community

Our competitive nature

I had a blog all planned for earlier this month, but then two things happened: (1) I launched a new weekly dance in San Francisco (shameless plug for Mission City Swing); and (2) my last post went viral, reaching over 3,000 people in 50 countries around the world. Honestly, I was shocked. I’ve been writing blogs off and on for years, and this is the first one that took off. It got me thinking: Why did this one blog post resonate with so many people?

When I’ve talked with people about it, I heard a few different reactions: people related to it, it was personal, it was the way I wrote it, it went beyond dance. Those are all good reasons for the viral spread of the post. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel that its popularity and the way it resonated with so many people is also a reflection of the importance of competition and competing in our global community.

Let’s be honest: we’re a very competition-oriented community. Competitions are the focus of our events, showcasing incredible talent through a variety and multitude of formats. Moreover, we have a very complex system for awarding points to competitors, and most competitors are keenly aware of how many points they have – and how many they need to move into the next division. And it’s not unusual to hear people ask about or refer to another’s level or division. Yes, there are many in our communities who don’t compete and don’t go to events and just enjoy social dancing. Still, it seems to me that the community in general is driven by the competitive world.

Competition can be a good thing. It drives us to improve, to push ourselves, to push our dancing, and to push the dance itself. In the time I’ve been dancing West Coast Swing I have seen a lot of evolution in the dance, and say what you will about that evolution, I would argue that the level of technical skill and musicality has greatly improved in our community. The top competitors are leading the way, continually working to outdo themselves, and it sets a great example for all of us to continually work at this dance, to continually improve, and to continually aim ever higher.

The danger, in my mind, of being competition-oriented is when competition becomes the basis for our social interactions.

As I’ve noted before, I took a few years off from competing, with the exception of 2011, when I competed in the Classic division with Yenni Setiawan. It was an awesome experience and I loved doing the routine with her, though our success was limited. At the end of 2012, for personal reasons, I had to step out of our partnership and I stopped going to events altogether for a year, until Boogie by the Bay of this past year.

I say all this because, with the exception of last year, I’ve been around, even if I haven’t always been competing. So when I went to Palm Springs for New Year’s and competed, I had to laugh when I met people and they said, “Where have you been?” as if I’d popped up out of nowhere. It was funnier still when I had known of some of these people for some time but just had never formally met them. I thought, I’ve been around for years – you just haven’t noticed me until now.

And after those encounters I was struck with a feeling – the same feeling I had had before when I got wrapped up in competition years ago: the feeling that you aren’t someone in this community until you’re someone in competition.

I don’t think this is happening everywhere to everyone, but I do sometimes get the feeling that we value people based on their status in competition. We sometimes prioritize dancing with those in our own division so we can prepare for competition. We sometimes seek out dancers in higher divisions in the hopes of better dances. We sometimes avoid people in higher divisions out of fear of disappointing – or avoid dancers in lower divisions out of fear of being disappointed. We ask about someone’s division, we compare points, and we want to study with top competitors – sometimes regardless of their teaching ability. In isolation, each of these choices may not be so bad, but collectively they can be problematic. Because it’s a problem for our sense of community when competition fosters a social hierarchy, a segmentation or stratification, where social groups form based on people’s status in competition.

What’s worse is that competition isn’t always an accurate measure of one’s dancing.

Sure, competition can capture some aspects of a dancer’s abilities, but in truth it emphasizes some skills over others. Competition can reveal aspects of one’s technique and movement, but it is better at assessing one’s aesthetic and one’s ability to perform and entertain an audience. (This is why – at all levels – there are dancers who look better than they feel.)

Aesthetics, musicality, and performance are all important skills, but what’s their relative importance when you’re actually dancing with someone? Do you care most about how someone looks? How they entertain a crowd? Or do you care more about how they feel? Or better yet, how they make you feel? If you care more about the latter, then one’s success in competition isn’t necessarily the best measure of someone’s value in our community.

To be honest, I’ve had some great dances with top-level dancers, and I’ve had some not-so-great dances with top-level dancers. Some of my best dances – the most fun, the most engaging, the most enjoyable – have been with people at lower levels. The point is that level or points or visibility don’t correlate with how much I enjoy dancing with someone. Really the only way to know if someone is worth dancing with is to actually dance with that person (or trust the advice of others, but even then, they may have a different experience than you).

So forget points, forget divisions, and forget what you saw in competition. If you see someone you haven’t danced with before, ask that person to dance. Roll the dice. Take a chance. You may just make that person’s day. And that person may just make yours. But even if they don’t, it’s good for our community. And anything that’s good for our community is something we should make viral.

So you didn’t make finals, eh?

