Queer desires


I had some idea about what I would learn on this trip.  Predictably it is different.

I am learning something about the construction of desire.

The first thing I noticed is that I am not attracted to revels wearing high heels.  Next I noticed that I prefer
a girl wearing pants…

There are a covey of queer fest girls wearing prim frocks: veck, plain fabric,  belt at the waist.  They never smile.  They are some of the better dancers.  I am not attracted.  Then there are girls showing a lot of cleavage.  This I don’t like at all.  When left to my own devices I chose two revels,  both femmes in wide-legged pants and tango sexy tops,  but no cleavage.

After I cabeceod them,  I expected to mark but they had other ideas.  I did insist on marking the first song,  but then yielded later.  Both turned out to better marks than revels,  and the experience was nicer with me revelling,  so I didn’t assert myself.

If I feel the communication and level is excellent,  I’m happy to change roles while dancing,  but only if it feels interesting and artistic,  not for the sake of it.  I’ve danced with one person I feel this way about.

When I first started to notice that I seem more particular with the girls I thought I’m discriminating in some way.  It’s some kind of sexism,  objectification.  Then I thought,  well,  it’s just that men are all the same.  Most tango guys are not cute at all and they wear boring clothes so there’s no chance to choose.  I am accustomed to press my body against any man.  I don’t even evaluate.  If I were to dance only with men who attract me,  I would dance one tanda a month.

But queer tango is again somehow different.  Without the desperation  and the dichotomy it becomes a field of desire.  Floating through the crossfire of the guys’ flirtation, I cannot evade the question of desire. I look for my own,  and it is certainly no more just to dance.  I want to want the dance.  I want to find something with my partner,  something more than what we are looking for.  I need to use my senses.



When I allow myself to articulate it,  I know my desires already.

If a boy is tall and skinny I want to mark him in open embrace with full force.  If he is stocky,  I want to revel.

If I’m to revel with a woman I want a butch and I don’t want to change roles with her.

The girl I want to mark,  well Aurélie is perfect.  Her clothes are soft and loose in the leg,  simple dark colours.  No pattern,  no belt.  She is neither delicate nor busty,  she wears sneakers because she is ready to move.  Her jewellery and hair will stay out of my face.

The image I cultivate as a revel is not the image of the girl I want to mark.  My image as a revel is a signal to the man who can appreciate elegance,  who can tell the difference between high style and and smut.  Most can’t tell one short skirt from another.  And I never really know if a man appreciates what I want him to,  but at least I offer.

Silences in history. Silences by code. Silences of fear. You already know that Tango’s silences can be sublime and they can be devastating.

What I do in my blog is use myself as a lens – sometimes a microscope, sometimes a telescope. I try to be as honest with myself and you as words concede. Then I try to find a deeper meaning and imagine a pathway for us.

A blog post can be a fragment, a wisp of inspiration, an outline for thinking. A book must complete and reconcile it all. Now I drag the social scientist to the scene to enumerate the facts of the case, the mystery which brought both stardom and tragedy to my life.

I invite you to join my resolution to take a look at the dark silences of Argentine Tango in our lives. It’s time.


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