Two to Queer Tango

A language, a culture, a performance of love

Following two back-to-back failed, serious attempts at monogamy, I thought monogamy was the problem. So, I tried non-monogamy — an experiment that ended badly.

Among its many problems was the risk involved of having sex with people who were having sex with other people, and at this point in my life, I don’t have that kind of appetite for risk. Maybe my optimism is stubborn, and through those rosy glasses, I could see a version of monogamy that would work for me — a monogamy 2.0. In it, both individuals feel freer than either of them could on their own because they support each other and lift each other up and believe deeply in each other’s talents and pursuits. They are interdependent, holding hands and walking toward a scary, shared goal. And they are autonomous, with full, separate lives they can come home to each other from, ripe with stories to share. It’s monogamy with healthy boundaries that define the essence of each person without rigidly cutting off connection. Porous, vigorous boundaries. It’s a vision of monogamy I think is possible, if only I could find a like-minded woman who wants roughly the same things out of a relationship.

She came in the form of an impossibly talented artist and tango dancer. A world traveler whose appetite for adventure matches mine, and whose energy is a puzzle-piece perfect fit to mine. The tango dancing, in particular, intrigued me. Early in our relationship, I sought out a private instructor with the goal of learning how to lead and surprising her with my skills. What I didn’t understand was just how hard it would be to learn tango; what a complex and nuanced and subtle dance it is. Every micro-motion of your body and how you hold it counts. It’s very similar to learning a foreign language, as tango is a wordless conversation. The leader asks, the follower answers. Except, not always.

Queer tango is a global movement that has been quietly and controversially revolutionizing the dance and its historic, rigid roles. Even though its origins are with gay men in Argentina, it evolved into a very patriarchal dance, where men strictly lead, and women strictly follow. And by follow, they mean follow. No voice, no thinking, simply obeying. Conversely, in queer tango, anyone can lead, and anyone can follow. And, followers can have a voice, too. Both roles are active roles in queer tango. When a follower suggests a move, it’s known as back leading, and the leader should yield to these suggestions. There is a beautiful give and take, a lovely exchange in queer tango that doesn’t exist in traditional tango.

Last year, I went with my partner to Berlin to attend a queer tango festival there. The final night at the milonga (the name for the formal gathering where tango happens), we dressed up and showed up and began to dance. With each other, yes, but not only. In fact, it’s considered rude to attend a milonga with your partner and dance exclusively with her. The more people you share a dance with, the better dancer you become, and the more you connect. This isn’t always easy for me, to put it lightly. Because I am still such a beginner, I feel intimidated when someone asks me to dance. Inevitably, someone does, and I answer that I only know how to lead and disclaim further that I’m not that good. After a polite refusal to believe me, the person commences to follow my lead. Sometimes, I connect naturally and easily with them and the dance flows and is enjoyable for us both. More often, I don’t connect, and it feels bumbling and awkward. Layer on top of this the fact that the dance floor is very crowded and fast moving with high-heeled feet frequently flying through the air. As the leader, part of my job is not only to think about what move to do and then what to do next while worrying about whether she’ll know how to follow it, but also to navigate our two bodies through the melee without collision.

In Berlin, toward the end of the night, a woman I just met and talked with asked to lead me. “I don’t know how to follow,” I said, and she smiled. “That’s OK, I’ll keep it simple. Want to try?” She was so friendly and confident, and I’d enjoyed talking with her so much, I couldn’t refuse. I took the close embrace with her (versus the open embrace, which is easier to dance in), and surrendered. Easily, we glided, mirrored movements making a visceral call and response as natural and automatic as grass bending in the breeze. Her signals were clear. I knew when to pivot, when to pause, when to sidestep, when to turn. There was such a comforting aspect to it, as though I were a baby being rocked in the arms of my mother. When it was over, I thanked her, and we parted ways. The dance I shared with her so powerfully moved me, my eyes stung with tears. Excited, I realized that I love following and have to learn to follow as well as lead. Only in this way can I participate fully in queer tango.

Ray Sullivan, a queer tango dancer and organizer in Miami and author of the book, Changing the World One Tango at a Time put it this way: “This [dance] is about actively engaging in the present moment, understanding the replicas of non-duality. I am me; I am the couple. We are we; we are the other couples.”

What also occurs to me is that the culture of this dance is a safe kind of non-monogamy. Perhaps what I was looking for when I tried that before my current relationship with the monogamy 2.0 was what I ended up finding in queer tango — the ability to connect intimately, and without obligation for any further connection, with as many or as few different people as I am moved to connect with. The embrace is not sexual, but it is sensual, in that it engages all the senses. And what gets shared in the dance is a bodily as well as an energetic exchange that lasts for three short songs — one tanda.

This experience I’ve been having for more than two years now with learning to participate in queer tango has taught me so much. It’s more than a dance — it’s a language, a culture. And queer tango is also a protest. But also, and most importantly, it is the performance of love.

[Art by Nicole Roberts (@nicolerobersphoto)]