of "Monsieur Pierre," the dance teacher who popularized many of Latin dances in the mid 1920s4 and who together founded the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing (ISTD). The authoritative guides to ballroom dances published by the ISTD were graciously lent to me by my instructor and proved invaluable in tracking the authoritative language used to discuss ballroom roles and categories. While most of these texts are written for instructional purposes, they are also widely consulted by dancers, and some instructors will refer students to them in their lessons. As such, I approached them as archives of language use and ideology, tracking how ballroom categories and gendered roles were being produced
1 http://abc.go.com/shows/dancing-with-the-stars/bio/len-goodman/ 2 Carrie Ann's dance and choreography experience has centred around popular television shows such as In Living Color, American Idol, Dance Fever and the Austin Powers films. (http://abc.go.com/shows/dancing-with-the-stars/bio/carrie-ann-inaba/23294) 3 Bruno's repertoire includes choreography on countless plays, films, concerts, commercials and music videos, (http://abc.go.com/shows/dancing-with-the-stars/bio/bruno-tonioli/23295) 4 http://www.istd.org/latin/facultynews/october2004/profileondorislavelle.html through these pedagogical tools, and reinforced through their repeated consultation by dancers. In order to understand the motivations and experiences of dancers I conducted five semi-structured interviews with committed members of the ballroom community. I interviewed three men and two women whom I either knew through my dance class or were regulars at the ballroom social I worked at. Many of them had experience (previous or current) at competitions and three of them had taught ballroom classes. They were thus avid dancers, all of whom had been dancing for more than a decade. As inquiring into their ages would be impolite, I am left estimating their age range to be from mid- forties to late fifties, making them representative of the community. In the hope of reducing any bias toward females that my position seemed to create, I interviewed more men than women. Despite this, I found that women were more likely to open up to me. As well, two of the men I interviewed appeared quite cautious while discussing gender politics, whereas the women seemed to assume camaraderie with me on that particular topic. The unfortunate result of this has been a greater attention paid to the sexual politics from women's points of view, which makes my analysis in chapter two somewhat uneven. While my formal fieldwork was of an unfortunately short duration (five months), my involvement in the community for two years previous has added depth to my observations and analysis.
7 Division and Inseparability There are two styles of ballroom, International and American, both of which are separated into two categories of dance. Whereas in International Ballroom the dances are categorized as Standard and Latin, in American Ballroom the same dances are referred to as either Rhythm or Smooth. I will be focusing on International-style ballroom, as it is both the primary style danced at my fieldsites, and is also the one used in international competitions (where since the 1990s it has been called "dancesport" in hopes of being included as an Olympic event). Separating ballroom dancing as it is danced in classes and at socials from dancesport has proven impossible. Most dancers with more than a decade of dance experience have been in competitions, several professional shows are held each year at the ballroom social, and nearly all dancers watch competitions live or televised, often for choreographic inspiration. Dancesport heavily informs the aesthetic and movement trends at ballroom socials, and often the choreography taught in group lessons. Ballroom dancing is not a static art form, and the types of movements, regulations and criteria for evaluation tend to change gradually over time. These mutations are regulated through the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing (ISTD) who publish the authoritative texts on ballroom for teaching. Additionally, it is regulated through the judging of competitions, where rules are upheld differentially, and new innovations are either penalized or rewarded through the marks they receive. Overall, the trend in ballroom has been toward increasing athleticism, more revealing and glittery costumes (for both categories), and exaggerated differences between the Standard and Latin categories (including an often remarked upon outlandish portrayal of sexuality in Latin dances) and between the roles of men and women. While the occasional school has a more relaxed attitude toward gender norms, it is mostly the "American style" ballroom, and swing dances, that are loosening the rules. Same sex dancing remains exceptionally rare at all of the social dances in the area, and never have I encountered a woman who only leads or a man who only follows. Virtually all International style studios continue to assert traditional roles in partner dancing where the man leads and the woman follows. Separating my work into themed chapters was a difficult task, and one that continues to make me feel apprehensive. The three main foci of my chapters - race, gender, and the enjoyment of ballroom - are difficult to uncouple as they each affect the experiences of dancers in a multitude of intersecting ways. Class, age and sexuality, while consistently evident within these pages, truly deserve equal attention. However, as sex/gender and race are the most commented upon distinctions by my participants (and are in fact encoded in the authoritative texts to ballroom dancing), they remain the main foci of my analysis. Similarly, pleasure and sensation, which are always differently structured and experienced based on these axes of difference, are important in that they help to explain much of why ballroom remains an attractive pastime to so many people. Integrating theories of race, gender and pleasure has proven challenging. First, race and gender are too often considered separately, a separation that I may be reinforcing through the organization of these chapters, but that I hope will be rectified through the use of similar theoretical positions that aid in showing where race and gender are entangled. Theories of race and gender tend to focus on representation, a concept that 9 is crucial in understanding these categories of difference in ballroom, but provides little insight into the pleasures, sensations and desires that are formed and limited by these differences. Moreover, attending solely to representation ignores the multiple ways in which systems of meaning are produced and reinterpreted through the movements of sensing bodies.5 As such, Pierre Bourdieu's (1977, 1984, 1990) practice theory has been invaluable throughout this thesis. In his formulation, the body "does not represent what it performs, it does not memorize the past, it enacts the past, bringing it back to life" (1990: 73 italics in original). Focusing on enactment rather than representation provides a means through which dancers give life to the categories that structure dance. Bourdieu's analysis of belief and the embodiment of social categories provides a critical look at how comportment, movement, bodily habits and even habits of sensing all come to accord with and reinforce the social categories within which we are placed (including but not limited to race and gender), and through which we experience the world. This accords with Judith Butler's (1993) extension of Foucault's analysis ofthe materialization of discourse through repetition and citation. This thesis incorporates two complimentary theorizations of "habitus" provided by Saba Mahmood (2001) and Pierre Bourdieu. Habitus can broadly be defined as "an acquired faculty in which the body, mind, and emotions are simultaneously trained to achieve competence at something" (Mahmood 2001 : 215). In Bourdieu's formulation it is a primarily unconscious acquisition wherein people embody the lessons learned from
5 Massumi (2002) argues that movement and the matter of bodies are lacking from most theories of representation (3, 4). Similarity, Karen Barad (2003) argues that these theories tend to reduce everything (including matter) to language. She argues a focus on performativity resolves this problem by focusing on actions rather than depictions (801-802). 10 their inculcation into a particular set of social classes. This produces "durable dispositions" (1977: 72) that propagate themselves into the future. Mahmood's use of the term stems from the Aristotelian tradition which views it as an intentional cultivation that is primarily moral in character. Both of these definitions are necessary in order to understand the motivations and desires that attract people to ballroom dancing, the dispositions that they bring with them as they begin their training, and the intentional efforts to overcome some of these acquired ways of inhabiting and moving their bodies. As these dancers are actively working on their bodies, minds and the dance spaces they inhabit, an attention to the agency of women and men in their different dance roles is paramount. Mahmood (2001) theorizes agency and docility through Butler's definitions of these terms (both of which come from Foucault). She extends Butler's insights on agency by focusing more on the ability of subjects to act within particular historical and cultural contexts rather than on resistance to domination as the primary instance of agency (Mahmood 2001 : 210). As such, she provides a framework that I can use to discuss dancers' motivations to seek and reinforce structures of inequality that they would in any other context consider undesirable. The experiences of race and gender in the ballroom community require an exploration into the power afforded by race and gender privilege. While theories of race and gender are more often than not considered separately by theorists who tend to specialize in one or the other, similar mechanisms produce the capacity of whites to categorize and represent Latin Americans and men to maintain the continuity of rigid 11 gender roles, as well as enforce the forms of masculinity and femininity danced in ballroom. While I use different theorists in these parallel discussions, including masculinity theorists such as Michael Kimmel (1994, 2003) and Scott Coltrane (1994) and theorists of race and ethnicity Richard Dyer (1997) and Mary Waters (1990) among others, they all provide similar insights into the unequal power of women and non-whites to represent themselves. Understanding how the binaries of race and gender initially arose within ballroom required that I delve into historical sources. These include secondary sources such as the analyses of partner dancing provided by scholars Marta Savigliano (1995), Joanna Bosse (2007) and Juliet McMains (2001, 2006), and primary sources written by or disseminated by the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing during the first half of the twentieth century. Dance is an art form through which cultural ideologies about difference are reproduced. Chapter one, "Categories of Race: Bodies, Movement and Authority," investigates the racial dimensions of ballroom dancing through the categorization of dances into Standard and Latin. This chapter highlights the geographical inconsistencies of these dance categories and the narratives that sustain the divide. I explore the power of ballroom authorities to reinforce racial narratives by differentially awarding performances based on the congruity of aesthetics, movements and bodily comportment. Finally, I analyze how these performances of separate races intersect with the construction of different masculinities and femininities for Latin Americans and
Europeans, producing an exotic representation of Latin Americans that reinforces the normativity and desirability of whiteness. 12 Chapter two, "The Gendered Experience of Dance," explores how certain forms of gender are produced in ballroom dancing. As this form of dancing requires interactions between men and women in bodily conversation, this is a particularly apt site for exploring the ways in which normative ideas about gender are reinforced and resisted. I investigate the allocation of the lead and follow roles according to gender and how they are legitimated through sexual essentialisms. This chapter largely provides analogous arguments with the previous one, exploring the power white men have over representation, and how this is reinforced by movement styles that are differentially awarded by judges and instructors. Greater attention is paid to the lived experience of bodily interactions between men and women in dance, and how they understand sexual politics. This analysis fleshes out how power flows across and through these dancing bodies. Understanding why people conform to the very ideologies and categories that they complain about requires an attention to the enjoyment of ballroom dancing. This will be explored in chapter three, "Pleasure on the Ballroom Dance Floor." This chapter explores how a highly structured dance proved liberatory for both women and men learning to express themselves physically. I argue that formal rules of interaction and personal conduct are sought and maintained in an effort to provide an atmosphere in which dancers feel comfortable expressing themselves physically. Additionally, I explore how dancers delight in physical challenge and bodily sensations as a means of understanding the oft-proclaimed experience of being "addicted" to dance. Both the gendered and racial aspects of ballroom are crucial to this chapter as they intersect with 13 the possibilities of sensation and the fantasies of romance and passion that are enacted through each dance. As such, these chapters intersect substantially, highlighting the difficulties of demarcating the experience of ballroom dancing into discrete chapters and reinforcing my contention that each of these elements are inseparable.
14 Chapter One:
Categories of Race: Bodies, Movement and Authority
Introduction
Ballroom dancing is a primarily white pastime and industry within North America. At the sites where I conducted my fieldwork, the majority of dancers are whites of European descent. There are very few black ballroom dancers, usually only one or two per night at the social dance event. In recent years, the number of East Asians has been rising, but this fails to change the perception of ballroom dancing as a primarily white and European pastime. Racism is quite evident in the ballroom world, and many white dancers complain in hushed tones about the increase in people of East Asian descent, and non-whites are usually described to me almost solely by their race. Despite these widespread practices, most dancers do not consider themselves racist, and many of them have confessed their discomfort with the racist comments of other dancers. As such, a particular form of racial marking is a widespread practice in the ballroom sphere wherein non-whites are always identified by their race, and whiteness remains "unremarkable." Indeed, whiteness retains an invisibility that reinforces the prevalent idea that white is universal compared to the particularity of non-white peoples. This practice is not just enacted by average members of the community, but is embedded within the categorizations of the dances themselves. The association of ballroom with Europeans has a long history and influences how ballroom dancing posits fundamental differences between Europeans and Latin Americans through the narratives and 15 movements associated with different ballroom categorizations. This chapter explores the practices of cultivating difference through language, aesthetics and movement, showing how the inconsistent classification of dances into racial categories reinforces the sense of a fundamental difference between Europe and Latin America that strengthens white privilege. While ballroom dancing has remained underexamined by social scientists, there are some notable scholars (all of whom are dancers themselves) whose insights are invaluable to my inquiry into the racial aspects of International ballroom dancing. Such scholars include political theorist and anthropologist Marta Savigliano, whose 1995 work on the Argentine Tango and the trade in affective practices informs my understanding of the history of the Tango and Waltz as well as how their introduction into the European market changed these dances. Dance scholar Juliet McMains (2001, 2006) provides an insightful analysis of the construction of Latin identity in ballroom dancing and how it is produced through dancesport competitions. Ethnomusicologist Joanna Bosse (2007) provides a cogent analysis of the construction of whiteness through both Standard and Latin dancing, focusing on the expression of racial identities and the tendency of her informants to view Latin dancing as a form of hip cosmopolitanism. What remains underexamined within each of these analyses are the categories themselves, as well as how Latin genres are Europeanized and naturalized as "Latin" through the authoritative ballroom texts and the dancers who use them. As well, any attention to the intersections of sex, race and age in particular, has been minimal throughout the literature on ballroom. This chapter will attempt to mend these omissions, fleshing out how categories are 16 maintained as well as how they are interpreted and practiced within the ballroom community. In order to attend to these issues, I turn to cultural critic Richard Dyer. Dyer argues in his 1997 book White that the "white" race is constructed as the unmarked universal through privileges secured through their history, a privilege that (unlike other groups) also establishes the ability of whites to represent themselves. Moreover, he argues that whiteness as it is constructed involves projecting sexuality onto non-white bodies to dislocate whites from their sexual desires. This analysis is crucial to my understanding of the way Latin Americans are constructed in ballroom dancing through the historically secured ability of European ballroom societies to represent and differentially award performances based on conformity to these representations. As I show in this chapter, Bourdieu (1984, 1990) is essential to these discussions as he shows how aesthetics, preferences and values become embodied differentially according to social classifications. Ballroom dances are classified as either Standard or Latin, and each category is defined according to opposing intersections of race, gender and age. These classifications and the narratives that accompany them become naturalized in practice by dancers and become taken-for-granted ballroom knowledge. Mauss (1973) discusses how bodily techniques such as comportment, movements, habits of sitting, standing, and walking all vary by gender, age, class and race. While Bourdieu provided a similar analysis (built upon Mauss' work), I find Mauss' term "techniques of the body" useful in describing the ways Latin and Standard are segregated through movement, and how the movements and postures within the Latin category were 17 Europeanized under the authority of European ballroom societies. In this regard, Judith Butler's (1993) work is useful in understanding the materialization of discourse, both with regards to how ballroom is understood by observers, and how the bodies of dancers come to conform to the discourses surrounding dances. Her work elucidates how signifiers simultaneously affect observers as their observations conform to the discourses that materialize bodies and movements in dance, whether the performance is successful or not.
The homogenization of Latin Americans into a singular identity under such "ethnic" categories as Latino/a or Hispanic is criticized by many scholars of Latin American identities. Berta Esperanza Hernandez-Truyol (1998) and Coco Fusco (1995) both argue that such terms obscure the diverse racial and cultural identities spanning more than one continent. Though most theorists refer to "Latino/a" as an ethnicity, in the ballroom context it is more often deployed as a racial classification both through a pronounced focus on physical appearance and through discourses that naturalize the differences between Latin Americans and Europeans. Mary Waters argues that ethnicity is more about what people do and whom they choose to identify with, whereas race is how people are identified by others, and is externally imposed upon people (1990: 18, 157). Theorists of race generally concur with this delineation, stressing the visual component of racial classification, how categories are imposed on others through a visual assessment of physical attributes such as skin color and hair type (Fluehr-Lobban 2006: 1). "Latin," as it is constructed within the ballroom sphere, contains a strong visual component that homogenizes diverse peoples and cultures into a single phenotype 18 through costuming and the practice of using self-tanners; it is more of a physical category than an identity. The current conception of what constitutes "Latin" both physically and in the associated narratives was produced through white European dance institutions. In particular, it is British judges that determine what a successful performance of "Latin" looks like at the prestigious Blackpool championships. As such, the category of "Latin" in International ballroom dancing is not produced by Latin Americans, but is an externally imposed style of movement, dress and comportment produced and reinforced by Europeans. In the ballroom sphere, "Latin" is not an ethnicity that performers identify with, but rather is deployed as a racial classification. I will begin the discussion of "race" in ballroom dancing by explaining how dances are categorized as either "Standard" or "Latin," and show how this is reinforced through pedagogy as well as through the tendencies of dancers and instructors to discuss them separately as though they are incommensurable. This will lead into a historical look at how the categories are not based on a shared geography or culture, but were produced through the process of codification under European dance societies. I discuss the narratives associated with each category, showing how Standard dances are associated with "civilization" and "sophistication," and Latin dances are associated with "sexiness" and "primitivity," which are reinforced through costuming as well as media discourses on Dancing with the Stars. Latin movements may be informed by these discourses, but this rarely resonates with the experience of dancers, as I will show in my discussion of bodies and movement. I will conclude with a discussion of how racial notions of Latinness are
19 produced through the use of artificial tanners among competitors.6 All these processes work to produce a representation of a singular Latin American image, one that obscures histories of colonialism and slavery within Latin America, as well as the Europeanization of the Latin dances themselves.7
Ballroom Classifications
Ballroom dancing is divided into two categories: Standard and Latin. Standard is said to be comprised of the dances that originated in the European folk dancing tradition (Slow Waltz, Viennese Waltz, Quickstep, Foxtrot and Tango), and Latin dances are said to stem from dances originating in Latin America and the Caribbean (Cha Cha, Rumba, Samba, Jive and Paso Doble). These dances form the International ten-dance canon that are used in competitions throughout the world and are also danced popularly at social dances.8 The names of these categories themselves are indicative of racial hierarchies within ballroom dancing, positioning Latin as a deviation from the normative European Standard. This is further evidenced through the habit among participants at my fieldsites, who repeatedly use the term "ballroom" in reference to Standard dances, rather than all ballroom dances. That this verbal slippage repeatedly occurs is evidence of the presumed
6 Throughout this chapter I will repeatedly move between discussions of ballroom and dancesport, ballroom's competitive variant. As most of my informants had competed previously, were competitors or were deeply invested in dancesport competitions as spectators, a neat separation ofthese two arenas would not be possible. 7 For a thought provoking analysis ofthe homogenization of 'Hispanics' see Berta Esperanza Hernandez Truyol's 1998 essay Building Bridges: Latinas and Latinos at the Crossroads 8 The exception to this is the Paso Doble, which is strictly choreographed, and is thus impossible to dance with strangers. For this reason, it is less popular in a classroom setting and the music is almost never played at social dances (I have seen one exception to this when a couple requested a Paso Doble to practice a routine). As such, I will thus not be discussing this particular dance in great detail. 20 whiteness of ballroom, as well as the idea that Latin is a deviation from the norm within ballroom dancing. This is similarly the language used in the authoritative technique books published by the ISTD. The Ballroom Technique (1994), the authoritative guide to Standard dances, leaves the origin of the dances unmarked and conflates ballroom with Standard, whereas the Latin Technique books (most recent revisions were published in the late 1990s and early 2000s) are all titled, "Latin American." Richard Dyer argues that through domination over representation, whites have come to represent themselves as not raced, but rather as the human race. The practice of neglecting to mark whites as raced, while consistently racializing non-whites, bolsters the notion that whites are simply the human norm. As Dyer argues, "as long as whiteness is felt to be the human condition, then it alone both defines normality and fully inhabits it" (1997: 9). This is evident within ballroom classifications through the naming of the categories themselves, as well as through the tendency of dancers to conflate ballroom and Standard.
