The one thing I’ll never do at a wedding
Dancing is an important and wonderful part of so many cultures, but what if your culture is — to borrow a phrase from Ben Folds — male, middle class and white, asks Darren Levin.
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“You. Dance floor. Now.”
“No, sorry I don’t dance.”
“You what? Sorry I am struggling to hear you over this Black Eyed Peas track.”
“I just don’t dance. You know, like as a rule.”
“Ja Rule? WHAT?”
“I’m done.”
This is probably not a great exchange to have with the mother of the groom at a family wedding but a line has to be drawn somewhere.
I don’t like dancing and I’m old enough to not do it anymore. And the thing about getting old is that you no longer have to do things just because someone asked you nicely. If you did that you’d be making daily donations to Oxfam or helping a friend move house every other week.
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Dancing is often described as a “release” by people who like doing it. For me, it feels like I’m releasing my limbs from my body and just kinda leaving them to writhe around like some overcooked linguine dumped on a cold plate. It feels unnatural and forced, particularly at a wedding when you have to somehow sync your body up to the BPMs of LMFAO’s ‘Sexy And I Know It’ or that Sean Kingston track where he sings “suicidal” over and over again with absolutely no trigger warning system in place.
Dancing is an important and wonderful part of so many cultures, but what if your culture is — to borrow a phrase from Ben Folds — male, middle class and white? Is rhythmically pointing your index finger when The Killers’ ‘Mr Brightside’ comes on considered dancing? In this culture, maybe, but up against the merengue or the haka or something legit, it feels less like physical expression and more like a microaggression aimed at the DJ.
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The other issue I have with dancing is that my wife is very, very good at it. She’s so good Australia’s legendary choreographer Tony Bartuccio gave her an award in the mid-1990s and she’s reminded me of it ever since. And I don’t mean verbally, or in a boastful way. She’ll casually bust out some Dancing With The Stars-esque moves at a wedding or a work function, and while I’m certainly no Elaine Benes, it looks like some rank amateur trying to play one-on-one against LeBron James.
And so I end up dancing ironically, which basically means resurrecting a whole bunch of boy band moves from NSYNC videos. I do this for my personal amusement, but also because I like to be in control of my own public embarrassment, thank you very much. The first (and only) rule of ironic dancing is that it can’t be terrible if the person behind it is taking the piss.
“Dance like no one is watching,” is practical life advice pro-dancers like to give you when you’re at a heaving club in the corner biting your nails. But what if you don’t even dance in solitude, like Tobias Funke, the “never nude” from Arrested Development who won’t even take off his denim cut-offs in the shower?
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I’m often jealous of people who can just boogie with reckless abandon, and I get why refusing to dance in an environment where everyone’s dancing can seem rather non-communal and disconcerting to people just trying to have a good time. But just because you see someone actively not dancing at a club or wedding, doesn’t mean they’re not enjoying themselves, or being a voyeuristic creep. It’s also not an invitation to accost them for “bringing the vibe down” or “ruining our child’s perfect day”.
So please, if you invite me to your wedding, my absence from the d-floor isn’t indicative of a bad time, or a severe allergic reaction to a remix of Bryan Adam’s ‘Heaven’.
I’ll eat the veal and I’ll drink the wine, and I’ll do it all with a smile on my face. I just don’t dance, okay.