Dancing Love

Two days ago, I was in Paris at a milonga as part of Paris Tango Weekend. I felt the urge to share my impressions of one performance that was part of that milonga.

Paris Tango Weekend is a small local event that, although it always attracts a considerable number of people from all over Europe, is essentially a series of local milongas that join forces to cover an entire weekend, creating one marathon-like experience. A beautiful example of community work, isn’t it?

Besides that, Paris is Paris—it already has a lovely tango community, and it’s never hard to attract people to the City of Light. In any case, these weekends are usually relaxed and gentle, without much pomp, without big tango stars, maestros sitting at special tables, and the like. However, they do cultivate a culture of performances and almost always invite tango teachers from various European cities to dance a number or two for the Parisian audience.

And that was the case this time as well. At the Saturday afternoon milonga, Marco and Camila performed. You probably don’t know them—I’m almost certain you haven’t heard of them, unless you’ve happened to be in Milan at some point and dropped by their classes.

When Marco and Camila appeared on the dance floor, they looked like ordinary tango dancers from the ronda. No special outfits, no special makeup or hairstyles, nothing that would suggest that these two people were about to perform for us. She wasn’t even wearing heels, but simple flat dance boots. I thought to myself—how brave! And they immediately intrigued me.

Tango is often so strict, so rigidly shaped. Even though we sometimes think of it as free and open, there is often very little room for experimentation. There is a clear idea of how one should look for a performance, how one should dance for a performance, and which criteria must be met. A sexy backless dress. High heels. A shirt or a suit for the leader. Perfectly styled hair. Bold lipstick. Attitude. And finally—lots of steps, lots of figures, showcasing skill, proving worth, earning applause. That is the standard procedure. That is what we are used to.

The performance I witnessed was anything but that—and it moved me to tears. At one point, I truly couldn’t hold back; I let the tears flow and allowed their energy to touch me, to open me, to soften my heart, to remind me why I am here at all. Why, even after eleven years, I still haven’t given up on tango. They came to the middle of the dance floor humble, vulnerable, with their own tango—and above all, so deeply honest. They didn’t show anything special except themselves. But isn’t that everything? And isn’t that the hardest thing of all? Something real—more real than steps, figures, skill, or costumes.

What I saw was two people dancing love.

I know how this sounds—romantic, sentimental, abstract—but I lack better words to describe what I saw and experienced. Marco and Camila are a couple not only in tango, but in life, and every step they danced, they danced for each other—with so much trust, so much softness, so much heart. With gentle smiles on their faces, relaxed despite the mistakes that inevitably happen. And to be clear, their vocabulary was not simple—I don’t mean they are beginner dancers with nothing to show—but rather that the emphasis was not on what they were doing, but on how. It touched me on a level of shared humanity, not on the level of being a tango dancer. I thought about how much beauty there is in simplicity, how much beauty there is in honesty, how much energy radiates from two connected hearts and two attuned bodies. But above all—two connected hearts. Sometimes we forget that. We cling to technique, to aesthetics, to what we see with our eyes, and forget to look with our hearts.

And there were people at that milonga who felt nothing. There were, in fact, people for whom this was a trivial performance—who watched with their eyes, searched for flaws, dismissed it as uninteresting, and made noise in the background. But there were also those of us in the front rows, melting and bathing in that energy of togetherness, feeling waves of warmth and tenderness breaking through into the hidden parts of ourselves—and giving us permission to be exactly who we are.

I am endlessly grateful to Marco and Camila for reminding me, through their courage to show up exactly as they are—without embellishment or pretense—that it is worth being oneself, worth being honest, and that love, when danced, is the most powerful thing in the world. And that this is why I (still) love tango.

I wish for you to dance love as much as possible—and for love to dance you, in whatever form and in whatever expression.