The division between the two categories is rigorously maintained both within the classroom and by dancers themselves. Within the classroom we can see this through the structure of classes, as well as through the expectations of teachers, and the narratives told by teachers to explain the dances to the class. Most group classes are split into two sections, where one dance is taught from each category. The classes that do not follow this format are generally taught by teachers who specialize in one category, and are generally sought out by students for competitive purposes. The structure of classes reinforces the divide between the two categories by positing them as fundamentally 21 different, thus contributing to the naturalization of this categorical system. In one of the first classes I took in ballroom dancing, the instructor asked me if I preferred Standard, or if I was a "Latin lover." Having had very little dance experience at this point in time, the question struck me as premature. The expectation that I would fall into one of two camps highlights how social categories of difference intersect with ballroom categories. It appeared as though I was expected to prefer Latin to Standard because of my perceived age group, a phenomenon I have witnessed several times since. The narratives that correspond to Latin and Standard seem to be interpreted as appropriate for different age groups. These expectations further reinforce the divide between the categories, positing them as inherently different from one another. When speaking to dancers, both students in the dance class, and patrons of the social dance, most maintain the categories of Standard and Latin in the way they talk about the dances. Despite the expectation of a categorical preference displayed by the instructor above, most of the dancers I interviewed, when asked what their favorite dance was, gave one answer from each category, a phenomenon noted by other ethnographers of dance (Bosse 2007: 34). When I asked Ester what her favorite dance was she replied, "the Waltz and the Cha Cha," then qualified that she liked "the Cha Cha because it is so flirty and fun and the Waltz because it is the most elegant. It can make me feel so graceful." This highlights several phenomena at play in ballroom categorizations: first, the tendency of dancers to consider dances from each category separately as one could not compare apples and cigars; secondly, the narratives that correspond with each dance;
22 and thirdly, the tendency of dancers to view each dance as having characters9 embedded in them that can be put on and taken off at will. But first, a note on the history of ballroom categories and dances.
A Brief History of Ballroom While the boundaries between Latin and Standard dances are rigidly maintained, these categories do not neatly fit their geographical histories. Each dance, whether Standard or Latin went through a similar process of transformation and codification under the direction of such organizations as L'Académie des Professeurs de Danse de Paris and the English Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing (ISTD). I will begin my discussion of the history of ballroom dancing with a discussion of the history of the Waltz, both because it was the first partner dance to be accepted into these dance academies, and because it is the dance that is held in the popular imagination as the pinnacle of ballroom dancing. When the Waltz first appeared in Western European clubs in the mid 1 800s, the dance was considered scandalously licentious due to the sustained physical contact at the arms and back that it required. An oft-reprinted article appearing in the London Times in 1816 speaks to the early attitudes throughout England to the introduction of the Waltz: We remarked with pain that the indecent foreign dance called the Waltz was introduced (we believe for the first time) at the English
9 I use the imperfect term 'characters' here to highlight the temporal nature of these performances, unlike such terms as 'role' (see Goffman 1959) or 'subject position', the characters these dancers are playing appear to be bound to each dance rather than forming a position within which dancers feel a sense of belonging. 23 court on Friday last ... it is quite sufficient to cast one's eyes on the voluptuous intertwining of the limbs and close compressure on the bodies in their dance, to see that it is indeed far removed from the
modest reserve which has hitherto been considered distinctive of
English females. So long as this obscene display was confined to prostitutes and adulteresses, we did not think it deserving of notice; but now that it is attempted to be forced on the respectable classes of society by the civil examples of their superiors, we feel it a duty to warn every parent against exposing his daughter to so fatal a contagion. (The Times of London, 16th July 181610) Previous to this, most dances, such as the popular minuet, involved nothing more than intermittent hand contact as partners danced primarily in lines of males and females facing each other. As such, the hold of the Waltz, which was quite loose by today's standards, was associated with immorality and indecency. As the Waltz gained greater acceptance, it was transformed by the aforementioned national dance academies whereupon it began to take its present form. The same treatment was given to the Tango when it arrived in Paris in the early 1900s. While the Tango is considered a Standard dance, it originated in Argentina, and was the first dance to be incorporated from the Americas into ballroom dancing. Upon arriving in Paris, it was first scandalized, then incorporated into the repertoire of dances
10 Quoted in "Waltz: History of Dance" author unknown. http://www.centralhome.com/ballroomcountry/waltz.htm 24 standardized and promoted by such organizations as L'Académie des Professeurs de Danse de Paris. This process transformed the dance, incorporating many of the same features that had been deployed to "clean up" the Waltz. Marta Savigliano details this as a lightness of step and a "more upright" dance frame, emphasizing long lines, and removing spontaneous expression11 (Savigliano 1995: 109, 125). The transformation that the Tango underwent included codifying the steps, giving them such European names as "Viennese crosses." Over time the Argentinean origins ofthe dance were obscured, and today it bears little resemblance to the form from which it originated save for similarities in musicality. The Jive's inclusion in the Latin category is equally problematic. The Jive has its origins in African-American swing dancing in the 1920s and 1930s, and was later popularized by American WWII soldiers who brought the dance to Europe (McMains 2001 : 62). This dance was "cleaned up" in much the same ways as other Latin dances and incorporated into the repertoire of ballroom dances under the Latin category. Indeed, the Jive is not the only Latin dance that is not from Latin America. The Paso Doble too fails to fit its categorization. Danced under the Latin category, the Paso Doble is strongly associated with Spain due to its bullfighting narrative and music. There is question as to whether it originated in Spain or in France, but it achieved popularity in France in the 1930's, at which point many ofthe steps acquired French names (Lavelle 1975: 77). The
1 1 Savigliano contrasts the "upright" frame that was characteristic ofthe European way of partner dancing with the common way of dancing in Latin America where partners will lean in toward each other, providing a slumped over appearance and (perhaps inadvertently) highlighting the buttocks. This has changed in recent years as the postures of Latin and Standard dances have become more differentiated, with women arching backwards in Standard in a pose that evokes a Victorian woman swooning. 25 inclusion of an American dance and a European dance into the Latin category,12 and a dance from Latin America into the Standard category highlights the arbitrariness of the categorizations and suggests that something other than geographical origins is involved in the ordering of dances.13 The arbitrariness of ballroom categorizations does not go completely unquestioned by the authoritative ISTD, whose publication on the history of Latin dancing attributes the introduction of Latin dances to Pierre Jean Phillip Zürcher Margolie whose "repertoire consisted of the Argentine Tango, the Paso Doble and later a form of Samba followed by the Rumba, although nowadays the Tango, rightly or wrongly, belongs to the Ballroom Faculty" (Evans 200214). We can thus see that the Tango is questioned, while the Paso Doble is not. Indeed, Latin dances as they are danced in competition today bear little resemblance to their original or contemporary Latin American forms. Despite this, the narratives told by dancers, teachers and the media continue to rely on, and feed off of a close association between Latin dancing and dancing that is still practiced today by Latin Americans. The Rumba and Cha Cha are descendants of Afro-Cuban dance, and Samba derives from an Afro-Brazilian dance (McMains 2001 : 62). The creators of each of these
12 It should be noted that the Latin category is unanimously said to be dances from Latin America, rather than from a Latin-language speaking countries. This is evident in narratives about the dances in the media as well as relayed by my participants. Moreover, the official guides to Latin Dancing published by the ISTD label the dances as "Latin American Jive" and "Latin American Paso Doble". 13 The origin of these categories is to date underexamined, and I have not found a single text that attempts to explain how they were categorized. I have explored several of my own hypotheses, trying to locate the common element to each dance category, but each possibility (such as date of introduction to ISTD, travelling dance versus spot dance) has failed to consistently apply to all dances in the category. 14 Published at http://www.istd.org/latin/facultynews/sept2002/historyoflatin.html 26 dance forms were descendants of African slaves, generally the darkest and poorest members of society (McMains 2001: 64), yet all reference to Africa has been removed from these forms as they are danced in ballroom competitions, as well as at ballroom socials. Under the direction ofthe ISTD, these dances were popularized and redefined throughout the mid-twentieth century. This significantly changed their forms in the ways outlined above by Savigliano, and in effect, Europeanized them. More significantly, the changes in dance movement and costuming that these dances underwent included a heightened association with sexuality - a particular form of sexuality that is centered on the hips, and is considered "raunchy" and "dirty."
Classifications and their Narratives
At dance classes as well as social events, Standard is often discussed using adjectives such as "classy," "chivalrous," "sophisticated," "elegant," and "graceful," whereas Latin dances are referred to as "sensual," "sexy," "flirty," and "fun." Comparing these lists of adjectives, it becomes evident that there is a class dimension to the narratives associated with these dances, as Standard dances are referred to using adjectives that suggest high-class, such as "classy" and "sophisticated." Thus, compared to the "fun" and "flirty" Latin dances, dances in the European Standard category are considered of higher economic and cultural standing. In his highly influential study of Orientalism, Edward Said argues that "European culture gained in strength and identity by setting itself off against the Orient as a sort of surrogate and even underground self (1978: 3). Similarly, through defining Latin against the unmarked European Standard, 27 white ballroom dancers gain power over self-representation by defining and performing what they are not. The association of these class-based narratives with oppositional geographic, cultural and racial origins will become evident with a further look at the production of these narratives through costuming and discourse in the media, in dance classes, and at dance socials. Whereas in Standard (particularly for both Waltzes, the Foxtrot and to a lesser degree the quickstep), costuming for women involves long pastel-colored gowns, pale skin, and pastel colored pump-style shoes reminiscent of Cinderella's glass slipper, Latin costuming deploys dark hair, artificially tanned skin, revealing costumes that are often cut asymmetrically, and strappy heels colored to match the competitors' skin. Frequently, Latin dresses (except occasionally for Jive costumes) are comprised of bikinis with asymmetrically draped swatches of fabric. These often involve animal prints, or are cut to suggest a Tarzan and Jane-esque jungle appearance. Men's costumes reveal the same dichotomy, as Standard costumes are comprised of a tuxedo with tails and shoes designed to provide the appearance of dress shoes. Latin costumes consist of tight sequined sateen shirts left open to the navel, tight pants and shoes with a slight heel. There are several aspects of the differences in costuming that deserve discussion. Firstly, the ballgown and slippers/tuxedo and dress shoes of Standard dances suggests a particular narrative of chivalry and valor, elegance and civility that is intended to evoke the European origins of the dances, but also associates them with the upper class and bourgeois tastes. By way of contrast, Latin costuming, particularly the ladies' asymmetrically cut dresses, suggests disorder and wild abandon when viewed in 28 Opposition to the symmetry of Standard dress. The tendency toward skimpier costumes, animal prints and a feral jungle look in much of women's Latin costuming associates Latinness with primitivity and nature. When held in contrast, there are several things that become apparent. First, the class dimensions of each set of costumes posits a relationship between race and class, holding Europeans as the bearers of wealth, whereas Latin costumes suggest a range from a lower class to a pre-class15 appearance. Second, within a Western tradition of Cartesian thought, Latin Americans become associated with nature and a lack of reason, whereas Europeans are associated with culture and civilization. Third, the greater amount of skin shown by the costumes both posits Latin as more explicitly sexual than Standard, and, with the association between bare skin and warmer weather, aids in cementing the link between Latin dances, and the people and climates from whence they (or 3/5ths of them) originated prior to the being transformed by European dance societies. For both men and women, the differences in shoes also deserve some note. The simple fact of different shoes for Standard and Latin contributes to the separation of these dances into racial categories. Moreover, the aesthetics of each type of shoe contributes a visualization of these narratives ofprimitivity vs. civility. Whereas women's Latin shoes are colored to blend into the skin tone of the competitor, Standard shoes are typically pastel colored. Thus, Standard is portrayed as civilized and aristocratic, compared to the Latin dancer whose shoes are designed to blend into the competitor's skin to appear as
15 This term, coined by Friedrich Engels and used by most Marxist anthropologists to refer to "primitive" egalitarian hunter/gatherer societies, is problematic in that it appears to reproduce a teleological understanding of history, that is, that classes were inevitable. I use the term here, however, to highlight the class dimensions of Latin aesthetics. 29 extensions of their legs. This has the effect of reinscribing the dichotomy of nature vs. culture, placing Latin as more natural and more primal than its Euro-American counterpart. As women's Latin shoes are only manufactured in certain shades of tan, the shoe also has the consequence of demarcating the possible skin tones that can be considered "Latin." When buying Latin shoes, the possibilities of skin tone are "flesh," "tan," and "copper," with "flesh" being a pinkish shade, comparable to the typical fabric bandage, "tan" being somewhat darker, and "copper" darker still, but with an orange undertone. The common practice among competitors, who are primarily of Eastern European descent, rather than Latin American, of artificially darkening their skin with chemical tanners may be the reason for orange undertone of the darkest Latin shoe as these chemicals tend to impart an orange glow to the skin. Thus, the available colorings of ladies Latin shoes highlight the artificiality of the Latin persona in ballroom dancing. For men's shoes, the difference is one of the construction of gender. The male Latin shoe, as previously noted, has a slight heel, typically an inch to an inch and a half. In contemporary society, heels are strongly associated with femininity, and the inclusion of heels in Latin men's shoes effects Latin masculinity as fundamentally different from Euro-American masculinity. Combined with the narratives of virility and sexual prowess that are reinforced by the movements of the dances, the male in Latin dancing is shown to be very masculine. Thus, this conception of "Latin" includes a paradoxical hyperfeminization and hypermasculinization of the male Latin dancer. Despite the more feminine shoe-type, the man's role in Latin dancing is portrayed as more virile and aggressive than Standard's "chivalrous gentleman," positing each form of masculinity as inherently opposed. Moreover it provides us with a poignant example of how sex and race cannot be uncoupled. This is further evident in the movements of dancers as the woman in Latin dances appears more strong and aggressive, and (especially in the competitive setting) more sexually aggressive than her demure Standard counterpart. In the classroom, the perceived sexuality of Latin dances is evident in the phrase used by my instructor, "Latin lover." When spoken, he emphasized the phrase by elongating the L's and contorting his face and body with a dramatic flair that was intended to emphasize the sexuality of the Latin category. The term "lover" as well, was a double play that both spoke to my perceived preference, and "lover" in the sense of sexual partnership, a turn of phrase that highlights the perceived sexuality of Latin dances. As stated previously, it was assumed because of my relatively young age that I would be more interested in Latin dances than Standard. One dancer explained to me that when he began dancing at age 19, the Standard dances were popular among an older crowd, which he described as being in their 60s and 70s. Wishing to dance with his own age group, he decided to pursue only Latin dances until he was much older. Much has changed since he began learning to dance and presently all age groups dance both categories, but this history informs my observation that there seems to be an expectation that preferences will correspond to life-phases. This assumption is tied into the narratives associated with each dance.
As Richard Dyer points out, sexuality is considered counter to civilization, "itself achieved and embodied by whites" (1997: 26), and in this case, European upper class 31 whites in particular. Dyer, following Sander Gilman, goes on to show how sexuality is projected onto the non-white body as a means for the dissociation of whites from their sexual desires. By way of contrast, he argues, the white body is the body that is able to temper their desires through will power (1997: 28). Mediated through the structures of civilization and reason, sexuality, for whites, is shown as appropriate only within particular societal conventions, such as marriage. The assumption that within this primarily white North American milieu, younger people should be more interested in Latin dances, in fun, flirty and sexy dances, suggests that it is appropriate only for those who are experimenting with or learning to control their sexuality prior to marriage to engage in Latin dances, or at the very least, to prefer them. The association of Latin dances with adolescent flirtation and Standard dances with marriage became evident to me one night when I was working at the social dance. A couple was celebrating a wedding anniversary, and as is tradition at the dance, the host cleared the dance floor, announced their milestone and invited them onto the dance floor to begin a dance that the rest of the attendees would later join. As the host began to announce that she was going to play a Waltz for them, the couple cut her off and requested that they dance a Cha Cha instead. This request was denied by the host's husband who works as a DJ at the social dance. As a middle-age dance teacher, and DJ for both the social dance and competitions, he considers himself a traditionalist (which his wife announced to the crowd), and as such, insisted on playing half a minute of the "anniversary Waltz" for the couple's event. Beyond it being simply a particular song that was considered appropriate for this occasion (as other couple's anniversaries were 32 celebrated with other Waltzes), the reticence of the DJ to play the requested genre suggests that something more is at play here. I think, rather, that this speaks to the association of the Waltz with civility and marriage, and the Cha Cha with flirtation and sexiness that made the DJ uncomfortable acceding to the couple's request. These associations are reinforced in the media through popular television programs. Dancing with the Stars is both one of the highest rated prime time shows since it was first aired in 2005 that also maintains a strict ballroom focus.16 The judging of performances on Dancing with the Stars offers a particularly salient opportunity to observe how narratives of civility vs. hypersexuality are recursively generated through the judges, two of whom are not ballroom judges by training, but represent a pop-cultural understanding of Standard and Latin dances and their characters. On this show the judges, who themselves are performing their own ethnic identities (the straight-backed and stodgy British Len Goodman and the flamboyant Italian Bruno Tonioli who is prone to excesses of emotion), negotiate the boundaries of what degree and form of sexuality is appropriate for Latin dancing. Here, these narratives are reinforced by the colorful analogies used in particular by Bruno Tonioli. Chastising a competitor for being too stiff, Bruno exclaims, "you did a proper Mambo,17 but like a débutante on the first date. Forget that. You should be a tramp. The Mambo is down and dirty."18 Later that season, Bruno
16 Other shows that feature ballroom dancing are either not as popular, such as American Ballroom Challenge or Baby Ballroom, or mix ballroom with other styles such as contemporary or hip hop. 17 Though the Mambo is not considered a part of the ten-dance canon, I have opted to include it because it is from the same lineage as the Cha Cha (both from Cuba and said to descend from the same movement patterns) which has both led to similar movements and the narratives used to describe them. 18 Season 4 Episode 2 Airdate: March 25, 2007 33 complains that a competitor's Rumba was "sanitized"19 Congratulating another competitor, Bruno exclaims, "you pimped the Mambo and I liked it!"20 In another instance Bruno exclaims so emphatically as to render several words unintelligible, "you were a real hot Latina mama ... dirty, dirty."21 Len Goodman, too, assesses the sexuality of Latin performances, as he complains of another Mambo, "it was a bit sort of stiff and starchy. It wasn't raunchy." Thus, we see the association between Latin dances and a particular sort of sexuality, one that is unbridled and untempered by societal conventions, that by virtue of being associated with "raunch" is obscene and indecent. Contrasted to this, we see failed performances referred to using terms associated with civility: "proper," "sanitized" or "stiff and starchy," as though the performer were likened to the shirt collar of a businessman. Despite the dances having been filtered through white European dance societies, and then further filtered through the white Euro-American dance professionals teaching the contestants and choreographing the dances, the competitors are pushed to negate any possible whiteness in their performance in an attempt to provide an "authentic" depiction of Latin dancing as "raunchy" and "dirty." After four seasons of the judges advocating more "raunch" in Latin dances, emotions are stirred when a highly popular couple, Olympic speed skater Apollo Anton Ohno and professional dancer Julianne Hough perform a racy Cha Cha.22 Immediately after their dance finishes, the crowd jumps to their feet clapping and cheering enthusiastically. When the camera turns to the judges, a giggling Carrie Ann admits, "It
19 Season 4 Episode 9 Airdate: April 15, 2007 20 Season 4 Episode 15 Airdate: May 6, 2007 21 Season 5 Episode 4 Airdate: September 30, 2007 22 Season 4 Episode 17 Airdate: April 14, 2007 34 was the sexiest Cha Cha I have ever seen. I felt dirty watching it." Bruno laughs and points out how flushed she is and starts fanning her face with the paper in front of him. They are both highly animated, buzzing with energy from the infectiousness of the dance. When it comes time for Len to comment, a heated argument breaks out when he argues that "there was hardly any Cha Cha Cha in it. It was all gyration and raunch." Immediately the audience begins booing and the camera pans around to audience members that have jumped to their feet, yelling incoherently and giving an exaggerated thumbs down to the judge. Both Bruno and Carrie Ann shout over the rest of Len's comments, with Bruno exclaiming, "oh come on, but he's doing a Cha Cha Cha," as though the name ofthe dance itself was enough of an argument, while Carrie Ann pleads, "it is a Latin dance; it is a sexy dance." Thus, we witness both the associations of the Latin category en masse and the Cha Cha in particular with sexiness, and the manner in which the appropriate display of sexuality is negotiated on this highly successful television show.
