Damn! You can dance for a white girl!
“Damn! You Can Dance for a white Girl!”
Race is a made up thing. But it is a thing. It affects people’s lives in ways we do understand, and ways we’ll never understand. It even affects the way we move our bodies when we hear music, and the way we expect others to move theirs. It is fascinating to me.
Do certain races “own” certain types of dance? Surely no one would shout “Work it white girl!” if I was performing in a ballet recital. Why do we assume we know the way another person’s body moves because of their skin color? What a strange thing to do.
I can’t say that I haven’t had my own stereotypes when it comes to dance. I’ll admit it… When I first started salsa dancing, I assumed all the Latino men in the salsa clubs must be phenomenal salsa dancers. I sought them out, passing by white men, to ask them to dance. Quickly, I realized my mistake. Some of the Latino men were incredible dancers, some were beginners, and some were just awful. Same went for the White men, the Black men, the Indian men, the Asian men, and everyone in between. The more I opened my eyes, the more diversity I saw in the Philadelphia salsa clubs, and it was amazing! And while the topic of this post is about race, the diversity in these salsa clubs covers more than just that; people of all shapes, sizes, ages, ethnicities, people who only speak English, people who only speak Spanish, people who only speak Russian, professionals, beginners… you get the idea. It’s nothing short of beautiful. If I were to have held on to my preconceived notions of who knew how to dance salsa, I can’t even imagine the extent to which I would have limited myself.
I met my husband salsa dancing. He is Mexican, and moved to the U.S. as a teenager. When my American friends and family ask us how we met, and I tell them “salsa dancing” they throw a “knowing” grin on their faces and say “Oh I bet he’s an amazing salsa dancer!” He never danced salsa when he lived in Mexico. He learned here in the U.S., from American teachers who grew up here in Philadelphia. I’m not mocking my American friends; It humbles me to think I had the same stereotypes when I first started salsa dancing. I know I still hold some stereotypes when it comes to dance, but I’m more conscious of them now, and I realize these stereotypes almost always fail in reality.
It’s easy for me to shrug off a dumb “you can dance for a White girl” comment, but one experience left me frustrated.
I used to be a dancer in a Polynesian Dance Troupe. We mainly performed Hula and Tahitian dance. A couple years ago, we were contacted as a possible performer at the Philadelphia Flower Show, a BIG event (the theme that year was Hawaii). It would mean a lot of exposure for our dance troupe. We were a very serious contender for the gig and I remember one of my teachers joking around that I should dye my hair black and get a spray tan so I’d look more “Hawaiian.” Except she wasn’t really joking. The event coordinators wanted “authentic-looking Hula dancers” and they weren’t just referring to the quality of our dance technique. My teacher herself had worn wigs, gotten tans, etc. to make herself look more Hawaiian to appease clients in the past.
Aside from the fact that I would look ridiculous covering my white, freckled skin up with a spray tan, and dying my red hair black, I would never have considered it because it’s not who I am. I am an American young woman, with Irish and Latvian roots. I’m super white, with freckles, red hair and green eyes. And I love to Hula dance. I found it offensive that people thought I should look different in order to dance a certain dance.
We didn’t end up getting the main spot Hula dancing, we performed at a smaller pre-event for the Flower Show. For the main event, the coordinators flew in a Hula troupe from Hawaii. All beautiful women of Hawaiian descent, all very tan with long black hair and brown eyes.
The experience really made me think. Are dances more “authentic” when performed by people who grew up in the culture where that dance originated? Should certain dances only be taught, or performed by people of a certain culture? Where does cultural appropriation fit in? Was it inappropriate for me to dance Hula, since I'm not of Hawaiian descent? I later decided to continue taking Polynesian dance classes, but not to continue performing, unsure of the answers to these questions.
What happens when we assign a dance to certain type of person? Do we preserve a dance in some way, or do we miss out?
What dance stereotypes have you experienced? What dance stereotypes are you willing to admit you have held, or still hold?
Article written by Hannah Lorenzo.