On several occasions recently I’ve heard conversations from disappointed competitors about not making finals, or, in some cases, of not placing or even winning. Not surprisingly, these conversations involve a heavy dose of negativity – towards other competitors, towards the judges, and even towards the event and the event directors.

The truth is, if everyone’s only in it to win it, then everyone but two people will be unhappy at the end of the competition.

Look, what we do – this whole dancing thing – is inherently subjective. It’s technical, yes, but it’s also an art form, and along with artistry goes personal opinions, values, and biases. On top of that is the fact that each event has different judges with different values and opinions. And on top of that is the fact that judges will only see a fraction of your dance – and you don’t know which fraction. Plus, each competition has a different mix of competitors. And honestly, someone may have just had a better day than you. It happens. But the bottom line is you just don’t know. You don’t know how other people are performing (especially if you’re on the dance floor with them). You don’t know what the judges saw. You don’t always know what the judges want to see. And the way we do judging is relative, meaning you may have had a great day but there were enough people who had a better day. There are a lot of variables at play, and if you choose to compete, you choose to accept the variability, the unpredictability, and the risk.

If you’re thinking, “Sure, Eric, easy for you to say,” then you don’t know what you’re talking about. I started West Coast Swing <gulp> twelve years ago. And while I had some early success and some recent success, I’ve had a lot of my own struggles – and the frustration that goes with them. There were years when I didn’t make finals, to the point that I stopped competing for a few years. “What’s the point?” I would ask myself. I resigned myself to thinking that I was a great social dancer and a great teacher, but I just didn’t have what it takes to be a good competitor. I had more fun at events once I stopped doing Jack & Jills, but the truth is that I had adopted a negative internal story. On the outside I pretended I didn’t care, but on the inside I was down on myself.

My complaining was symptomatic of an underlying combination of insecurity and self-doubt (something I can’t help but hear in some of the complaining I now hear from others). The idea that I deserved to make finals over other people, that at every and any moment I was superior to others, that my own perceptions and judgments were objectively and definitively correct and accurate – it wasn’t just foolish but also arrogant. And of course the fact that I cared so much about the outcomes of competitions and that my happiness was dependent on them was symptomatic of insecurity – a lack of something that left me without an internal sense of my own value. It was as if my own self-worth – as a dancer and as a person – was based on my success in competitions.

By now I’ve been around long enough to see the ups and downs of competing – in myself and in many, many others. I’ve seen the same story play out time and time again, variations on a theme, but a common archetype nonetheless. And, well, maybe I’m getting wiser in my old age. Maybe I’m just getting mellower. Maybe with experience comes more maturity. Or maybe I’ve just learned from my experience. But I’ve adopted a better attitude for myself and I like to think it’s paying off – in competition but more importantly for my enjoyment of this dance.

So listen, if you compete, or if you’re considering competing, here’s my advice, for what it’s worth:

Accept the reality of competing (see above). Honestly, a lot of the time it’s a crap shoot, and you should truly be okay with that.
Think about why you compete. I started competing to earn accolades so I could teach and contribute to the community. But somewhere along the way I began competing for the ego boost, for the recognition and praise, for the sense of self-worth it gave me. If the latter is what you’re after, you’re going to be disappointed. A lot. And if you’re not honest with yourself about this, the disappointment will continue. (Signs to watch out for when you don’t make finals: you blame others, you feel badly about yourself, you don’t want to see people, you don’t want to dance.) Find your reason for competing and make sure it’s something positive and healthy – an internal drive to grow instead of a need for an external reward.
Don’t point fingers. No matter the outcome, whether you win or don’t make finals or not. The blame game does no one any good. It’s not nice, it’s not fair, and, most importantly, it’s not productive. Blaming others is absolving yourself of any control over the situation, as if there’s nothing you can do, and that kind of attitude isn’t going to help you move forward (nor will talking poorly of other people in a very social community). Which leads to…
Take responsibility for your own dancing. Stop blaming your partner or the judges or anyone else and start working on your dancing. Appreciate your strengths and work on your weaknesses. Develop your dance so you can be great consistently, no matter the judge, no matter the partner, no matter the day.
And for goodness sake, have fun! This is dance. It’s not world peace or solving hunger or curing cancer. The stakes are low and the rewards should be high. It’s something we should do because we love it and because it brings out the best in us. It shouldn’t make us unhappy, frustrated, stressed, or negative. Who wants to be that person?

My goal is to keep pushing myself as a dancer, and I use competitions as one measure of that progress. But honestly, I’m up against some great talent – guys I really admire and look up to – and I know I won’t always find success. Plus, at the upper levels there’s more differentiation among competitors, so that each dancer’s best is different from the next, and that makes the judging even more challenging to decipher. So if you can’t handle the disappointment at the lower levels, you’re in for a ride as you move up the ranks. Instead, do your best now to find your inner strength, work on your dancing, and enjoy the journey.

