Wolf in sheep's clothing

A young woman who had been dancing for seven weeks came to her first social dance, a new milonga in the country which had had limited advertising.   

- Did you hear about this milonga on Facebook?

- No, I'm not Facebook

- So how did you know about it?

- By talking to people.

She had good instincts.

You dance fine, you will dance a lot if you go to the main milonga in the city. But go with friends, it is easier that way.  

When I caught up with her, it was her second trip to the city milonga. She had already danced with one of the better, choosier guys. 

Well, there you go, dance with him and you can dance with anyone.  

There was live music that day but the ronda was a mess even during the recorded music.  It was a struggle to get behind someone who danced socially, who didn't weave or crowd their neighbour or dance distractingly. At these moments the search for peace can force you into the middle yet you are stuck between another rock and a hard place, for now you worry about bashing couples on your right or the other ronda refugees in the middle with the beginners, the wild dancers and the people who can't stick to the line of dance.

There was one guy who danced quietly, taking just enough space for himself and his partner.  I looked for his distinctive shirt.  He was right behind me.  I moved into the middle to let him pass, but the guy, perhaps politely, thought I had momentarily lost the line of dance and waited and waited for me to continue.  Maybe he just didn't want to be next to my neighbour in front but I think his was the type able to keep their composure wherever.  Eventually we circled back, took our place behind him and all was well.

Later, I chatted with the young woman, mentioning the ronda and this guy with whom I had also danced recently.  With me he had been safe, correct, no sparks but then no trouble either. 

Oh, yes, he gave me a kind of backhanded compliment.  When I told him I had only been dancing for two months...

My heart sank.

.... he said "maybe tell people you've been dancing for three".

The disconcertion and shock I registered no doubt she had also experienced.  Perhaps he meant it as a compliment but it was a deeply patronising comment.  Such is the power of someone outwardly correct; one can be inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

And he told me I was stiff. 

My face reflected the same disbelief and dismay I had seen on the faces of my friends when they heard a guy (outside the milonga) had called me "cuadriculada" - but said it wasn't a bad thing.

Don't take that crap, I said.  Just walk away. And yet, when the guy had made the cuadriculada comment to me, I hadn't walked away but rather puzzled over it, wondered what he'd meant and so on, back and forth.

The guy in the shirt may not have been, strictly speaking, a wolf, because these types are conscious of what they are doing and I am not sure he was, but that is really no better.  

We couldn't continue this horrifying, fascinating conversation because a guy who couldn't dance, walked up, stuck his head into our conversation and suggested, verbally that they dance milonga. And off she went...

How they see us

I found this in a family album recently and photographed it to show my son, who can occasionally have the same look when under duress.

Do we know how we look to others? Sometimes you get an inkling but it is different when you hear things directly. 

Maybe, travelling alone, determined, despite unknown floors and unknown dancers, not to return home with an aggravated knee injury I had been defensive and looked it at Tango Train because not two days earlier a man had said something similar to the Resting Bitch Face remark.

Do we in general trust what people of the same sex tell us more than what the opposite sex say? I have been taken aback by Dutch directness several times. When I heard what I did at the TangoTerras milonga at the Muziekgebouw aan 't IJ in Amsterdam I was not sure if the directness of it was just the Dutch way or a soft sort of punishment for not accepting the guy earlier that day or a genuine attempt at being helpful. Probably the latter. Still, that sort of 'feedback' from a stranger, mid-embrace, mid-dance is likely going to foreclose any genuine dance feeling between you or any attempt to get lost in a tango dance embrace. But actually, if you are having to try, clearly it isn’t just happening naturally. Dance communicates feeling and is not usually expressed in words.

The music and conditions of that milonga, especially the floor surface were far from ideal for me so I was particularly cautious. I saw a man with a kind face I recognised from the El Cielo milonga either that afternoon or from other afternoons that week. A short time later we were introduced by a mutual friend. The man seemed open, gentle, polite, attentive, respectful. I liked him. A little after that, he invited me by look. I accepted, a bit hesitantly because, well, do we always know why we accept? Because it was great D'Arienzo just then, because I was curious and precisely because that mutual friend had just introduced us and was still there. I thought I should at least tell him about the knee which has been holding out well - but then I had accepted very few guys that week. If guys don't turn out to be light and gentle dancing then one track can cause the damage.  It is often only then you have an opportunity to explain why you are resisting or avoiding pivots and as a knock on effect, why you are obviously tense. So sometimes I mention I have a knee problem up front.  He was very careful. 

I think he must have already spoken because I almost never initiate any chat during the dance but found myself thinking aloud: It is a shame that we did not dance this afternoon. I meant that the floor - the conditions generally - had been much better earlier and so I might have pivoted with less worry which might then have meant we both relaxed. Oh! he said. But I walked past to see if you were interested yet you gave me such a look as to say very clearly: “Don’t even think about it”. He mimed a mock version of just such a look. I stared, frozen in surprise, probably re-enacting the very same look as that I was charged with. He in turn arranged his features to an expression that was mock-quailing and understandable in anyone on the receiving end of such a fearsome thing as he plausibly had been - or perhaps in someone having second thoughts about raising such a subject on the dance floor.

I hope I looked apologetic. It was true, I had not looked to dance with him. I could remember the guys I had been looking for. It is also true that my for the most part fairly unconscious look can fend off anyone who appears insistent or who looks like they might be. Oh!, I said, aghast, suddenly aware that a look conveys more of my inner state than I realise - or at least, conveys it with more strength. 

And yet I was reminded of a girl friend who had whispered, helpfully after I endured a hellish dance from a handsome, happy guy at the Edinburgh International Tango Festival last year: You need to hide what you feel! 

- I know! I said. It was just…

We were just not compatible is all.  I had felt guilty and embarrassed during that dance and afterwards and, knowing I can be hopeless at dissembling some emotion had thereafter been even more careful about which guys I accepted, which is a good thing. 

In Amsterdam, the Dutchman, seeing my confusion said kindly: I don't mean to cause any bad feeling, It is just...feedback, you know.