By way of contrast to the negotiation of Latin sexuality, a successful performance in the Standard category involves cultivating the same qualities that are penalized in Latin performances. The sharp attention to posture is far more policed in the judging of Standard dancing for both sexes. Qualities associated with whiteness and high culture are rewarded by the judges, qualities that would accompany a débutante on a first date. Critiquing a Foxtrot, Carrie Ann Inaba asserts, "there is a certain level of sophistication
35 [needed in the Foxtrot]"23 that was missing from one performance, a sophistication Len found in another Foxtrot, claiming that "it was poignant, it had class, it had elegance."24 Regarding a Quickstep, Bruno compliments the male competitor for "becomefing] a gentleman."25 Using descriptors such as "class," "sophistication," "elegance," or "gentleman," further cements the notion that Standard dances are bourgeois and prestigious in comparison to Latin dances. More than just narratives of sexuality and chivalry, the racial origins of the dances are repeatedly referenced on the show, and nationality becomes conflated with the performance of each dance through the analogies the judges repeatedly use. On one episode, Len Goodman complained about one performance, "Now what it wasn't was raunchy and sizzling, it was an English Mambo and I wanted a South American Mambo," to which Bruno Tonioli agreed, "it was like a tea party at Wimbledon." In another instance Bruno Tonioli complained to a dancer, "you lost your way to Havana. You maybe made it down to Puerto Rico." Thus, geography is explicitly tied to race and to particular bodily movements through the comments made on the show. "Stiffness" and being "proper" are reinforced as being associated with British movements, whereas movements associated with sexuality are located as being Cuban in origin.
23 Season 4 Episode 13 Airdate: April 29, 2007 24 Season 4 Episode 15: Airdate: May 6, 2007 25 Season 5 Episode 2: Airdate: September 24, 2007 36 Movement, Bodies and Proximity Taste, a class culture turned into nature, that is embodied, helps to shape the class body. It is an incorporated principle of classification which governs all forms of incorporation, choosing and modifying everything that the body ingests and digests and assimilates, physiologically and psychologically. It follows that the body is the most indisputable materialization of class taste.
Pierre Bourdieu 1984: 210
I begin with this quote from Pierre Bourdieu's Distinction because it highlights the modification of bodies through the embodiment of these "class cultures," as well as show how "class cultures" change the way particular bodies (and in this case bodily movements) are interpreted within the tastes of any particular society. More than just narratives, Latin movements are consistently referred to as hot, sexy, and seductive. Some Latin dances involve a hip motion that rolls through the hips and up the torso to the shoulders. It is this motion that is thought to provide evidence of the sexual character of Latin dancing, and the sexual nature of Latin Americans more generally. Recently, this narrative has been exaggerated in competitions through the use of poses and movements outside the canon that involve more close contact and often evoke the image of a woman clutching her lover. Outside of these new competition moves, there are no movements in Latin dances where bodies connect aside from at the arm or shoulder, and most moves involve nothing other than a single handhold. 37 In Standard, by contrast, bodies are continually in contact with one another from the ribcage to the upper thigh. This tight position requires that the woman's legs are moving between those of her partners. These dances may be associated more with romance and chivalry rather than sexuality, but experience of dancing Standard is frequently far more intimate than the narratives would suggest. When I began dancing, I was convinced that the experience of uncomfortable bodily contact was a product of my towering stature, as I am, by several inches, the tallest woman in the class. This made it very difficult to comply with my instructor's direction in terms of posture and proximity of bodies, as the contact required meant that my legs were moving back and forth across my partner's groin. This was not a phenomenon that was unique to my stature, however. Over the course of conducting interviews it became clear that I was not alone. Several women complained of men who wanted them to dance in the "competition hold" (that is, the hold taught in international classes, with connection from the lower ribs to the upper thigh), because then they'd have to feel his "dangly bits" as one woman euphemistically exclaimed. Two years into my dance training, I became privy to a rumor that made it clear that this phenomenon is more widespread than I had previously imagined. Women started whispering to each other that one of the regulars at the dance class didn't wear underwear, which made many of them feel uncomfortable dancing with him in a tight hold. Though several women were quite frank about this, only one man spoke of the discomfort of dancing with tall women, and though he didn't speak of it in such plain terms as my female participants, it was evident he was referring to the same 38 phenomenon. While many women complained about the intimacy of dancing Standard, few participants found Latin dances too intimate for their comfort, and those who did located the intimacy of the genre in the requirement of eye contact. The reason eye contact seemed intimate, however, was the result of the perceived sexuality of Latin dancing, a perception that led to many dancers avoiding eye contact in order to provide a feeling of greater distance between themselves and their partner. As stated previously, most Latin dances involve nothing more than a single handhold. Dancers move around each other with considerable mobility, and thus require more space between them in order to avoid tripping over each others feet while effecting difficult spins and turns. Despite this less intimate hold, Latin dances are thought to be more sexual than Standard dances. The most prominent reason for this is the hip motions contained in some Latin dances that are absent in Standard. When asked what makes Latin dances "sexier" than Standard dances, people unanimously respond that it is because of the sensuality displayed in the hips. Not all Latin dances contain these hip motions, however. The Jive has very little movement in the hips, and the Cha Cha is too fast for much hip action to be emphasized. The Samba has a fair bit of movement in the hips, but it is mainly the Rumba that displays the type of hip action that most participants equate with the sexuality of the
Latin category.
26 Joanna Bosse (2007: 37) discusses a similar phenomenon in her look at the sense of intimacy in ballroom dances. 39 As previously stated, when the Waltz first appeared in Western European clubs in the mid 1 800s, the dance was deemed scandalous due to the sustained physical contact at the arms and back that it required. However, with the inclusion of the Latin category the perception of sexuality in dance was relocated from physical contact between partners, to the hip movements of each dancer. As Bourdieu (1984, 1990) argues, bodily movements and postures enact discourses that render classifications identifiable. As such, the practice of locating sexuality in the movement of dancers' hips demarcates boundaries on dancing bodies where sexuality is, and is not, performed through movement. Although in competitions these hip movements are emphasized, in a social dancing forum, Latin is danced very differently. The dancers who come out to social dancing events seldom comply with the norms of dance classes. With no instructor present to police their movements, dancers tend to move and position themselves in ways that are more comfortable. Most couples do not dance in the "competition hold" that so many of us find too intimate. Similarly, most women do not feel comfortable moving their hips in this perceivedly "sexual" manner, and thus will tone down the hip motions. The women at my fieldsites who are not training for competition are more restrained in their movements and hardly move their hips at all when dancing Latin, and instead focus on their arms or simply ensure that their steps are correct. Rules that govern eye contact, too, are frequently discarded. Thus, despite the pervasive belief that Latin dances are more "sexy," not all women enact this in practice. Movements and the meanings attributed to them are not always reenacted unchanged, but are negotiated continually by dancers in social forums. 40 Inventing Techniques of the Body As Dyer reminds us, "the idea of race [. . .] locates historical, social and cultural differences in the body" (1997: 30). These cultural differences are located in the movements of particular body parts through racial associations within ballroom categories. In his discussion of how bodily techniques vary by class, age, race and gender, Marcel Mauss discusses the differences in aesthetics and "bodily games," claiming that "dancing in a partner's arms is a product ofmodern European civilization" (1973: 82). The differences in dance-holds between Latin and Standard emphasize the dances' perceived differences in origin despite the vast changes they underwent under European dance institutions. Mauss refers to techniques of the body as "habits [which] do not just vary with individuals and their imitations, they vary especially between societies, educations, properties and fashions, prestige" (1973: 73). As such, we can see varying levels of prestige awarded to Standard and Latin, accorded by racial hierarchies. Simultaneously, discourses surrounding racial difference and the sexuality emphasized in the hips posit a Latin "technique of the body." As it will soon become clear through the story of Maria Torres, this technique differs considerably from the dancing seen throughout Latin America today, yet it still reproduces discourses of bodily difference that reinforce the racial, cultural and geographic differences between ballroom categories. Succeeding in ballroom competitions requires that white European/North American "techniques of the body" be mastered in order to perform Latin dances as their European reinterpretations. This is shown in the story of Maria Torres, that appears in 41 Juliet McMains' 2001 article, "Brownface: Representations of Latinness in Dancesport." McMains describes Torres as a Latina ballroom competitor who was trained in both ballroom and afro-Cuban dancing. Upon completing a competition, Torres is chastised by one of the judges for being "too authentic, too street, too Latin" for Latin dancing in the dancesport arena (2001 : 66). As a dancer trained in afro-Cuban dance as well as ballroom, it is not a stretch to imagine that her interpretation of Latin dances included many of the elements that remain part of the Cuban repertoire, but have been removed from ballroom Latin. Failing to perform these dances through their European reinterpretations, Torres' story both highlights how movements become associated with particular regions, as well as how particular movements and bodily techniques are evaluated in ballroom dancing. Being negatively evaluated by judges for failing to represent the "Latin" of International ballroom, Torres' story shows how the judges maintain a monopoly over how "Latin" can be represented in ballroom. The association of ballroom dancing with whiteness makes it particularly difficult for non-white competitors to be rewarded or acknowledged by judges. The story of one Toronto-area ballroom dancer provides an interesting contrast to the story of Maria Torres. When Nick began learning to ballroom dance, he found it very difficult to find a partner. Being the only black student in an all-white classroom subjected him to a great deal of passive racism. Few people would agree to dance with him, and those who would dance with him in the classroom, wouldn't partner with him for competitions, so it was a long time before he was able to compete. He recalls one girl agreeing to compete with him, and when he asked her mother, he was told that she would prefer her daughter dance 42 with a man with blond hair and blue eyes. Finally entering the world of ballroom competitions as a young man, he was told by his teacher that he would have to work extra hard and be extra careful in order to be able to succeed. As he recalls his teacher's instructions, When you get on that dance floor, it is very difficult for you to hide because you are the first minority person in Canada to dance in a competition. You cannot hide. You have two choices: make your color work for you or make it work against you. So if you want to be well liked, then you have to be a good dancer, and you have to
work your buns off. This also extended to his personal interactions with people off the dance floor. He was told that he would have to be extra careful about how he was received by people since this would affect his reputation and his chances for winning competitions. Thus, entering competitions in the ballroom world, he was forced to perform both physically and socially at a level that was not expected of white competitors. Despite the many difficulties he faced trying to find a partner and compete in the mostly white world of ballroom dancing, he was ultimately successful, and soon began winning competitions. The push to over-perform extended to mastering the particular "techniques of the body" that are associated with Europeanness and are rewarded in ballroom competitions. As such, his successes in ballroom were largely the result of his ability to self-fashion (Greenblatt 1980) in accordance with the ideals of conduct, dress, movements and comportment that are valued and promoted in ballroom. Coming from a 43 background in ice dancing, he was already working on mastering these techniques prior to learning to ballroom dance. Contrasting this to Maria Torres, the combination of afro- Cuban dance and ballroom suggests that the ability to perform these bodily techniques is a matter of necessity in ballroom competitions, as some interpretations of the dances are rewarded, and others rejected by the judges.
Dyeing to be Latin These racial differences play out in the way competitors costume and transform their bodies for competition. One of the ways they achieve this is through the use of artificial tanners to darken their skin to what is considered the appropriate color for Latin American skin tones, although in reality it often turns out quite orange. Ballroom competitors may not be the only consumers of these products, but the prevalence of their use is notable. As there are very few darker skinned competitors in North America, one would be hard pressed to find a competitor who did not either use artificial tanners, or intentionally darken their skin through tanning. This is a phenomenon that has been the object of study for several dance theorists, most notably Joanna Bosse (2007) and Juliet McMains (2001). The associations between ballroom Latin dance and Latin Americans is bolstered by this practice, and it is integral to understanding the construction of Latin within this cultural sphere, a construction that extends well beyond any perceived borders of the ballroom community. As such, analysis of this practice is warranted. Juliet McMains (2001) refers to this practice as the performance of "brownface," linking the use of artificial tanners by Latin competitors with blackface minstrelsy, the 44 practice of white, particularly Irish, Americans painting their skin black to perform parodies of African Americans. McMains argues that this may stem from circumstances similar to the prejudice the Irish faced upon immigrating to North America, as many dancesport competitors of Eastern-European origin who represent the United States in competitions are of Jewish descent, who have been granted asylum in the United States.27 The practice of brownface, she argues, could be an attempt to highlight their own whiteness through parodying a minority group with less social and political power than themselves (2001 : 59). Despite this assertion, I saw nothing to suggest that the parodying of Latin Americans in competitive ballroom dancing is the result of any ill intention on the part of the performers, who likely accept the practice of using artificial tanners with little question, similar to the unquestioning acceptance of the categorizations themselves. Nonetheless, the practice is part of a larger phenomenon of performing "Latin" that is ubiquitous throughout this genre of dance, and thus is deserving of attention. Most competitors that I have spoken to have admitted that they find themselves more confident in skimpy Latin costumes when they are tanned, a preference that is unsurprising considering how fashionable tanned skin has been throughout much of the twentieth century.28 It should be noted that Standard competitors are not completely exempt from this phenomenon. However, Latin competitors usually seek a darker tan,
27 As my project concerns itself primarily with the experiences of social dancers (many of whom partake in competition, but not at a high level), I have been unable to verify this claim. It is clear from the bios posted of dancesport competitors that many are Eastern European immigrants, but any further information about the circumstances oftheir entry into the US is not mentioned. 28 Arthey and Clarke (1995) argue that tanned skin became fashionable in the 1920s when Coco Chanel came back from a cruise with a dark tan, but claim that it did not achieve its height ofpopularity until the 1940s (p. 267). 45 and as such the practice of tanning is still more prevalent in Latin dancing. Richard Dyer points out that the association of tanning with wealth and leisure fueled the tanning craze, but that tanned skin rarely, if ever, has to do with an attempt to look like a person of another race (1997: 49). Nonetheless, the requirement oftanned skin among competitors, as well as the tendency among dancers to tan their skin to a particular shade of medium brown suggests that while most competitors do not attribute the desire to appear more Latin American as the reason for their tan, the valuation of tanning in Latin competitions may indeed have some racial undertones. Moreover, the practice of tanning contributes to the production of a singular Latin American identity, physicality and culture. Latin Americans in the ballroom imagination are all tanned to the same shade of brown, a practice that obscures histories of colonialism and slavery that has produced a wide range of skin colors throughout Latin American countries. Despite the attempts of competitors to appear more Latin American, people of Latin American heritage often have difficulties being positively recognized by judges in dancesport competitions, as the story of Maria Torres highlights. This story, and the performance of "brownface" are both integral to understanding issues of mobility as they play out in competitions. As previously mentioned, many dancers think of their role in these dances as performing different characters. This is reinforced by the judging on Dancing with the Stars through Len Goodman's repeated compliments toward dramatic performers for successfully playing the right character. As he clearly states in one episode, "each dance has a character, and what I like to see you people do is portray the
46 character in each dance."29 The experience in competitions, however, shows that these performances are not always successful. As Maria Torres' story highlights, the ability to put on and take off characters is not one that is equally distributed, but one that comes with privilege, a privilege mainly held by white competitors in the North American setting. As Richard Dyer reminds us, even tanned skin is recognizable as white (1997: 499), and thus, competitors can borrow characteristics from another racial group without relinquishing the privileges afforded to them by race and class. According to Juliet McMains, the refusal to reward Latin performances by Latin American competitors is motivated by economic concerns of English teachers and judges, judges like Len Goodman, who are invested in maintaining their authority over knowledge of Latin movements (2006: 130). Thus, the authority over what movements are considered "Latin" in ballroom competitions is part of a process of maintaining both economic and cultural monopoly over Latin dancing. Throughout this chapter, I have shown how ballroom categorizations are reinforced through discourses, costuming and movements that posit Latin dances as sexual and primitive, and Standard dances as civil and classy. These classifications are not natural, but were produced through European dance institutions, most notably the ISTD, who continue to maintain a monopoly over representation of ballroom movements as well as instruction and judging of dances themselves. Despite the instability ofthese categories' associations with particular geographies they remain uncontested outside of academic spheres, and a great deal of work goes into reinforcing these narratives that
29 Season 4 Episode 17 Airdate: May 13, 2007 posit singular images of Latin Americans and Europeans. These images serve to reproduce racist depictions of dark-skinned Latin Americans as primitive, uncontrolled, unsophisticated hypersexual beings, compared to classy, civilized and controlled Europeans. Moreover, divergent constructions of the sex of Latino/as and Europeans are embedded in the movements that hold Latinos as both hypermasculine and hyperfeminine, and Latinas as more aggressive than European women, sexually and otherwise. The movements themselves reproduce these narratives as Latin dances become more "sexy" and Standard dances adopt more rigid postures. Separate categories of movement styles, costuming and narratives layer to sediment these discourses of discrete raced, sexed and classed bodies. It is to the separation of narratives and movement styles according to sex that I now turn.
