Tango is a romantic, passionate and perhaps poignant dance – this is a common fantasy of those who never had any contact with it. 

My first impression of a milonga, which I accidentally attended in my tango-youth was: penguin-like couples shuffling around to the hiss of retro music. I expected to see spectacular moves and flying bare legs. Instead, I saw tiny steps. I imagined dangerously beautiful women in risqué blood-red dresses. What I saw, at best, could be called ‘mothball modest’. 

I didn’t know that with time this music could draw out your intestines and wrap them around your heart, all the while seeming unbearably beautiful. That simple [small] steps are probably the nicest thing you can do while embracing another person. That women in tango are most beautiful when you hug them and move together [as one]. 

To spin in a dance, floating over the floor, melting in the arms of an experienced leader – that’s another common fantasy. 

Spinning causes motion sickness. Floating doesn’t happen either, as the teachers insist on grounding and stability. They talk about women with flesh and bones. It turns out that you need to stand on your heels and that the floor is your best friend. If you try to melt in the embrace, there is a risk of turning a dance into floowork. Neighbouring couples were not even part of the original fantasy. They get in the way and seriously just piss you off. 

Then in a few years you fall in love with every bit and kilo of weight that the partner gives you. You understand how the heels and the floor help you to embrace so tight and soft. You learn that it is possible to breathe in and out in sync with other couples. 

Go find an experienced leader, you need to deserve him too, same as an experienced follower. Forget ‘experienced’ – any follower. 

At a first glance tango is a neurotically-warm, soft and ‘purring’ environment. Later it turns out that it’s the deceiving softness of a cat playing with a mouse. With time you manage to understand that this is not about cruelty but more about the differences between you and others, between the reality and your fantasies about yourself and others. 

We hear so much about self-esteem, self-respect, self-acceptance and self-love but in tango you are esteemed, respected, accepted and loved by others. If the ‘self’ doesn’t match the impression you produce, you will find out soon enough. And the bigger the gap between the former and latter, the more painful it is – for you and for the others. ‘Self-love’ sounds almost masturbatory, it’s enough to simply know. It’s much nicer when others love you, even if much more difficult. Those others love whatever is real: how you dance, hug, communicate, relate to people, how you look and feel. They either dance with you or not. And it’s not cruelty, it is reality – nobody owes you anything. 

In that, tango is also catlike – if a cat comes it’s only by will, not out of obedience. Normally, out of a purely selfish desire. All the more pleasant that way. 

с) Igor Zabuta, psychotherapist, tango-teacher; http://izabuta.com/en/

Translation: Nadia Gativa, https://www.facebook.com/nadia.gativa