48 Chapter Two:
Roles, Rules and Resistance: the Gendered Experience of Dance
Introduction: Gendered Roles and Embodied Knowledge Ballroom dancing is based on partnerships split into roles of leader and follower. As such, gender politics are implicit in the very structure ofthe dance. At my first group dance lesson, I was told to stand on one side of the classroom with the other women, across the floor from the line of men. I was taught that women follow and men lead. This was something that I was not comfortable with, but being a newcomer, and fearful of embarrassing my mother who was bringing me into her social world, I did not protest. Ballroom dancing initially struck me as an anachronistic enactment of heteronormativity, and the entrenchment of male domination and female passivity. The idea that only women follow and only men lead seemed completely unquestioned to me by dancers in the community, but I have since seen another side. The gender dynamic is far more complicated than the simple domination and subservience I saw it to be that first awkward day. The roles of lead and follow become naturalized through practice, as men and women learn and embody the role that they are handed by virtue of their sex. These roles are then interpreted as both natural and necessary by ballroom dancers, obscuring the work that went into their production and reifying the gendered role divisions. Both Pierre Bourdieu (1977, 1990) and Judith Butler (1993, 1997) attend to the production of sex and gender through processes of citation and reiteration that, through discourse, inscribe 49 categories onto the body. In both their formulations, discourse is that which delimits what can be meaningfully said or understood, forming what Butler refers to as a "field of discourse" (1993: 8) and Bourdieu names the "universe of discourse" (1977: 170). Their treatments of discourse diverge somewhat, and it is this divergence that produces the complimentarity that provokes me to place them into discussion. For Butler (1993), discourse is not merely linguistic, but encompasses all forms of communication, including that which falls into the material realm. Schema, defined by Butler as the set of signified accompaniments of sex, including form, shape, appearance, dress, gesture and grammatical form can be read through the discourses which enable and constrain the (gendered) meanings and uses that apply to them (1993: 29, 30, 33). Bourdieu discusses discourse through A. de Morgan's definition as "a range of ideas which is either expressed or understood as containing the whole matter under discussion" (quoted in Bourdieu 1977: 170),. Bourdieu places similar emphasis to Butler on the ways discourses shape that which is imaginable and perceptible. Bourdieu's emphasis on authorized language and meaning is coupled with a method of analyzing how culture is incorporated into the body. The body "does not represent what it performs, it does not memorize the past, it enacts the past" (Bourdieu 1990: 73). For Bourdieu this is primarily an active and unspoken process that forms "knowledge embodied in modes of action which agents are unable to bring to linguistic consciousness" (Calhoun 1993: 77). This accords with Butler's (1990) approach to performativity as the body's performances are made meaningful by citing previous performances. 50 Despite many overlaps, their treatments differ with regard to the attention paid to social context and resistance to norms. Butler argues that Bourdieu "fails to consider the crisis in convention that speaking the unspeakable produces" (1997: 142) and fails to show how the body always exceeds the norms it is enacting (1 997: 155). Her focus on resistance is thus conducive to thinking through roles and role reversals within ballroom dancing, but it is less apt in demonstrating the ways in which meanings are inscribed in the movements of bodies. Despite the focus on matter and materialization in Bodies that Matter (1993), Butler's analyses tend to focus on linguistic speech acts rather than what is enacted through the movement of bodies.30 Conversely, Bourdieu's practice theory follows Mauss' (1973) formulation of how collective history is embodied in people's dispositions in order to reiterate (or more rarely contest) social classifications. This attention to disposition, both in terms of temperaments, inclinations and habits of bodily comportment and movement speaks to how social categories are produced and rearticulated. This aids me in theorizing the practice among dancers at my fieldsites of cultivating a variety of ways of moving and holding their bodies in accordance with the narratives of each dance. Bourdieu pays attention to the context of performatives in a manner that Butler objects to, claiming that the authority of the speaker (or actor) produces the legitimacy that enables the contestation of norms to occur (Butler 1997: 146, Bourdieu 1991 : 190). As such, I will work through both these theorists to understand the production of gendered subjectivities in ballroom dancing through their
30 For an in depth discussion ofthis tendency see Amy Hollywood's 2002 "Performativity, Citationality, Ritualization". Karen Barad (2003: 802) rightly points out that the tendency to reduce performativity to language is not inherent in Butler's formulation. However, I argue that the inclination toward equating performativity with speech acts leaves the movements and comportments of bodies undertheorized. 51 concepts of performativity and practice respectively. Categorizing the roles within ballroom dancing solely according to sex produces possible threats to the gender of the dancer should they fail to perform their appropriate role effectively. This is more of a concern for men who are heavily invested in maintaining their masculinity, whereas the roles are slightly less strict for women31 and thus they transgress their role more frequently than men. There is a concerted effort to maintain a particular type of masculinity that is based around power and control. Masculinity theorists Michael Kimmel (2003) and Scott Coltrane (1994) each provide analyses of the production of masculinity that accords with what I see occurring within the ballroom community. Michael Kimmel identifies hegemonic masculinity as "the man in power, a man with power, and a man o/power. We equate manhood with being strong, successful, capable, reliable, in control" (2003: 57, italics in original). This is the masculinity that is cultivated in ballroom through language and bodily movements. Kimmel analyses masculinity as a set of power relations that are group-based and reactive, holding masculinity anxiously in opposition to that which is deemed feminine. This analysis resonates with the reactions of men to the idea of same-sex dancing and to attempts by women to occupy (or encroach upon) the lead role, both of which I will explore below. Scott Coltrane (1994) similarly argues that the belief in essential differences between the sexes is a key factor in the maintenance of sex-based inequality. It should be noted that I am not arguing that the individuals who partake in ballroom
31 As will be shown later in this chapter, women are more likely to dance with other women, and most of the women I spoke with acknowledged that they do so occasionally, though always aware that they risk being the subject of gossip. 52 dancing are sexist or that male chauvinism predominates the culture.32 What I am arguing is that gender/sex essentialisms are a common and authorized way of discussing gender within this discursive field and as such are often utilized to justify role divisions. Moreover, I am arguing that it is masculine power that is at stake in this justification. As the roles within ballroom dancing are highly gendered, with the lead role referred to as the "man's role," and the follow role referred to as the "lady's role," any role reversal entails a switching of genders within ballroom dancing. As such it is necessary to demarcate these two concepts throughout this chapter for the purpose of clarity. This demarcation strays from the de Beauvoirean formulation wherein sex refers to the physical matter of bodies and gender to the roles, behaviors and attributes that are considered socially appropriate to the individual's gender. "Gender" here will be used solely to refer to the role a dancer is performing in dance, whether normative or subversive (according to their gender outside of dance), rather than their gender identity or performance as it extends beyond the dance floor. Following Butler, I will refer to "sex" as the materiality of the body, that is, the categorization of persons into male or female, which is materialized through discourse (1993: 29). It is the signified body that is seen to be performing these genders, identifiable as male or female regardless of what gender they are performing on the dance floor. Most ballroom dancers do not think of their real gender as something that they perform, but as something that follows from the matter of their bodies, and performing other genders is something that is done solely
32 While there are those individuals who I wouldn't hesitate to place those labels on, for reasons of personal comfort, I did not interview them. 53 within the dance, and for particular purposes. While inappropriate for the study of gender performance off the dance floor, this formulation is useful for understanding the production of norms, and the potential for subversion in the ballroom context.33 Feminist theorists are often troubled by situations where women choose to place themselves into roles in which they are subservient to men. In the ballroom sphere, this is particularly the case as the majority of female ballroom dancers came of age amidst second-wave feminist critiques of this particular sexual dynamic and these critiques are not totally neglected or dismissed by women in the community. In theorizing gender and agency, the contributions of Saba Mahmood (2001) are crucial to my analysis. Following Foucault, Mahmood theorizes agency as a "capacity for action," one that is not necessarily bound to liberation politics (2001 : 210). This allows me to approach the reasons that women may desire to partake in this system and understand the varieties of motivations and actions that are occurring within this community. Placing this discussion of docility alongside Foucault's analysis of power as "actions upon others' actions" (1983: 220) aids in describing the multiple forms ofpower that flow across gendered dancing bodies. This chapter is concerned with how norms of sex, gender and desire are created and sustained within this community through pedagogy, with a focus on the assertion of sexual essentialisms and self-regulation.
33 In "Bodies that Matter" Butler responded to critics of "Gender Trouble" by arguing that gender is not "an artifice" that can be put on or taken off at will (1993: iv). However, the divide remains useful for my purposes and it is for this reason that I argue that the division of sex and gender is simply for clarity's sake and is of limited applicability to other contexts. 54 The Power of Gender Roles
In ballroom dancing the roles are referred to as the "man's" role and the "lady's" role. This is both the authoritative language used in the definitive guides to ballroom dancing published by the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing (ISTD), and the language used by most dancers. The language used for these roles functions to separate them based on sex rather than choice or aptitude of the dancer. Moreover, the failure to use equivalent language for each sex (i.e.: lady and gentleman or man and woman) suggests that different attributes are considered appropriate for the sexes. "Man" denotes a modern conception of masculinity as powerful and authoritative in ways that "gentleman" (and it's associations with sensitivity and good manners) would not. In her essay on oppression, feminist theorist Marilyn Frye refers to "lady" as denoting "one too delicately constituted to cope with robust speech or the realities to which it presumably refers" (2003: 16). This description accords with the conception of "lady" that I witness being cultivated in ballroom dancing. As such, the language used in demarcating these different roles places expectations of conduct and temperament upon dancers that aids in naturalizing the man's role of leading (through framing him as authoritative), and the woman's role of following his lead by showing her as demure and passive. These separate attributes can be seen in the way dancers describe the different roles. In interviews, the skills men detailed as necessary for a leader to have were: gauging a woman's level of experience and ability in order to cater the choreography to her skill level; keeping time; choreographing the dance; remaining aware of other couples on the floor and navigating around them in order to protect their partner; giving their 55 partner the right cues while being neither too firm with them, nor too flimsy; and finally holding the frame that supports their partner. For women this entails being sensitive to the leads and executing their steps appropriately, as well as suspending any anticipation
of what the next step will be. When looking at each list of requirements it becomes clear that the man's role is about decisiveness, protection and support, whereas the woman's role is about sensitivity and receptiveness. The oft-repeated saying about gender roles in ballroom dancing, "the man is the frame and the woman is the picture" reinforces this model and highlights a second duty of women in ballroom. Outside of the following role, women are said to provide beauty to the dance. As one man explained it, "if you are doing Latin the lady's part is comprised of being sexy, trying to make the dance itself because the man has to present the lady." Another man said, "I believe that the man should focus on making the woman look good more than on his own dancing." The demarcation of ballroom roles into one based on decisiveness and control and one based on malleability and beauty shows that they are not neutral roles but have attached to them a hierarchy of attributes. Pierre Bourdieu writes that "the opposition between male and female is realized in posture, in the gestures and movements of the body," and these oppositional postures and movements are bound up in systems of values, as is evident in the way in which the words used to describe them "evoke values and states of mind" (1990: 70). Despite this, dancers argue that the role separation is a positive aspect of the dance.
56 The rationale behind the demarcation of roles into leader (man)/follower (woman) is one of partnership. Dancers consistently refer to it as a combined effort toward the creation of a single dance, and everyone I have spoken with touts the importance of these different roles. For a dance to be successfully executed there must be one person making the decisions. In order for a dancer to be able to dance (especially with someone that isn't a regular partner) there must be one person who is choreographing the dance.34 To attempt a negotiation would be disastrous as far as most ballroom dancers are concerned. Everyone that I spoke to emphasized this necessity. It was repeated over and over emphatically: the man leads and the woman follows. This mantra, however, is only adopted through inculcation into ballroom norms, and is often strengthened through experience dancing. As Cheryl related to me: On the first night of a beginner's class, the teacher said to the class, "There is something I am going to say and you women are going to hate it, and you men are going to love it ... if you can wrap your head around it, it works into a much much better dance partnership. In ballroom dancing, it is the man's job to lead, and the woman's job to follow." And the women all groaned, and the men all said "Hah!" And then he says, "Yes guys, it is about the only place left in the world where you have to lead and they have to follow, so you may as
34 It should be noted that not all dances are improvised, and choreographed routines change the power dynamic. Regular partners commonly have a repertoire of choreographed routines that they will perform at social dances or competitions. Instead of leading and following, they dance based on memory of a shared routine rather than improvised bodily communication. This is the case in competitions where dances are strictly choreographed. At social dances, however, other dancers on the floor create an unpredictability that necessitates the lead/follow roles. 57 well enjoy it." And I mean, I have tried negotiating, I have tried saying, "Well, how about 50/50?" until finally I gave into the idea
that if I followed it would work much better.
This story is fairly typical of how my female participants thought about the lead and follow roles. Like the groaning women in Cheryl's first beginner class, almost every woman I spoke to had a story about how they initially felt reticent toward the following role. This would immediately be followed by an assertion that they had come to appreciate the separation of roles as they continued to train. As such, the initial reactions of women indicate that they approached the gendered lead/follow roles as sexist, before learning to view them as pragmatic. Moreover, it highlights the role of instructors in mediating their students' understandings of sexual politics in ballroom dancing. The demarcation of sexual attributes where women are considered passive and receptive and men are considered assertive and decisive was heavily critiqued by second wave feminism35 (which was prevalent as these women were coming of age in the 1960s and 1970s), yet it is scarcely problematized by women in the ballroom community. While a few of the women I have spoken with reject feminism as irrational "bra- burning," those I formally interviewed largely embraced some form of feminism. Even those who rejected the label made comments that indicated at a minimum an awareness of gender politics. However, when asked to ponder the sexual dynamic, most women
35 Emily Martin (1991) has aptly shown how the prevalence of this sexual binary has become embedded in the way we speak about the sexes on a microscopic scale, arguing that imagery of active, decisive sperm invading passively waiting ova has shaped the way we understand biology. This argument accords with the understanding of sexual difference within ballroom dancing, as most dancers interpret these roles as aptitudes that follow from their biological makeup. 58 argue that this is not an issue of sexual politics, but is rather one of necessity. The most frequently heard counter to my subtle suggestions of sexism within this type of dancing is that "both roles are equally important." This suggests that most dancers are concerned more with how the roles are valued rather than the agency that each role affords, or how each characteristic required of the dance are partitioned according to sex. Moreover, there is little questioning of who gets to do the leading, or how this reproduces rigid sexual norms, particularly among more experienced dancers. At dance classes, the role separation is strongly reinforced, and instructors labor to ensure that the woman is waiting for the lead before she moves into a figure, even if she knows the routine. Learning to wait and following the leader's physical cues is thus something that requires docility, though not of the sort that we associate with powerlessness or passivity. In her essay on the Egyptian Islamic revival, Mahmood defines docility as "the malleability required of someone to be instructed in a particular skill or knowledge - a meaning that carries less a sense of passivity and more that of struggle, effort, exertion, and achievement" (Mahmood 2001: 210). Critiquing the tendency within academia to equate agency with resistance, Mahmood argues that in struggling to conform to the values and tenants of their religion, these women may not be resisting patriarchal norms, but they do have agency. In many ways this accords with the struggle of women to conform to their role in ballroom. As many dancers attest, following is not a skill that they achieved without considerable struggle, and it was a strong desire to be adept at their role that compelled them in their efforts.
59 Congruent with this more active definition of docility, it should be noted that "waiting" in ballroom dancing is not stasis. Nor is it as passive as the discourses surrounding it would make it seem. It is a dynamic and active constant that is sustained throughout each movement they execute. It takes a great deal of time and effort to cultivate this state which involves suppressing the urge to anticipate the next step while awaiting direction. Women must be willing to be moved and cultivate receptivity to their partner's cues in order to effectively follow. Receptivity follows from a state of tension between partners. This tension is referred to by my instructor as "resistance." This resistance, however, is not the resistance against historical relations of domination that Mahmood argues is conflated with agency in much ofthe feminist literature she cites (2001 : 203). The following description of the lead/follow dynamic in Latin dancing illustrates how bodily "resistance" operates: imagine for a moment that your right hand is grasping the left hand of someone who is facing you. Your elbow is at your waist and you hold tension in your arm, as your partner holds their arm likewise. You retain this tension as your partner takes a step back and you feel your arm pull against them in your effort to maintain your arm's position in relation to your body. In order to keep your arm in place you will be forced to take a step toward them, moving together in time. Should you stop pulling away from them your arm (and possibly upper body) will be pulled forward, while the rest of your body stays immobile. It is only through the woman resisting against her partner that he is able to fully move her. Instructors strain to teach women to resist against their partners. Pushing and pulling against him (in Standard via her back against his hand, and in Latin, her right hand against his left), he is enabled to shape how and where her whole body will move. Without this resistance, the individual section of her body that is being acted upon by the man will be moved, but the woman's entire body will not. The term "resistance" is used by instructors to describe this tension, providing an exception to the largely passive discourses that surround the following role. The leader is not simply dominating the follower, as his power to lead is produced through the bodily resistance of the woman. However, this does not mean that we can equate this form of bodily resistance with opposition against the gendered asymmetry of power either, as the actions of pushing or pulling against one's partner are produced specifically to enable him to move her as he chooses.
Thus, power here is something that is channeled in a certain direction through pedagogy and discourse (i.e.: the authorized language of ballroom). By policing who leads and who follows according to a gendered division of labor, both in dance classes and when dancing socially, there is a concerted effort among members of the community to maintain a particular flow of power wherein men control the movements of their female partners. Following Foucault, I would like to think of power as actions upon others' actions (1983: 220). I see this as a flow of intention reproduced and naturalized through knowledge of ballroom, rather than a static possession bestowed upon men in their role as leader. As men lead, they act upon their partners' bodies, moving them in time to the music in accordance with the norms of the dance. The man's power to move the woman is predicated on her pushing and pulling against him, and he effects her 61 movement through his actions upon her resistance. Foucault writes that a docile body is one "that may be subjected, used, transformed, and improved" (1977: 180). As we see through Mahmood, docility is not a passive trait; it is a state of intentional exertion that is actively cultivated out of the desire to be moved. As I have shown through the struggles of dancers to learn to follow, it is through ballroom training that women learn all aspects of the following role, including waiting for leads, following cues and resisting, and the aim of resistance is explicitly to enable her partner's power to move her in a dance.
Dancers' Understandings of Gender Roles In spite of the struggles many have proclaimed in learning their roles, many dancers argue that they possess natural abilities to perform the responsibilities of their assigned role. Ron, a regular at the social dance admitted to me that he believes that men and women have different aptitudes and sensibilities, and that this is the reason women make better followers. He argues that women are "instilled with a certain delicacy, patience, more so than men," and attributed it to their "body makeup and disposition." The characteristics he attributed to women's disposition, "delicacy" and "patience" are also the same characteristics that are required of the following role in ballroom dancing. Thus, the gendered assignment of dance roles are naturalized as following from biological sex rather than learned behaviors and aptitudes. This opinion was rigorously maintained when I pointed out that I make a terrible follower, and am not bad at leading. Instead of admitting that not all women display such characteristics, he insisted that I "think of it this way: it is instilled in you. It just needs to be developed. You have it in 62 you." Thus, these characteristics are thought by Ron to naturally belong to women regardless of whether they are "developed." Many of the dancers that I spoke with are advanced dancers who have more than a decade of dance training under their belts. As such, many of them have had experience dancing the opposite role, either for personal development or for the purpose of teaching. Reflecting on these experiences, my participants often noted that they preferred "their" original role. Cheryl, for example, argued that she preferred the lady's role because she has "poor spatial ability." Within the discursive field of contemporary Western culture, spatial ability is an aptitude that is often thought to be stronger in men. In partner dancing it is one of the requisites for being a good leader, and as such Cheryl understands her enjoyment of the lady's role through prevalent discourses that naturalize sexual difference. Anthony, a man who had danced choreographed routines as a woman admitted that he preferred to dance as a man because he likes to be able to "control" the dance, and takes it as a point of pride that he is good at navigating around other dancers and thinking strategically on the dance floor. Such a description suggests that, like Cheryl, he prefers that which he has an aptitude for. The qualities he describes as possessing are those masculine traits such as "navigation" and "strategy" which Cheryl claims to lack. These dancers seemed to believe they were better at the role assigned by their gender, by the very fact of their gender. We thus find in ballroom dancing a particular instance of the naturalization of gender roles. As Butler argues, gender norms are not "an inner core or static essence but a reiterated enactment of norms, ones that produce, 63 retroactively, the appearance of gender as an abiding interior depth" (1997: 14). Socializing dancers into gendered lead and follow roles entrenches the understanding among them that the roles they have learned are indeed those to which they are "naturally" better at performing. Along these same lines, Bourdieu argues that classification systems tend to produce their "own confirmation, by inducing a 'vocation' for the tasks to which one is assigned, an amorfati which reinforces belief in the prevailing system of classification by making it appear to be grounded in reality" (1990: 71). As Cheryl's description of her poor spatial abilities aptly shows, roles take on the appearance of nature, and are often understood by dancers as inherent to their sex. Indeed, the requirements of the roles, such as the "delicacy" and "patience" that Ron attributes to women appear as innate aptitudes that not only make dancers better at their roles but create a corresponding preference. This is not the case for all dancers however, as some have had occasion to recognize the arbitrariness of the role system. Strengthening Anthony's belief that he possesses the qualities required of a good leader is a story of his frustrations with dancing the woman's role. As he describes it, "it is really difficult because now you are in someone else's shoes and you find yourself wanting to do your role rather than the opposite. So you're going back to being a beginner. But in all, it is the same: it feels good if you are doing it right." Christopher, who is an expert at teaching both roles, remarked that it was different to switch roles socially: "I don't think I would enjoy being a follower, because when you dance you become programmed [by routines to dance one step followed by a certain other step] ... and as a follower you don't have as much time to think." Similar to Anthony's statement that dancing the following role made him feel like a "beginner," Christopher argues that you become programmed by the role you have the greatest skill in. However, most dancers do not think of switching roles as difficult due to a lack of training but due to the aptitudes that follow from their sex. As Anthony pointed out to me, leading and following are not naturally male or female roles, but are simply the norm in ballroom dancing. He describes this in comparison to swing dancing, a partner dance he also partakes in: That's one of the things about swing dancing is the role reversal is
incredible. There are a lot of guys who would prefer following and that is cool because it is not out ofthe norm in swing dancing. The roles are more mixed up rather than being "women's" and "men's". The traditional [where the man leads and woman follows] is still there, but there are lots of guys who can follow really well and the other way as well. There are lots of ladies who want to lead. It is
very eclectic. As Anthony's depiction of swing dancing shows, not all partner dances adhere so strictly to the mantra that the man leads and the woman follows. This is something he not only accepts, but also applauds. His partner, Merryl, confessed to me that he regularly chastises her for referring to the roles as "men's" and "women's" instead of "lead" and "follow." Moreover, she argues that he is more egalitarian in his leading style, accepting choreographic input, and being more malleable when she takes over the lead slightly.
65 Anthony characterizes the acceptability of switching roles in swing dancing as one that results from a difference in sexual norms. As roles are more mixed, there is a wider range of what is considered acceptable within the community. To Anthony, the differences between the strictly gendered roles in the ballroom community and the looser roles in the swing community, is one of demographics. Anthony claims that, in general, swing dancers are much younger than ballroom dancers, which makes them more likely to "go to these bars where you dance however you want and there is no structure." Thus, the gendered roles of ballroom dancing are seen as part of what makes ballroom dancing more structured than other forms of dancing. It is this increase of structure that is tied to the notion of "tradition." Anthony describes the "traditional" roles for partner dancing as the man leading and the woman following, a norm for dancing roles that is much more rigidly held to in ballroom dancing than in swing. Following Bourdieu, I examine the ways in which gender roles are naturalized among ballroom dancers. Bourdieu's discussion of the habitus as a "present past that tends to perpetuate itself into the future by reactivation in similarly structured practices" (1990: 54), provides a way of understanding how these roles are naturalized through reiterative practices. Gender identifications and their associations with particular roles in dancing pre-existed any dancer's entrance to the ballroom community, as Anthony points out with his use of the term "traditional." Moreover, dancers were not unaware of the sex-based roles in ballroom prior to beginning their training, and the role differences follow from a long tradition of attributing these same traits to the different sexes. Thus, dancers arrived at their first dance lessons with internalized understandings ofthe realm 66 ofpossibilities. Ballroom's role divisions form the platform on which these different attributes are strengthened and perpetuated. Through practice, these roles (or "practical taxonomies"36 in Bourdieu's terms) come to appear self-evident. Aptitudes and tastes are misrecognized as natural rather than the product of their efforts to learn to dance, and identification with their assigned role forms (Bourdieu 1990: 71). As such, most dancers argue that they are naturally inclined toward their role. Unlike these dancers, Anthony's recognition that the lead and follow roles do not naturally follow from a dancer's sex is the product of his experience in swing dancing, where there is a role system based on preference rather than biology. Swing dancing's competing understanding of how gender is enacted and structured in and through partner dancing provides the subversive moment that denaturalizes these categories. Scott Coltrane asserts that essentializing sexual difference "helps men maintain microstructures of inequality" (1994: 49). Conversely, Anthony's recognition of the arbitrary character of sex-based role divisions has led him to approach the dance differently. As the association with masculinity and power doesn't hold in swing dancing, where many women choose to lead, the essentialized differences displayed by many dancers, and that are sedimented in a strict role division in ballroom, fails to appear natural to Anthony, resulting in an approach to the dance that is more egalitarian.
36 See Bourdieu (1977: 163) 67 Backleading In ballroom dancing, women are expected to follow leads regardless of whether or not the leader is getting the step right, or is leading the dance on time. Despite the emphasis dancers place on the importance of different roles, the follower often has far more of a say in how the dance is choreographed, and especially timed, than is initially acknowledged. This occurs through what is referred to as "backleading" which is the subtle movements and physical pressure that a follower will use to change the timing of the dance, or move the leader into a position either to correct a mistake of his lead or to change the possibility of what step follows. However, it is sometimes more overt than this. As a technique that is counter to the gendered lead/follow roles, it is considered incorrect and women often try to disguise their efforts at backleading as a result. Despite efforts to conceal this practice, every woman I spoke to at dance classes or at the ballroom social admitted to backleading occasionally. The most common form of backleading involves changing the timing of the dance. Despite the expectation that women will follow the lead ifthey are being led off time, this is rarely adhered to on the dance floor and many women admit to backleading in this situation. In my own experience, I have found it difficult to dance offbeat or to a different timing, and have a fair bit of experience backleading timing as a result. I suspect that many dancers, particularly the ones who have resisted my (perhaps clumsy) attempts to backlead the timing, chalk up this strange behavior of mine to inexperience. Anthony, on the other hand, once showed appreciation for my efforts.
68 Dancing a Waltz with Anthony at the social dance one night, I found myself backleading the timing subtly. It was a song I had heard every week for the previous two years, and as well, was one of my favorites, so the timing of the song was well known to me. This particular Waltz had an elongated second beat, and I found myself unable to resist the urge to manipulate his timing. Holding his arms slightly to resist his movement forward at the second beat of each bar, he soon fell perfectly into the timing I was attempting to attain. As we floated around the dance floor, he commented that I had a really good understanding of the music. Informing him that I had heard the same songs played every week for years, he admitted that he was glad I'd had such experience with the music. He seemed to enjoy dancing it better when the timing was more nuanced too. Such appreciation, however, is a rarity. Ester, a regular at the social dance, confessed, "I find that I backlead often. Even the men that can dance will tell me that I'm leading them again." This was something she describes as a difficulty throughout the classes she has taken, with teachers constantly chastising her for taking over the lead.
Another woman describes it as a question more of influence: In a social setting, the woman has to follow, but she can also influence a lot. If your dance partner leads you into something it can be by the change of the hand, and you can bring it around another way and say "oops I thought that was it" but if your partner knows what you're doing you can't get away with that. Or if we're stuck in a rut and dancing the same thing over and over because my partner can't seem to think of anything else to do I'll say "how about such and such", and I'll lead him into it. But you have to have a
certain rapport to be able to do that. Thus, in order to successfully backlead, women are careful to not step on their partner's egos.37 Ester admitted to more forceful method of simply refusing to dance in the position that the man was trying to lead her into. As discussed in the previous chapter, Ester isn't comfortable with proximity between partners dancing in the "competition hold" for Standard dances, where bodies connect from the lower ribs to the upper thighs. When a partner tries to dance close, she simply pushes him away to a more comfortable distance. Considering the frustrations that the following role brings, such as having to dance off-time or being held too close for their personal comfort, it is unsurprising that women have developed a number of strategies to subvert the gendered lead/follow roles. The women in this particular ballroom community are docile in that they have made themselves malleable to learning their assigned role, and generally consider it preferable to follow rather than attempt to lead. They are active in trying to perfect their skills in accordance with the discourses of ballroom dancing, but they will rebel against some of the requirements of the following role when they consider it necessary. The power dynamic between the gendered roles is more multiple than the authorized language of ballroom acknowledges. Thus, while these women have chosen largely to conform to the role ascribed to their sex, there are points at which these normative roles are defied.
37 This is part of a concerted effort to maintain a particular decorum at ballroom dances, a subject that will be discussed in more detail in the following chapter. 70 In these instances, women are acting upon their partners' attempts to move them, and as such they change the way power flows between their dancing bodies (Foucault 1983: 220). The choice to backlead not only changes the way power flows through bodies on the dance floor, but provides a moment that denaturalizes the parsing of roles according to biology and its presumed physical, moral and intellectual accompaniments. In instances when women backlead, it can hardly be argued that they are unsuited to leading, or especially that they are naturally "patient" as Ron believes. The attempts to conceal backleading, however, limit the effects of this defiance. In moments when backleading is most successful, such as my dance with Anthony wherein he navigated and I controlled the timing, the dance changes from a leader and a passive follower, to one of active co-creation.
Crossing the Floor Unlike Anthony's experience of swing dancing and the change in terminology that resulted, not once did I hear the roles referred to as "lead" and "follow" in a pedagogical context. Both in classes and in the official reference books published by the ISTD (that many instructors and students use as their reference), the language used is that of the "man's" and "lady's" roles. Similarly, my dance class had "the ladies side" and "the men's side" of the classroom. As a result, playing the opposite role, which happens for the purpose of teaching, or for more advanced dancers to hone their skills, is always referred to as either being the other gender, or doing the other gender's role. For example, since there is only one teacher in my ballroom class, he is expected to teach 71 both roles. However, it sometimes becomes difficult to figure out which role he is teaching. On these occasions, a student will often call out "are you a man or a woman right now?" The rigidity ofthe gendered roles is thus reinforced through the idea that someone becomes another gender while they are performing the opposite role. While it would appear that this practice serves to denaturalize the relationship between sex and gender roles, the considerable pressure to dance the role that accords with a dancer's sex circumvents this possibility. The first time I walked across the dance floor to the "man's" side I was traversing not just a physical space, but also a social space with an invisible wall that separated people based on gender and skill-level. It is expected that dancers will not try to dance the opposite role unless they are training to be teachers, or are advanced dancers aiming to hone their skills at leading and following by sensitizing themselves to the subtleties of the other role. Despite this, it is extremely rare in the ballroom community for someone to choose to dance the opposite role, and is not considered something that one does simply because of role or sexual preference. Queer dancers, who are usually well- respected ballroom professionals, are expected to dance the "appropriate" role for their sex, thereby reinforcing the heteronormativity of ballroom. Thus, my decision to dance as a man one day was not met with curiosity or mirth. It was, rather, met with subtle opposition by the dance instructor, who appeared to think that I was arrogantly placing myself in the advanced category despite my having a mere two years of training under my belt.
72 Learning the jive, I picked up the steps fairly quickly and then began to work on the specifics of the lead for each step. Once each role has been taught and practiced a couple of times by the men and women in the classroom separately, the instructor will call upon a student to demonstrate how the two roles fit together. The student chosen is usually one of the more advanced students in the class, and the student who has had the most practice with the dance. However, on this occasion, the instructor chose me for the demonstration despite my lack of experience in my new role. This suggests that I was chosen as a light-hearted means to call me out in front of the class for switching genders, and in doing so to remind me that my place was on the other side of the room. As I experienced it, the instructor and I danced the routine together quite successfully for my first attempt at the jive as a man. Though the instructor's habitually deadpan expression revealed little, his actions informed me that he was not similarly content with my performance. When the routine was complete, he chastised me for being in the wrong position. The angling of my body was slightly off, he remarked, and proceeded to move me slightly in one direction, and then in the other, until (from my perspective) I was right back where I had originally ended the dance. Though such precision is not unheard of in his classes, my instructor usually waits until a student has had some time to learn the dance before he begins to correct them on this scale. Such attention to detail so early in my first lesson as a man was intended to highlight my lack of expertise in ballroom, and as such, to suggest that I was switching genders prematurely.
73 Such efforts by teachers to enforce gendered norms in ballroom are rare, and I have never seen another instance in which a student was corrected for trying to dance the role that does not correspond with their sex. Bourdieu argues that these cases when authority has to be asserted to enforce the norm are "vastly outnumbered by cases in which the norm could remain tacit because the agents' dispositions were objectively attuned to the objective structures, in a spontaneous compliance which removes all need to point out the proprieties" (1990: 160). In every other instance of gender switching that I have witnessed, it was a student that was quite advanced in their training. These students switch roles within the confines of what is considered acceptable, and indeed beneficial for the improvement of their skills. In these cases, as both Cheryl and Anthony have illustrated, their continued preference for their original role shows that most dancers do, indeed, comply with the norms of dancing in a manner that appears to them to be both spontaneous and natural. Moreover, when switching genders, these students tend to learn the steps, techniques of leading and following, shaping of the body and other more elementary aspects of the dance, they do not try to effect an appearance of being the other gender; women will try to avoid appearing masculine, and men will not try to appear feminine.
Unlike these students, the most extreme example of the performance of different genders in ballroom is provided by my dance instructor who frequently performs an idealized femininity when instructing the women of the class on more advanced style in Latin dancing. Despite the lack of any other visual signifiers (what Butler would call "schema") such as appearance or clothing, his movements alone have the ability to 74 transform him from a man to a woman in the eyes of those watching. Shining the way he moves his hips, his comportment, the direction of his gestures, and the rolling of his torso, he appears remarkably womanly for the duration of his demonstration.38 These movements are an example of what Mauss, in remarking upon the transmission of gendered ways of walking, refers to as a "social idiosyncrasy" (1973: 72) that is identifiable as feminine through education into traditions of movements. We thus understand his movements to be feminine, and recognize him to be effecting a womanly performance in this context through socialization into gendered "techniques of the body." Or in Butler's formulation, we understand him as effecting womanliness in this moment through his citation of regulatory norms.39 Learning the appropriate qualities of movement expected of women both in our daily experiences, and in the ballroom classroom more specifically, we understand his movements to be womanly through his successful performance of these qualities (such as a lightness of movement and soft arms highlighted with flourishes of the hand). The success of his feminine performances is often remarked upon by dancers in the class, who unanimously agree that he makes an "amazing woman." This can be seen as a form of drag within the ballroom context, and serves to highlight what Butler refers to as the "imitative structure of gender itself- as well as its contingency" (1990: 137). This, however, is not enough to resignify normative gender roles. As the qualities that
38 As the instructor's aim is not to be recognized as a real woman, but merely to momentarily demonstrate womanly movements to the class, there is a temporal difference between his actions and those shown in Butler's discussions of "passing" in "Bodies that Matter" (1993: 170-172) 39 It should be noted that the instructor's performance is not performative in the Butlerian sense in that its temporariness fails to conceal its falsity, that it is a repetition of conventions (Butler 1993: 12). 75 define femininity are thought to naturally follow from sex, his performance is understood by dancers as indicative of his great skill. Instead of posing a challenge to the naturalization of gender, the instructor is viewed as so skilled at dancing that he can successfully perform that which he is inherently not. It does, however, highlight the performativity of gender roles within ballroom dancing. When female students comment that they "could never be as good a woman as he is," they are not commenting on their gender in general, but on their ability to perform the role in dance specifically. The idealized model of femininity that this dance instructor performs, and that is the terrain of only the more advanced dancers, is not among the qualities thought to follow from biology, but from training.
Same-Sex Dancing Dancing with a person of the same sex is not common in ballroom. There are, however, certain situations in which it is viewed as appropriate or even necessary, and others in which it is questioned or frowned upon. In dance classes with only one teacher, for example, it is expected that every student will dance with the instructor at least once per class. This means that every student who is the same sex as the instructor must dance in a same-sex partnership. This is evidently easier for students who are women (with female instructors) than it is for male students (with male instructors), many of whom appear to have difficulty accepting this pedagogical technique. New members of the class often show visible signs of distress, ranging from tension in their shoulders and a general tentativeness, to outright refusal. After some time watching the other men in the class dance with their male teacher, and especially after experiencing the benefits first-hand, most men eventually become comfortable dancing with the male instructor. This comfort, however, is only present when it is seen as being one of pedagogical necessity, rather than choice. It is a very rare occasion for men to be seen dancing together at a social dance, especially when neither partner is a dance instructor. On the two occasions that I have witnessed men dancing together it was the exception that proves the rule. On both these occasions, two regulars at the social dance performed a same-sex Viennese Waltz. The Viennese Waltz is the only dance that has identical footwork for both men and women, so the role difference is one of hold and lead.
Compelled to take steps to ensure that no one's sexuality or masculinity was questioned, these two married men performed the Viennese Waltz as a parody rather than a serious dance. Laughing as they walked out onto the dance floor, the man of this dance took his lady as the lady attempted to swoon into the correct position. As the song ended, they parted dramatically to bow and curtsy at crowded tables cheering them on. The dance was viewed as a parody rather than a real Waltz. This example of same-sex dancing highlights the expectation of heterosexual partnership in ballroom dancing. Treating the dance as a joke reinforced the notion that same-sex partnership within ballroom dancing is errant behavior. This dynamic was echoed on Dancing with the Stars one week40 when Steve Guttenberg's professional partner, Anna Trebunskaya was too ill to practice and had her partner, Jonathan Roberts fill in for her. Though Anna was well enough to perform it for
40 Season 6 Episode 6. Airdate: March 31, 2008 the judging that week, Judge Len Goodman requested that Steve and Jonathan perform together at the performance show the next week. Both dressed as men, they danced the Tango overplaying their masculinity, with both straining to achieve a macho demeanor and facial expression. Once the dance was finished, they grasped each other's hands in a manly handshake intended to highlight each other's biceps. The parodie nature of the dance was highlighted by the laughter of the crowd and the media buzz that preceded its airing. That two men dancing together are considered an anomaly is evident in the announcer's referring to their dance as a "man-go." Ron also has a story of dancing a Viennese Waltz with another man, and his story highlights the commonly held idea that two men dancing together is a potential source of shame. During the dance, Ron admits, he was initially quite embarrassed. This admission was highlighted throughout his retelling of the event as he began the story with "don't get me wrong about this," a lead-in that suggests that he feels there is something "unseemly" about male same-sex dancing. He reinforced this sentiment, adding "we still talk about it and chuckle over it. And he said that the ladies will never view you like they did before." Again, we see male same-sex dancing both as something to "chuckle" about, and as something that could potentially change the way their masculinity/sexuality is perceived by the rest of the ballroom community. In no way is this an unfounded worry. In this primarily middle-aged to elderly community gossip is common, and anything that is considered even remotely outside of the norms of the (strictly heterosexual) community is a potential target. The nervousness Ron displayed in his story of dancing with another man echoes Michael Kimmel's (2003) analysis of 78 masculinity. Kimmel argues that masculinity involves an anxious push to prove manliness, itself conceived in opposition to others, who, in the hegemonic masculinity of our culture/era are women and gay men (2003: 52). As such, Ron was initially nervous both about the dance, and then about the way it would be understood by me in the retelling, in order for neither his masculinity nor his sexuality to be questioned. Maintaining his masculinity required that Ron mitigate any possible threat to his masculinity by treating the dance as a joke. Despite his embarrassment, Ron confessed to enjoying dancing with this man, and that it "was probably one of the best dances I'd ever done and it was with a male. But he just did such a great job as a lady." Thus, the potential embarrassment was not sufficient to quell their enjoyment of the dance. This did not change his opinion of the normalcy of men dancing together, however, and he continued to maintain that it was errant even after I pointed out that women dance together fairly often, to which he replied, "but it just seems a little odd when men do it." This double standard may be understood as stemming from differences in the ways masculinity and femininity are defined. Kimmel's (2003) analysis of masculinity hinging on power and control necessitates that when two men dance together, one of them must fail to fit the definition of masculine. The creation of this tenuous position often results in men trying to remove identification with the role they are playing by way of parody. By way of contrast, femininity is understood as more emotionally open and expressive. Women dancing together are more congruent with the definition of femininity than male same-sex dancing is with masculinity. Moreover, a lack of male dancers, rather than preference, is often the reason given for female same- 79 sex dancing. As I have previously discussed, women dance together on a fairly regular basis, though it is usually female dance instructors that are dancing with women at social dances. Unlike for men, the motivation of women to dance same-sex is not necessarily to improve their skills through dancing with an instructor. This does not mean, however, that women dance together out of enjoyment either. It is simply a matter of gender discrepancy, as there are usually twice as many women as men both at social dances and at dance classes. Despite unanimously demonstrating a preference for dancing with men, women would occasionally dance with female instructors when there were not enough men to dance with. Most women I have spoken to display a preference for dancing with men, even when the female instructors available to dance with are at a higher skill level than any of the men present. A lack of desire to dance with another woman was often highlighted in their facial expressions and the lack of enthusiasm they displayed while dancing. Thus, through verbally disavowing any preference for same-sex dancing, as well as visually displaying a lack of enjoyment (unlike men, who often laugh in order to show that it is a joke), the norm of heterosexual preference is reaffirmed. Thus, for both women and men, it is expected that desire in ballroom is always for hetero-partnerships, and any same-sex dancing that occurs is strictly for practical reasons. The expectation of desire being oriented solely toward the opposite sex is a rigidly upheld norm within ballroom dancing. As such, when one switches away from the role that ballroom characterizes as naturally corresponding with their gender, the performance is seen as temporary and in no way threatening to the dancer's real gender. Nor is it seen 80 to be indicative ofpreference. Removing any presumption of desire from same-sex partnerships entails obliterating the possibility of homosexual and homosocial preferences.41 This regulation of desire both strengthens the norm of hetero-partnerships and in doing so, reaffirms the gendered roles themselves. In most cases, however, no intervention is required to uphold this norm. Bourdieu argues that social experience (from the earliest experiences onward) tend to "shape schemes of perception and appreciation, in a word, tastes" so that the norm is upheld without intentional calculation ( 1 990: 1 60). Ron's instinctual remark that "it just seems a little odd" when men dance together speaks to the way in which homosexuality is rendered unspeakable through its exclusion from the field of possibilities within ballroom dancing. Heteronormativity is maintained, and the heterosexuality of dancers is defended through laughter or visual displays of displeasure.
Conclusion
Gender politics actively organize the structure of ballroom dancing, and thus are a terrain of considerable negotiation among ballroom dancers, though this is rarely acknowledged verbally. Initially, it appeared that few dancers critically examined the gender politics of these dances, but it soon became clear that many were trying to negotiate several conflicting ideas. These dancers are aware of the sexual politics. For men this is compounded by feeling that they have to defend their masculinity through 41 Butler argues that sexuality is as much motivated by the desires that prohibition generates as it is by the threat of punishment (1993: 100). Whether there are undercurrents ofhomosexual desire in the ballroom community or not, particularly during phases of pernicious gossip, the appearance of heterosexual conformity remains. 81 both performance and assertions of gender essentialisms. Dancers understand the strict role separation as a necessity of the "partnership" required to dance as a couple. These roles are considered separate, but equal, despite the power discrepancy implicit in them, a discrepancy that women accept in choosing to partake in this art form. The structure of the roles, and the different expectations for each role embody an understanding ofthe differences between the sexes that mirrors what members of Euro-North American culture uphold as idealized forms of masculinity and femininity. In these gendered roles, masculinity is defined by power, control and reason, and femininity is defined as passiveness, receptiveness and beauty. This is displayed not only in the structure of the dances and the discourses that surround them, but in the gendered "techniques of the body" taught to students. Yet, despite how rigidly dancers claim to uphold the norms of ballroom, role subversion does occur. In each instance of role subversion, masculine control, and therefore masculinity itself, is at stake. The unusual cases of dancers switching roles or dancing same-sex highlight the attempts of dancers to compensate for or justify their anomalous behaviors, and in so doing, uphold these entangled norms of sex, gender and sexuality. Counter to the authoritative discourses surrounding the roles of men and women, the way power flows through dancing bodies is actually far more multiple and varied. Some male dancers have recognized that the roles are arbitrarily designated and tend to welcome negotiation as a result. Moreover, the description of following as passive and acquiescing is inaccurate. The constant work of keeping one's body open to be moved by another and the resistance in the connection between partners demonstrate how the 82 following role is much more active than common descriptions would suggest. Moreover, the frequency with which backleading occurs, while it is generally kept hidden, shows that power does not flow through dancing bodies unidirectionally, but alternates, sometimes flowing both ways simultaneously as when aspects ofthe lead are shared. This chapter has been concerned with the negotiation of sexual politics and the production of gendered identities in Ballroom dancing, a negotiation that pervades every aspect of dancers' experiences, whether they are acting in conformity to the norms or in defiance. Considering how pervasive these issues are, we must return to the question posed in the introduction: how do we understand the decision among women to participate in (and indeed devote a lot of money and time to) an activity that places them in a position of subservience to men's direction? This question will continue to be fleshed out in the following chapter, which is concerned with how the structuring categories of race and gender prove to be inseparable from the thrill and excitement of ballroom dancing.
83 Chapter Three:
Enjoyment on the Ballroom Dance Floor
Introduction
Every weekend at the social dance I hear complaint after complaint - single women complain about the men, couples complain about the attendance, single men complain about women who don't go dancing as much anymore, and the occasional dancer makes racist comments about some of the dancers that I (and many other dancers) would prefer not to remember. With all this complaining, with all the gender and race politics in ballroom dancing, what makes people continue to invest time and money in a pastime that appears to be the site of so much contestation and struggle? Posing this question during interviews immediately changed people's demeanor and the reasons they were willing to put up with all these factors became evident. People's eyes lit up as they talked about what they loved about dancing, and descriptions of "perfect" moments were excitedly recounted. Dancers described being "addicted" to ballroom dancing, likened it to a drug, and discussed the "amazing" feelings of skating, flying, and flowing movements that could be felt with the "right partner." It soon became clear that these moments where everything felt "right" were both fleeting and elusive, and that this is part of what drives people to dance - everyone is striving to create and re-create pleasurable moments. Creating these perfect dances requires that a number of factors be in place, and even then, these "perfect moments" can easily fall apart, as the following vignette from
Cheryl demonstrates: 84 One evening, my partner and I went out dancing. The caliber of the dancers was quite high, so we had already discussed doing our best. We were sitting down when we heard the music for a Tango start. We were feeling rather confident, as we had been working recently on some Tango moves and thought we were doing rather well. The dance started off great, but within a few moments, my partner went into one of the latest moves and accidentally kicked me. I managed to recover and we continued with him still a little bit shaken up and constantly asking if I was okay. Next, I managed to mis-judge a turn and ended up whacking him on the arm. At this point we both started to giggle, but struggled to keep the dramatic stance of the Tango. Next, both of us moved forward at the same time and crashed into each other. At this point we could hold back the giggles no longer. The dramatic stance of the Tango had gone out the window and we were starting to cause a traffic jam among the flow of dancers coming up behind us. We realized that we could not recover our equilibrium quickly enough to allow the flow of dancing to continue, so we staggered off the floor in a fit of laughter and decided to forget about doing well and just to go back out on the floor and simply have fun - with no regard to other people's opinions of our dancing.
85 I begin this chapter with Cheryl's humorous story of a dramatic, well-rehearsed Tango falling quickly into complete disarray as it highlights several aspects of ballroom that I would like to explore. First, there is the concern that Cheryl and her partner show for maintaining the flow of dancers down the line of dance.42 As Standard dances are always moving counter clock-wise around the dance floor, there is a concerted effort among dancers to not impede the flow of dancing couples. Dancers actively cultivate a particular environment that facilitates their enjoyment of dance through self-control and strict norms of decorum that encourage a sense of trust between them. Second, many dancers treasure the challenge of trying to do more complicated moves, and keep pace with more skilled couples. This requires that they successfully play a particular character whether it is flirty, seductive, chivalrous or dramatic. The themes I have highlighted in Cheryl's story will be addressed in turn throughout this chapter with the aid of several theorists including Mahmood (2001), Butler (1993), Bourdieu (1984,
1990) and Puar (2007). Those involved in ballroom dancing are active in the production of spaces, discourses and norms within the ballroom sphere. They cultivate environments where people observe codes of conduct and dress in order to make their experiences predictable, safe and polite. Anthropologist Saba Mahmood's (2001) work on agency and self- cultivation is crucial for understanding dancers' efforts to create and maintain a particular ethos within the ballroom community. In order to understand the reasons why they
42 This term is used to describe the counter-clockwise movement of couples around the perimeter of the dance floor when dancing "travelling dances" such as the Waltz, Tango, Quickstep, Foxtrot and Samba. 86 cultivate these norms, which are for some dancers counter to their gender politics (as discussed in chapter two), I work through two complimentary theorizations of "habitus." Habitus can broadly be defined as "an acquired faculty in which the body, mind, and emotions are simultaneously trained to achieve competence at something" (Mahmood 2001 : 215). In Bourdieu's formulation it is a primarily unconscious acquisition wherein history becomes embodied as nature (1977: 78) as people incorporate the lessons learned from their inculcation into a particular set of social classes. Through this naturalization they understand cognition not as a product of these experiences, but as individual wants and tastes. This produces "durable dispositions" (1977: 72) that propagate themselves into the future. These dispositions shape and are shaped by dancers as they act to produce and maintain codes of dress and conduct. Mahmood's use of the term stems from the
Aristotelian tradition which views it as an intentional cultivation that is primarily moral in character, defining it as a "conscious effort at reorienting desires, brought about by the concordance of inward motives, outward actions, inclinations, and emotional states through the repeated practice of virtuous deeds" (Mahmood 2001 : 215). Both ofthese definitions are necessary in order to understand the motivations and desires that attract dancers to ballroom, the dispositions that they bring with them as they begin their training, and the intentional efforts to overcome some ofthese acquired ways of inhabiting and moving their bodies. Bourdieu theorizes practice as a temporal unfolding (1990: 81), but as the experiences of ballroom dancers demonstrate, it does not unfold in a homogenous and linear way. While much of their habitus remains unconscious, there are numerous instances in which the requirements of ballroom and 87 dancers' acquired dispositions collide. In these instances, dancers must actively struggle against their own tendencies, reworking their bodies and learning to inhabit different postures and movements that seem foreign at the outset. As these dancers are actively working on their bodies, minds and the dance spaces they inhabit, it is important to attend to the agency they have to transform themselves and their environment. Following Mahmood, I approach agency, not as a synonym for resistance, but as a capacity for action. Building upon my analysis of the system of gender and sexuality in ballroom throughout the previous chapter, Mahmood's (2001) work aids in understanding why women are so drawn to an art form rife with complex gender politics that they themselves bemoan, and in some cases facilitated past domestic abuse. Moreover, it is relevant to the efforts of these particular men and women to create an atmosphere that is tidy, predictable and amicable through agreed upon codes of conduct. According to Mahmood, conventional notions of freedom are based on "individual autonomy," whether negatively (as in the absence of obstacles, such as tradition) or positively (as in the capacity to realize an autonomous will). Neither definition of freedom is embraced within this ballroom community, nor are they conceived of as a possibility, as custom and tradition are valued for providing the etiquette that produces congenial relationships (interdependence rather than autonomy) both on and off the dance floor. With the valuation of partnership, individual interest is subordinate to the interests of the group at large. Partnership involves learning to dance with another person according to particular modes of "correct" comportment and movement. Thus, they willingly subject themselves to ballroom pedagogy. Mahmood argues that rather than indicating passive and 88 unresisting subjects, docility suggests a willingness to take instruction and the struggle to achieve competence at a skill (Mahmood 2001 : 210). Thus, docility is not negative or passive, and as the narratives of ballroom dancers will show, is what actively creates the enjoyment of dance that they endlessly seek. Understanding how narratives of chivalrous Europeans and sexy Latin Americans enrich the experience of dancers compels me to understand how geographic imaginarles flow through the ballroom world. Jasbir Puar's (2007) Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times proves invaluable in understanding how these narratives are enacted and incited, spreading like "contagions" (172) across the bodies of dancers. Her analysis, which merges affect theory with critical race theory and geography (206-21 1) attends to how, through sensation, bodies can inhabit multiple times and places. In ballroom, these space-times are imaginarles tied to particular music, dance steps and characters that are evoked through movement and discourse. Hence, a simple change in song has the ability to transform a dancer from Cinderella to an exotic vixen. These raced and gendered characters add to the experience of ballroom dancing, providing a sense of drama, romance and passion.
Part 1: Cultivating an Atmosphere for Expression
When asked what they love about ballroom dancing many replied that they loved the unique atmosphere. The structured lessons and "correct" ways to move with a partner helped people overcome inhibitions and made them more comfortable moving their bodies in new ways. The emphasis on self-control and strict decorum made the 89 environment more predictable, which assisted in the formation of a sense of trust among dancers. Each of these aspects of the ballroom atmosphere will be addressed in turn, demonstrating that the archaic rules of decorum that accompany the gender dynamic in ballroom reinforce an atmosphere that few dancers are interested in subverting, and it is for this reason that they are maintained.
Learning to Express Yourself Many dancers remarked that they got into ballroom dancing because they were uncomfortable with dancing "freestyle" at clubs. They all remembered loving to dance as children, but as adults found themselves too shy and apprehensive about expressing themselves physically. Ron remembered sitting down at dances because he was too shy to get on the dance floor, and decided that he needed structured dances in order to participate. In ballroom dancing, having specific footwork, timing and ways of moving your body allowed him to learn to express himself. As he remembers learning to move: I believe that we start off being really shy and now we're into a dance where we're required to bring our arms up above our waists. It seems awkward at first; it seems showy and awkward. For a shy person, that is difficult. But after awhile you forget about it, because it is all part of the art form of dancing. Similarly, Cheryl found that at first she was really uncomfortable with certain movements, but in order to successfully dance, she would have to learn to perform them. When recounting her previous discomfort, her shoulders hunched forward and her head hung low as though she were reliving her apprehension. Now she says she is more focused on making her dancing as good as it can be. Her chest opened up and head lifted as she proudly stated that she now does "whatever needs to be done" to make her dancing better. Ballroom has a well defined set of figures that are published as syllabi for each dance. As such, being taught how to move their bodies in the ways that were demanded of them by the syllabus made them feel less shy about moving expressively. Ron described this as "opening up," a phrase that resonates with Cheryl's bodily performance. As Cheryl and Ron describe it, dancing shifted from an individual endeavor that made them feel exposed or showy into a partnership that required them to move together and be expressive. While the codified structures of ballroom dancing could be interpreted as restraining the movement of bodies, as repressive and inhibitory to dancers' expressive inclinations, it is experienced as precisely the opposite. Dancers' stories of a lack of inhibition in their youth was something that they had to learn to achieve in adulthood. It was precisely through the dedication and struggle required to conform to the expectations of their instructors that they began to move in ways that they would previously have felt self-conscious about. In short, they had to make themselves docile. Mahmood describes the pleasure that is derived from working on "one's thoughts, body, conduct, and ways of being" (2001 : 210) in conformity with a discursive tradition (in this case, the International ballroom canon). This is evident in the stories of becoming more "expressive" that followed from each dancer's story of learning to ballroom dance.
91 The change in attitude, comportment and confidence these dancers experienced can be understood through Bourdieu's concept of the "body hexis." Bourdieu argues that through mimesis, children learn to acquire a "body hexis," the ways in which an individual walks, comports themselves and moves in accordance with the classes (i.e.: age, sex, class, race etc.) of which they are members (1977: 87). The lack of inhibition in youth can be thought of as occurring prior to the adoption of this body hexis as a fully formed habit. However, by adulthood Ron had adopted a compact and unimposing posture, and this inhibited him from raising his arms above his head. Similarly, the opening of Cheryl's chest as she described the changes she underwent learning to dance speaks of a similar transformation from habitually holding herself in a reserved manner to a more expressive and confident comportment. As dancing is rarely taught within communities, homes and schools in Euro-Canadian society,43 many of the dancers I interviewed did not yet possess a repertoire of movements appropriate for dancing prior to formally learning ballroom. The process of becoming comfortable dancing fits nicely with Mahmood's reading of the Aristotelian formulation of habitus, which implies a more conscious effort to change oneself in the pursuit of a particular goal through the "repeated practice of virtuous deeds" (2001: 215).44 It is therefore cumulative, and these dancers found themselves becoming the uninhibited dancers they had endeavored to become through a great deal of practice. With the concerted goal of becoming someone who can
43 While the demographic ofthose I interviewed includes non-European immigrants, the discomfort of freestyle dancing was only noted by those of European origin. 44 Several dancers, including two that I interviewed had plaques or fridge magnets with "dance as if no one is watching" printed on them, suggesting that to a certain degree, a lack of inhibition is considered a desirable virtue within the community. Efforts to maintain orderliness and the policing of heterosexuality (discussed in the previous chapter) both demonstrate the limits to this desire. 92 walk onto a dance floor uninhibited, these dancers made themselves malleable to ballroom instruction, and through this, learned to overcome their shyness. The structure and formal rules of this style of dancing were received as a welcome change from the uncertainty of moving their bodies without having a repertoire of movements for dance. Thus, structures are not universally inhibiting, but can provide the means for expression. These forms of expression may be socially mediated and structured, but as the narratives of "opening up" demonstrate, they are experienced as individual and personal.
Structure and Control
Control was considered by dancers to be implicit in the structure of ballroom dancing, more than any other form of partner dancing. Many prefer ballroom precisely because it is more structured than any other dance, often referring to it as more "defined" or "standardized." For several people the most obvious comparison was what is either referred to as "Social" or "American-style"45 ballroom dancing, simply because many ballroom venues house a mix of International and American dancers. Anthony recalled that he started out in American style ballroom but changed to International because he found American style "limiting." What was limiting was not a dearth of variation in figures and steps, or that he couldn't improvise, but precisely the opposite. It was the lack of precision and "correctness" to American style that made it less enjoyable for him. As
45 Whereas International ballroom is the style that was codified by the Imperial Society of Teachers of Dancing (see chapter one), American style ballroom is the reinterpretations of these dances by the major US studios: Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire. 93 a result, it was limited as a challenge to learn since there was not as much technique46 or strict codes of movement. Anthony referred to American style as being "all over the place." Thus, it is also a difference of how space on the dance floor is used. Dancing International, people say that they use up the whole floor when dancing "travelling dances,"47 whereas the movements are smaller in American style and people don't move as quickly around the dance floor as a result. This causes traffic jams,48 and requires that leaders be more vigilant in watching where and how people are moving so that they can navigate around slower moving dancers. As Anthony complained, "people dancing Social mess with the flow of it" both because of different ways of using floor space as well as the unpredictable improvisations of Social dancers.49
Taking Pleasure in Norms of Decorum The shared sense of personal decorum that is present in the ballroom scene is one that is frequently remarked upon. As was just discussed, there are particular ways of utilizing space in ballroom dancing. Anthony refers to this as a "code of conduct" that
46 Technique and style are generally used interchangeably. Technique is generally used to describe shape and movement outside of dance steps. It refers to the organization ofthe body as a whole, integrating postures, lengthened or shortened arms and legs etc. that articulate the story being enacted through the dance. Thus, it would perhaps be appropriate to argue that it is the "technique of the body" taught in ballroom classes that renders the dancers movements "effective and traditional" (Mauss 1973: 75). 47 This includes all Standard dances (with Tango in a slower progression), as well as the Samba and Meringue. It is referred to as "travelling" because the dances move around the floor counter-clockwise. Travelling dances are contrasted with "spot-dances" which are danced stationary. 48 Because dances are considered "travelling", a number of car metaphors are used to describe the movements. These include "traffic jams" and 'defensive driving'. This sometimes takes a sinister turn as racist and sexist stereotypes regarding driving ability are superimposed onto the ballroom floor. 49 It should be noted that while American style ballroom is noted for its (relative to International) laxity of rules, this does not mean that gender roles are any less rigidly upheld in the organization ofthe dance. 94 dancers adhere to. This code includes following the perimeter of the floor when dancing "travelling dances," and ensuring that you do not interfere with the flow of traffic if you make a mistake. When mistakes are made, a couple will usually move away from the flow of traffic in order to get started up again, especially if there are many couples dancing toward them. This is evident in the story Cheryl recounted that began this chapter, as she and her partner opted to exit the dance floor in order to avoid disrupting other dancers. In spot dances similar codes apply, as leaders ensure that they do not lead their partner into another couple, and followers look where they are going before they extend their arms out to add flourish to the dance. Thus, concern for the other dancers is considered an integral part of the enjoyment of ballroom dancing. Knowing how every couple was going to conduct themselves on the dance floor allowed people to feel like they had more control over how the dance was going to proceed, and let them relax more on the dance floor instead of constantly having to react to the movements of other couples around them. This code of conduct extends to how dancers interact with people both on and off the dance floor. Most of the people I spoke with were single, but did not consider the ballroom scene a place to find someone to become romantically involved with. Many women express either worry of men having romantic intentions, or outright disapproval of men using that space to seek out a romantic partner. As such, dancing was not considered a pastime that facilitated meeting new people for romantic purposes, although this does occasionally happen. Instead, it is the love of dancing itself, and the sensuous experiences it fosters, though almost always with partners, that drives people to go to 95 dance socials.50 As a result, it is expected that no one will aggressively approach anyone, and dancers tend to be polite, give people their space and always thank each other after a dance. Beyond this, people tend to follow what appear to be old-fashioned rules of courtship. Men follow behind women as they walk on and off the dance floor and walk them to their seat. Not everyone adheres to these codes of conduct, however, and Cheryl argues that this is more the case with less experienced dancers. She says that she has encountered men who were at the socials more to meet a woman than to dance, and acted inappropriately as a result. She claims that this is something that happens less and less "the higher you go in the dance world." Dance socials, however, are open to everyone, and while someone who is a beginner is less likely to attend a social that is known for more advanced dancers or an American style ballroom dancer is less likely to go to a venue known for International, these boundaries are frequently traversed. Thus, at any ballroom social there are always dancers who do not adhere to the same code of conduct. These codes of conduct extend beyond what is happening on the dance floor. It is often remarked upon that no one ever sees anyone drinking at a ballroom dance. In reality, many people have a glass of wine with dinner, or will sip a drink slowly throughout the night. This is contrasted with the bar scene, where people are seen as exercising less self-control than at ballroom dances. Anthony refers to this as "anarchy" and people who frequent the bar scene are thought to be less controlled because ofthe drinking, which he didn't find conducive to dancing or feeling relaxed. Ron concurs,
50 In order to remain attractive to singles who can't find partners, ballroom line dances have been created that require no partner, and a few songs each night are devoted to line dancing. Additionally, singles occasionally carve out a space for line dancing even when most people are dancing in couples. saying that "you rarely see ballroom dancers get drunk like you would in a nightclub. And I like that aspect of it. Even with dancers that are very serious. You NEVER see them intoxicated or wobbling on the dance floor." The main reason that ballroom dancers police their drinking, as Ron and Anthony attest, is that they need to keep their balance when dancing. As Ron phrased it, you need to have "muscle control and mind control over what you are doing." Many ballroom halls have dress codes in order to reinforce the type of atmosphere they are trying to cultivate. Bourdieu argues that exclusivity is related to prestige in his analysis of elite gatherings in France. In this passage, he writes that "the prestige of a salon (or a club) depends on the rigor of its exclusions (one cannot admit a person of low standing without losing in standing) and on the 'quality' of the persons received, which is itself measured by the 'quality' of the salons that receive them" (1990: 137). As such, in my capacity as the "doorgirl," I am charged with ensuring compliance with the dress code by attendees to prevent the event from being seen as more casual. Primarily, however, people police themselves, and many dancers pay considerable attention to their appearance as part of the goal of maintaining the atmosphere they desire. Ron says that he pays much more attention to his appearance and health both as part of the showmanship of dancing, and in an attempt to be courteous to his dance partners. This is also evident in the conduct of smokers, many of whom either bring mints with them or bring mouthwash in order to reduce the smell of smoke on their breath. Thus, the norms of conduct follow both from an attempt to create a particular "upscale" atmosphere, as Ron described it, and from an attention to the multisensory experience of partner dancing, 97 as dancers must attend to their impacts on others including appearance and smell. Rarely are these codes spoken of, though some teachers will take their students out to social dances in order to teach them how to move around the dance floor, and the occasional dance hall posts a short (though certainly not complete) list of rules. Despite these attempts at producing orderliness, the rules of interaction are part of the tacit knowledge of ballroom dancing, and as such, are not possible to comprehensively list. They are primarily unspoken rules that are learned in practice and incorporated into the body by watching and doing. Bourdieu describes how norms "remain tacit because the agents' dispositions were objectively attuned to the objective structures, in a spontaneous compliance which removes all need to point out the proprieties" (1990: 60). While it is necessary to enforce the dress code, or explain the rules of the dance floor to the occasional newcomer (who is usually quite embarrassed by the confrontation), the rarity of these occurrences lends credence to Bourdieu's claim.
Trust
In order for these dancers to feel comfortable dancing with a partner there needs to be trust between them. Many women admit they do not trust beginners to lead them, particularly for Standard as the man is the eyes of the operation in his role as leader. Not having the ability to see where you are going can be a very distressing situation for many women, myself among them. As Ester attests, "when you're dancing with a stranger and you don't know what he is going to do it is very nerve wracking for me. So I'll end up
98 backleading, especially with beginners." It often takes a great deal of time dancing with a partner before I trust their competencies at navigating the dance floor. Even with my dance instructor, who I both trust and wouldn't dare try to backlead, I find myself clutching onto him for dear life amidst my nervousness at not being able to see where I am going. Despite three years of learning to follow and trying to trust other people's leads, like Ester, I am uncomfortable putting my well being into the hands of another dancer.
The issue of proximity and touching strangers is another area that women claim to have had difficulty with when they first learned to dance. As we saw in chapter two with Ester's story of refusing to dance in the "competition hold," many dancers feel uncomfortable with particular bodily contact. Ester recalls that physical contact was more of an issue when she was first learning to dance than it remains today, "when I started dancing I had a very hard time having men in my space because I'd been through a messy divorce and the marriage wasn't that great." Cheryl concurs, noting that: When I first started dancing, I danced a mile away from my dance partner because I was very aware that it was a man I was dancing with and it would be someone I didn't know very well. But now that I am more into dancing, I don't look at it as "some man" I'm dancing with, it's my dance partner, and we can say anything to each other, like "put your hand here, do this do that" that you wouldn't in other
situations.
99 Thus, for Cheryl, bodily contact is something that had to be reinterpreted in the ballroom context, from "having someone in your space" to a partnership where she could be assertive in the creation of the dance. These issues of trust among women in the ballroom community sometimes stem from having had unhealthy or abusive relationships in their past. One woman admitted that she began ballroom dancing because her therapist suggested that it might help her heal after a lengthy abusive relationship. The therapist proposed that if she took up a hobby that had both male and female participation, all working together, it might help her learn to trust people. Thus, ballroom dancing is not the instance of males dominating females that it at first may appear. On the contrary, some women have found that it helps them to learn a sense of interdependence after experiences that have made them want to retreat from men altogether. In saying that "it took years of moving my body, learning to trust the other person and having safe contact with dance people before I could relax and trust again," she indicates several aspects of ballroom dancing that enable healing. These aspects are expressive physical movement, interdependence, and "safe contact." Beyond ballroom dancing merely being a sport where men and women work together for a common goal of mutual enjoyment, it is the safety of the environment and rules of dance that facilitates this aim. With strict norms of conduct that clearly define how men and women touch and for what purposes, the threat of being further abused or treated inappropriately is mitigated. This affords women an environment where they can feel secure enough to heal, and learn to move their bodies in expressive ways that pull them out of their shell and help them to be social again. 100 Most women who have expressed these issues interacting with men spent time searching out safe spaces to pursue dancing in order to facilitate learning trust and interdependence with men. One woman recalled that the first class she attended was unsuitable for this because there was a man in the room who was harassing all the women, and in response she chose to seek out another venue. Another woman researched dance studios before attending any classes in order to see which ones had a reputation for teaching proper conduct as well as dancing. Thus, contrary to the idea that the following role makes women passive recipients of male domination, these women actively sought out spaces in which they could feel safe. Thus, the norms that are produced within the ballroom community are not necessarily ones that most women are looking to subvert or challenge. In expressing a desire to dance within a genre that upholds archaic models of passive women and powerful men, these women are demonstrating a form of agency that resonates with Saba Mahmood's formulation. Mahmood critiques the tendency within poststructural feminism to theorize agency as the capacity to resist or subvert norms (2001 : 21 1). Her study of the Egyptian Islamic Revival movement shows how these theorizations fail to account for the desires and motives of women engaging in a religious movement that is seen by most feminists as one that cements male domination. Rather, she argues, agency needs to be thought of as a "capacity for action," one that "draws our attention to the practical ways in which individuals work on themselves to become the willing subjects of a particular discourse" (2001 : 210). This assists in rethinking ballroom dancing not as an anachronistic enactment of structures of inequality, but rather as an arena within which 101 norms are upheld or resisted by women for particular purposes. Exploring how these norms of decorum, of touch, and of self-restraint are cultivated and maintained by women suggests that they suit the purposes of women who wish to explore their bodies in movement with other dancers in an environment that is safe and predictable.
Part 2: Seeking Pleasure
Within this deeply regulated community dancers find a great deal of enjoyment exploring the variety of sensations that ballroom dancing affords. Achievement is not available to the individual but to partners as they struggle to dance well together. Dancing well on one's own produces nothing but frustration if it does not translate into good dancing when done with a partner. The profound sensations that dancers feel do not occur in a vacuum, but in their interactions with other dancers. Most dancers describe the sensations produced by dancing as "euphoric," "ecstatic," "addictive," and feeling like they are flying or skating, and these sensations can only occur through this partnership. They enjoy playing different characters, enacting narratives of flirty Latin-Americans and graceful European aristocracy. This next section explores the multiple aspects of ballroom that enliven dancers' imaginations and produce the challenges and thrilling sensations that make them claim that dancing is an addiction.
Addiction
Ron describes dancing as "addictive," and claims that he goes out dancing for the feeling of moving to music. "I just love how it makes me feel. It is a euphoria! It is like 102 being high on something." Nearly all dancers I spoke with made similar statements, all claiming that they are "addicted" to dancing. Many confess to popping painkillers in order to keep dancing despite sore feet, and women can often be seen putting bandages on their feet after dancing several nights in a row. One man confessed to me that dancing had ruined his marriage, because he prioritized it over his relationship. When asked what they are addicted to they provide several responses. Many argue that it is taking on and mastering new and challenging choreography that provides a high that they keep coming back for. Additionally, they are excited by the sensations of certain movements that feel
"beautiful" or like they are "flying." For those addicted to taking on a challenge, the sense of accomplishment is one that is bolstered by the codification of movements, as correctness can be more easily evaluated than more open and interpretive endeavors. Immediately after successfully executing a figure or routine, dancers experience a sense of accomplishment at having been correct and in tune with their partner. Moreover, it is through this sense of moving correctly that dancers learn to experience the variety of sensations that ballroom dancing enables. As they work on perfecting their movements and postures together they are forming a new habitus in the more conscious formulation offered by Mahmood's reading of Aristotle (2001 : 210). These dancers work on themselves in accordance with what is deemed "correct" by their instructor, and derive great pleasure from each step they make toward accomplishing conformity with this tradition. Whether dancers are seeking a challenge in order to produce the next high, or particular sensations (such as "flying"), they are always dependent on two people working in perfect concert and often on a crowded floor. Partially as a result of the multitude of factors involved in producing these sensations, dancers seldom achieve the "perfect dance" that satiates their craving. Like an addiction to hard drugs, ballroom produces a high that is difficult to recreate and seems to slip easily from the grasp of even well-practiced dancers as experience and success continuously increases expectations. Despite this, dancers never stop pushing themselves in the hopes that the next dance will be better, that it will satisfy their cravings for ecstasy in movement.
Gender and the Possibilities for Sensation
Dancers often find certain dances induce different sensations. Ester attributes different sensations to different dances, arguing that the Waltz is "flowing and it feels like you're gliding along the floor," and that the Viennese Waltz is a similar sensation, but because it is faster, it "feels like you're skating." Thus, the two forms of the Waltz effect sensations that are grounded but continuous and liquid. For her, the Foxtrot and Cha Cha effect different kinesthetic sensations. She describes one step in the Foxtrot "where you go up and then you go all the way around your partner and it feels like you're flying. You just stand there and you just fly around." Similarly, "In the Cha Cha, there is a certain move that if I have a good partner I can do. It is a sharp turn and when I go back, it feels like I'm flying. It feels like the perfect step." Thus the Foxtrot and Cha Cha contain moves that are more ecstatic than in either Waltz and these steps feels more "perfect" due to the feeling of ascension they provide.
104 All of these descriptors, "flowing," "gliding," "flying" and "skating" speak to particular kinesthetic sensations that combine speed with continuous motion. Ron's enjoyment of dance does not stem solely from these "flowing" sensations that Ester describes. Rather, he prefers to mix these sensations with the pauses followed by quick motion of guapacha timing, or sharply punctuated staccato movements. He describes this with regard to the Tango, "I love the staccato movement, and the dips and the pivots," all of which break up the timing of the dances. He finds that these different timings "add color to a dance." There is a sense of playing with time as Ron dances, stretching out certain sequences and contracting others; some movements short and punctuated, and others drawn out like pulled taffy. As the leader of this dance, he has within his grasp the ability to control timing and pace in order to play with how the movements interpret the timing of the song. This is a way of relating to music and movement that is not within the grasp of women (unless they are backleading) as they must follow the timing of their partner. There is thus a gendered aspect to the range of sensations that people can feel. The sensations that Ester describes require a good partner to create the momentum that feels like flight as the motion created with her partner takes control over her body, providing the sensation that she is actively doing nothing to make herself "fly around." This experience is more widely available to female dancers in ballroom, as male dancers are responsible for not only their own movements, but also those of their partner's. Moreover, men are holding onto women in a more supportive fashion with his hand on her back compared to her arm delicately resting on his shoulder, and as such, he cannot 105 abandon himself to the momentum of their turns. As Ester noted, her "perfect step" requires the right partner, highlighting how none of these sensations are produced by the dancer alone, they are produced through a partnership, and require that both dancers be trusting and in tune with each other. As the man's role is distinguished by decision and control, and the woman's role by the lack of these qualities, the sensations that are afforded to each sex are in accordance with the discourses that define their roles and materialize the partnership. The pleasure to be found in conforming to a particular discursive tradition (Mahmood 2001: 210) in ballroom includes euphoric bodily sensations. Whereas Ester can feel as though she is flying by abandoning control to her partner (a sensation that requires no less rehearsal than any other aspect of ballroom), this is not something that men can feel in their role as the leader as they are controlling the dance. Instead, the pleasures afforded to the man's role are those of manipulating time and movement. As there is clearly much enjoyment to be found in the sensations produced by abandoning control, partner dancing remains appealing to women despite their numerous complaints regarding the ballroom gender dynamic. Mahmood's critique of notions of freedom that are predicated on individual autonomy (2001 : 207) or resistance of norms (2001 : 206) resonates with the experiences of women being whisked around by their partners. As they struggle to attain a trusting partnership that affords them the possibility of feeling like they're "flying," they are achieving a new "agentival capacity" (Mahmood 2001), which as Mahmood rightly points out, is present "not only in those acts that result in (progressive) change, but also in those that aim toward [the] continuity, stasis, and stability" (2001: 212) of ballroom's gender norms.
Continental Imaginarles As was mentioned in chapter one, geography is mobilized in dividing the dances into categories, each with their corresponding narratives of chivalry or sexiness. This begs the question of how place resonates in the imaginations of dancers. Following Brian Keith Axel's (2002) work on Diasporic imaginarles, Puar argues that "bodies can be in multiple places and temporalities simultaneously, not (only) tethered through nostalgia or memory but folded and braided into intensifications. The sensation of place is thus one of manifold intensities cathected through distance" (2007: 171). Such intensities do not necessarily require a former place or time to return to. Historical and spatial imaginarles of people and places far removed from the lives of Toronto-based dancers in the twenty- first century, too, can become "cohered through sensation, vibrations, echoes, speed, feedback loops, recursive folds and feelings" (Puar 2007: 171). These imaginarles stick to bodies, and dancers hold onto them despite being fictitious, which speaks to a concerted project to hold onto nostalgia for a past that never existed. Susan Stewart (1993) argues that nostalgia is "hostile to history," and that the desires that spur nostalgia are "the absence that is the very generating mechanism of desire" (23). The categories hold both because they are continually reinforced and because the desires that produce them can never be fulfilled. The association of place with narratives of passion and romance resonate with dancers' imaginings of a chivalrous European past and with a fiction of a dangerously sexy "other" whose dances are available to try-on. It is the 107 absence of imaginary past and "other" that produces the struggle to retain these categorizations despite being fictitious in origins. Conventional approaches to Latin dancing highlight movement in the hips, and this movement is tied to location through the term: "Cuban hip motion." Hip movements "race" dancing bodies through this affiliation with place (Puar 2007: 171), a process that becomes more parodie in competition. Similarly, tight rigid holds, swooning postures (at least for the woman) and soft flowing rhythms "race" these bodies as European, and historically situate them as nineteenth century aristocracy. The affiliation of different dances with different geographies places limitations on how dances can be interpreted, but it also enables the creation of particular characters that animate these dances. These narratives are "contagions" (Puar 2007: 172) carried on the bodies of dancers. In her work on queer diaspora, Puar argues that all bodies should be thought of as "contagious or mired in contagions; bodies infecting other bodies with sensation, vibration, irregularity, chaos, lines of flight" that betray expectations (2007: 172).51 Dancers enact these narratives as they move and their enthusiasm for these imaginings exceeds their bodies, infecting the bodies of those around them. Puar describes these contagions as conductors between the senses and sensations, between "touch, smell, taste, hearing, and sight - the five primary senses (from the vantage of western science) - into shivers, sweat, blushes, heat and pain among many other sensations" (2007: 172). Sara Ahmed (2007) rightly points out that the transmission of affect is contingent on both situation and
51 Critical ofthe way discourses of contagion are used in the pathologization ofterrorism and homosexuality (particularly in the era of AIDS), Puar argues that we should think of ail bodies as "mired in contagions" rather than particular stigmatized bodies. 108 how and by what we are affected (125). The women I interviewed and took dance classes with certainly were predisposed toward finding these particular narratives of heterosexual romance and passion appealing, and this facilitated the sharing of affective contagions. However, like Cheryl's humorously disastrous Tango, the unevenness and unpredictability of the affects generated through these narratives echoes Puar's contentions. These narratives are infectious, but they are also unstable, particularly due to the tentative manner in which they are approached by many dancers. Christopher, a local dance instructor, noted the demand for sexy moves in dance classes, "when students start watching something like Dancing with the Stars and they see all those sexy moves, then they want to learn them, so you have to teach them a couple of those lines." However, for many women, their enthusiasm for learning to dance "sexy" was matched by their reticence. Most of the women in my dance class would hesitate before trying out some of these movements, appearing to me as though they were trying to work up the courage. Often, in these instances, their attempts would be thwarted by their self-consciousness as they fell into a fit of giggles, losing all ability to concentrate or hold their form. This response usually diminishes with time, and many women find more enjoyment in the "sexiness" of the dance as they rehearse themselves in that role. Sexiness is thus an accomplishment, requiring both mastery of the movements and mastery of their own embarrassment. Ester describes this with regard to the Samba, claiming that with a "regular partner, you know the routine and it can be very sexy." "Sexy" is thus something that they need to practice before they can feel comfortable enough to enjoy it, and who it is shared with often becomes crucial to this enjoyment. Feelings of intimacy (sexual or otherwise) with a partner are prerequisite for many dancers to perform "sexy". Prior to learning to dance, these women had no experience with the particular form of "sexy" that characterizes ballroom Latin. As such, miming the instructor, rehearsing the moves, and dancing them with a partner required a great deal of repetition before the dancer was able to incorporate these flirty, raunchy or sensual characters into their repertoire. As Bourdieu writes, "the body believes in what it plays at: it weeps if it mimes grief (1990: 73), but learning to mime something that one has never experienced, and that does not accord with their bodily hexis, takes time. Moreover, it requires docility and a willingness to struggle through performances that initially make them uncomfortable. Butler (1993) argues that any performance of gender is a citation of all previous performances of gender. In this case, the performance of "sexy" is understood only in relation to previous performances of "sexy" both in ballroom dancing, and in popular media. There is thus a reiterative aspect to "sexy" in ballroom as it is through linking the instructor's movements with what they see on Dancing with the Stars, and other media that they form a template for what "sexy" should look like as they try on the characters associated with Latin dances.
Playing a Character When anything about dancing is being discussed, it is infrequent for dancers not to move their bodies. Instead, every part of them is involved in communication as they discuss their favorite dances or steps, what makes them uncomfortable, what is frustrating 110 them and what new movements they are excited about. These bodily performances often speak more to the affective dimensions of dancing than do their descriptions. Dancers repeatedly tout narratives about the "dramatic Tango," the "sexy Rumba" or the "graceful Waltz," and their enjoyment of these different narratives is evident in their bodily performances. This phenomenon was evident one day in dance class. A newcomer to the dance class chatted with the single women while we all practiced our Tango steps, waiting for the instructor to stop by and dance with each of us in turn. She stopped practicing and turned to the woman closest to her and said that she loves the Tango, because it is "the dance of love." It tells a story, she informed us, of two lovers torn by conflicting emotions. She paused for a moment, her face beamed, a shimmer overtook her eyes and she excitedly pronounced the dance to be "terribly dramatic," at which point she moved into a deep plié, lifted her arms as though to forcefully clutch an imaginary partner and moved her head sharply toward this gentlemanly apparition and then away from him. In this moment, she evoked a fantasy of a heated romance with passions that burn hot and bright. In a similar performance, Ester described her love of the Waltz. As she began her description, she lifted her arms to embrace an imaginary partner, leaned back as though swooning and swayed her upper body to the count 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3. She told me that it is a "romantic dance" that makes her feel "sooo graceful." As she said this, her eyes gleamed and looked far away as though lost in a daydream. The movements of dancers' bodies evince the affects of these well-rehearsed narratives of grace and chivalry, of romantic drama, or of unrestrained licentiousness. Despite being conjured from the realm ofthe 111 imaginary, these stock characters represent authorized desires within contemporary Western society. They demonstrate Butler's contention that the citation of norms limits the possibilities of desire (1993: 100-104). Whether these are dreams of romantic ideals, of childhood fairytale fantasies and unhindered passions that never materialized, or desires for more lighthearted and uninhibited sexuality, these phantoms animate their love of dance. These dancers perpetually reach toward apparitions of a life that never was, of historically animated fictions of European aristocracy and exotic others. This constant reaching is not toward a new being, in any permanent sense, but a new feeling. These dancers do not wish to become the characters that animate their fantasies, as few ofthem would prefer such starkly different lives. Most single women assert that they do not want to date, they just want to dance. Despite this, they derive a great deal of enjoyment from playing different types of heterosexual feminine characters aflame with romance and passion. Such passions would not be welcome in their lives, and yet the dancing fantasies continue. These are fantasies oífeeling like particular characters, of taking on the affective possibilities that exist in different epochs and places. These are the possibilities that compel the constant maintenance of narratives of romance and passion and the associated roles. These stories, and the characters they contain, enliven dancers' imaginations. The stories breathe life into dancers' movements as they joyously practice their steps in anticipation of their fantasies being fulfilled, if only momentarily. In the search for new and jubilant sensations in ballroom dancing, dancers seek out challenges in order to achieve a sense of accomplishment. They learn to move their bodies in new and exciting ways, always within popular trends (such as learning to dance 112 "sexy") and according to cultural classifications (such as the different sensations available to different genders). It is the search for accomplishment, the "perfect dance," the "perfect step," "flowing," "skating" and "flying" sensations, that drives many dancers' "addiction" to dance.
Joy, Critique and Contradiction For dancers at the social dance and in dance classes, enjoyment is found through the production of a particular atmosphere that feels safe, where these docile bodies learn to become confident and expressive dancers by allowing themselves to be malleable, and learning to feel "correct" kinesthetic sensations with a partner. As such, dancers seek out and cultivate particular environments that allow them to feel comfortable touching and being touched, moving and being moved. What outsiders may perceive as outdated chivalrous interactions between men and women are not perceived as an anachronistic relic from a repressive past by most ballroom dancers. Rather, these rules of conduct provide predictable interactions that enable dancers to feel less inhibited. As I demonstrated in chapter two, the women I spoke with (both formally and informally) at my fieldsites were critical of the gendered lead/follow roles and yet they continued to defend this dynamic against my criticisms. Similarly, when chatting with dancers I occasionally pointed out the incongruities in the geographic ordering of the dances and my (seemingly unwelcome) comments had no effect on dancers' descriptions of "hot" Latin dances and "romantic" waltzes. The previous two chapters described how movements and the stories dancers tell about them continually produce these separate 113 narratives of difference between men and women, Latin Americans and Europeans. The insights of scholars such as Bourdieu, Butler and Mahmood elucidate how differences are propagated and understood through reiteration of norms. Moreover, they provide invaluable insights into how the discursive field produced on the dance floor both constrains and enables desires. What is left unexamined, particularly in light of the apparent contradictions that began this paragraph, is why dancers are so invested in these differences.
These categories of Standard and Latin, "man's" and "lady's" roles are clung to and widely disseminated, and as such, it is crucial to understand the resonance they hold among dancers. Rather than race or gender politics, this chapter has been concerned with the enjoyment of dancing. Yet race and gender are integral to this enjoyment, sparking dancers' imaginations as they play out characters of sexy Latin Americans and graceful aristocratic Europeans. Through providing stock characters for dancers to perform, heterosexuality is embedded in these stories of chivalrous romance and hot exotic passions. As such, these characters would be difficult to perform solo or while dancing the "opposite" role from the gendered norm. Moreover, the power that men wield over women in their role as the leader proves to not always be the source of frustration that the stories told by women in the previous chapter would have us believe. Rather, they provide the possibility of feeling the sensations of "floating," "flying," and "gliding" that can only be experienced by abandoning control to the leader of the dance. The categories that structure ballroom dancing may be based on racial stereotypes and essentialized gender roles, but (and because of this) they also form a large part of the enjoyment of 114 dance. The contradictions inherent within this practice are the glue that holds this world together. They are what makes ballroom dancing so "addictive" that it withstands the critiques and complaints of dancers.
115 Conclusion
Dance studios and social events are sites where cultural ideologies about difference are reproduced. This is particularly the case with ballroom dancing, as rigid ideas about gender, sexuality, class and ethnicity are embedded into each dance's narratives, discourses and movements. As such, these ideologies of difference are reproduced in each dancer's performance. It is a heavily structured form of dancing, codified into a series of authoritative texts that inform how dances are taught by instructors and how they are judged within the competitive arena. Within these texts, and at dance classes and social dances, norms of gender roles and racial categories are upheld which reinforce oppositional understandings of men and women, Europeans and Latin Americans. Performances are judged on the basis of performers' abilities to portray these sets of differences effectively through movement. As such, ballroom undoubtedly manifests and reinforces social inequalities. This does not go unnoticed by many dancers (though the gender politics are definitely more commented upon by dancers than the racial politics), and they engage with this tension in seemingly conflicting ways. Many are not supportive of the essentialized ideas of race and gender, and yet they actively cultivate them for their own purposes. As it turns out, these two positions are not as contradictory as they at first appear. In chapter one, I explored the racial dimensions of ballroom dancing. The categorization of dances into Standard and Latin was shown to be arbitrary and not based on the geographical origins of the dances. Despite this, they are sustained and naturalized through narratives of separate attributes that correspond with purported racial origins. 116 The power of ballroom authorities to differentially award performances based on the congruity of aesthetics, movements and bodily comportment with these categories reinforce the racist narratives and intersect with the construction of different gendered forms along racial lines. This produces an exotic representation of Latin Americans that reinforces the normativity and desirability of whiteness. The racial politics of ballroom dancing are rarely acknowledged by dancers as they do not question the categories themselves or their corresponding narratives. Unlike gender politics, this aspect of ballroom largely passes unnoticed despite the similarities between the mechanisms that sustain racial difference (and gender differences between races) in ballroom. In chapter two, I explored the sex and gender aspects of ballroom dancing. As this form of dancing requires interactions between men and women in bodily conversation, it was unsurprising that most of the dancers I spoke with had strong opinions on the topic, particularly, though not exclusively women. I discussed the ways in which normative ideas about gender roles are understood by dancers through asserting a belief in essentialized differences between men and women, why the roles are conformed to, and how and why they are circumvented through backleading. This chapter provided analogous arguments with the previous chapter on race including white male's power over representation, and how this is reinforced by movement styles that are differentially awarded by judges and instructors. Moreover, the separate forms of masculinity and femininity that are encoded in the terms "man" versus "lady" are both embedded within the narratives of difference (i.e.: the man is the frame and the woman is the picture) and in the movements themselves. The negotiation of sexual politics requires 117 that a great deal of care is taken in either masking or justifying role subversion when it occurs. The power dynamics between partners' bodies was fleshed out to show how the women's role is not as passive as the discourses surrounding the roles would suggest. As women's stories in this chapter show, the relationship they have with men in ballroom dancing is often quite fraught. As such, understanding why they continue to avidly practice a form of dance they complain about is quite perplexing, and requires an attention to what makes ballroom dancing such an enjoyable pastime. In order to grasp both conformity to roles and why resistance is so often masked required me to look closely at what dancers enjoy about ballroom dancing. In chapter three I explored how a highly structured dance form proved liberatory for both women and men learning to express themselves physically, and how formal rules of interaction and personal conduct are sought and maintained in an effort to provide an atmosphere in which they feel uninhibited. Notions of chivalry and old fashioned norms of conduct, as I demonstrated in the first part of the chapter entitled "Cultivating an Atmosphere for Expression," are an integral part of what makes these women feel comfortable partner dancing, especially when they have had bad relationships with men in the past. Exploring sensations, challenges and the fun of playing different characters in the second part entitled "Seeking Enjoyment," was integral in understanding the addictive qualities that dancers assert is their primary motivation for dancing. The possibilities of sensation are structured according to gender, as women experience sensations of "flying" that result from abandoning control of their movements to their partner. This shows how the power dynamic between genders that they often bemoan is simultaneously that which 118 allows them to feel the sensations that make ballroom dancing such a thrilling endeavor. Rigid categories of gender and race may limit the way each dance can be interpreted, but it also enables the creation of numerous characters for dancers to perform that correspond with the narratives told about the origins of each dance. These stories of "hot" Latin passions, romance and chivalry enliven their imaginations, allowing them to temporarily act out fantasies that would otherwise be unavailable to them (as well as unappealing) in real life. These characters provoke dreamy-eyed conjurings of imaginary romance, sensual, flirty and graceful performances, and more than a few uncontrollable fits of laughter. As such, stereotypes of passive women and dominant men, of hot and sexy Latin Americans and graceful aristocratic Europeans are reinforced not just by ballroom authorities, but within the larger community because they spark imaginations and produce addictive sensations. The racial and sexual politics of ballroom dancing do not go unnoticed by dancers, and yet, for the most part they are maintained throughout the community. They are simultaneously critiqued and cultivated as dancers struggle to feel uninhibited as they express themselves physically in the arms of another dancer. The chivalry and old fashioned conduct may go hand-in-hand with the same sexual politics that women frequently complain about, but they are also part of what makes these particular women feel safe and secure in a predictable environment. Moreover, jettisoning the partner dynamic completely would not be an appealing notion to any of these dancers as it is the lead and follow interaction that facilitates experiencing certain sensations in dance that both men and women eagerly seek. These men and women seek structure, and this is 119 why they originally chose to partake in ballroom dancing. "Structure," both in terms of strict rules for each dance as well as codes of conduct is actively produced within the ballroom community in order to provide a comfortable atmosphere for physical expression. Just as power cannot occur without resistance (and resistance without power) as I demonstrated in chapter two, in this ballroom community, one cannot theorize agency without understanding how it is present both in their attempts to conform to their roles and to find the "right" partner and atmosphere for dancing. Dancers seek norms to structure their interactions with each other because it enables them to open up their lives to more ways of moving, more ways of sensing, and more types and experiences ofjoy. Thus, agency cannot be thought of as always resistance to norms or liberation from structures of domination (cf Mahmood 2001). The women (and sometimes men) in the community do at times resist their roles, but they also value them, and in maintaining these roles they are not lacking in agency, they are enacting their capacity for action. Throughout this thesis I have demonstrated that that the gender and racial stereotypes enacted in ballroom dancing have a strong appeal to dancers throughout the community. The success of shows like So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing with the Stars suggests that these stereotypes resonate farther. An understanding of why these particular characters are so attractive continues to elude me, and I am hoping further research will shed light on this phenomenon. Moreover, it will be interesting to chart the changes in how ballroom dancing is taught and what characters are evoked in the future as the dance form continues to change. With queer ballroom studios opening in major urban centers throughout North America, will the stories being told through these dances 120 be re-imagined or replicated? Will the increasing un-gendering of the lead and follow roles throughout the swing community carry over to influence ballroom? Will critique ultimately prompt change? Throughout these pages I have demonstrated that ballroom dancers are involved in a project of maintaining the categories of race and sex that structure the art form while simultaneously engaging in critique. Little has changed within this community since I began my fieldwork, and this project of maintaining the structure of ballroom continues. As ballroom dancing increases in popularity, will witnessing changes in how race and sex are danced illuminate our understanding of stasis and our present attraction to these characters? References
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