And leave the negativity to someone else. You’ll be better off without it.

Have you had challenging experiences competing? How do you handle frustration or disappointment? How do you console others who might be upset by the outcomes of a competition? Teachers, how do you help your students prepare for competitions, mentally and emotionally?

Was it good for you?

One of my resolutions this year is to support my local dance community. The Bay Area already has an amazing community – lots of friendly and talented dancers – but having been here for over three years now, I thought it was time to give back.

And as I work on starting a dance here in San Francisco [insert shameless plug for Mission City Swing] and on supporting the Bay Area’s biggest and honestly best dance convention [proudly promoting Boogie by the Bay], the same question keeps coming up in my mind: What makes for a great dance experience?

I’ve noticed at the dance conventions I’ve been to in recent months that the most influential component for me of a good night’s dancing is the music. Call me crazy, but as a dancer, I’m highly dependent on the music. If the music doesn’t move me, my dancing feels stale and boring and I just don’t have much fun. What makes for good music? That’s subjective, of course. For me, my favorite songs are those with a good rolling beat, those with variety and interesting musical elements to play with, those that grow and build, and those that have emotion and soul to them. But usually if a DJ plays a diversity of music – styles and tempos – I’m usually happy, because even if I don’t like one song, I’ll probably like the next.

Of course, a good night is about more than just the music. I have more fun when I’m with friends, when I have energy to dance, and when, quite honestly, there are good followers to dance with (or, at a minimum, I don’t have to struggle to lead my followers). It also helps if it’s not ungodly hot, if it isn’t so cramped I can’t find a slot to dance in, if the lighting isn’t too bright, and if the floor isn’t so fast I slip and not so slow I can’t turn easily.

But there’s also another element that makes for an amazing night, something abstract and intangible: the vibe. I think of the vibe as being that extra thing that’s more than the sum of all the different parts – an added energy that results from having fun, friendly, and talented people in the room, a good physical environment, and a DJ who knows how to keep people moving. Maybe the vibe is just the good feeling I get from all the other elements I’ve described, the chemical reaction when those different things come together, or the summation of everyone in the room having a good night. At the same time, it feels like one of those things that seems difficult to create and near impossible to replicate. It’s like something that just happens when you put the right ingredients together, but doesn’t happen when you try to force it. Whatever it is, it feels electric, like magic, and it leaves you wanting more.

What makes for a great night of dancing for you? Do you agree with the elements I’ve mentioned here? Are there others? Are some more important than others? What has your experience been?

Shades of Gray

A minor controversy erupted last week as a member of the dance community, one who had been publicly expressing her opinion for some time, distributed an email that included some harsh criticisms of performances at the US Open. Those who were criticized, as well as their friends and supporters, spoke out against this person, attacking both her opinions and her character.

I don’t agree with what this person said, and I certainly don’t condone the way she said it. But the voracity with which people responded to her criticisms gave me pause. Yes, we need to state our opinions – whether popular or not (and especially if not) – with respect, humility, and an open mind to other viewpoints, but at the same time, whether we like them or not, I believe we should also exhibit tolerance and acceptance and allow dissenting or unpopular opinions.

The fact is that we are a community of diverse people, and with that goes diverse experiences, diverse perspectives, and diverse opinions. At the same time, we are a community of people who are often passionate about what we do, which means we often have strong opinions. And there are many who in part or in full depend on what we do for a living, which means we are sometimes prone to taking things personally. In the end, though, it’s this diversity of opinions, and the associated passionate discussions that we share about our craft, that keeps this community vibrant and alive and healthy.

I think it’s important to recognize, too, that we are a community built around an art form, and that means that most everything is subjective and there rarely if ever is an absolute right or wrong. I do my best to keep that in mind whenever I teach, and whenever I write these blog posts, and I try to foster an open forum where all opinions are welcome, as long as they are expressed nicely, with respect and an open mind. It’s particularly on my mind when I try to raise hot-button issues like swing content, as I did in my last post.

In our community we have some “experts” or “authorities”: people whose opinions are highly valued. For my part, I greatly respect those who have dedicated their lives to dance and our community, and who have won competitions and earned well-deserved admiration. I think they have a wealth of knowledge and perspective that can grow and enhance our craft, and therefore they deserve to be considered authorities. After all, if a person has been in the community long enough and had enough experiences, it gives that person a stronger foundation on which to build conclusions, and thus tested and validated opinions. But I also think there’s a danger to blindly accepting the opinion of any one expert as the only and absolute truth, especially at the exclusion of differing or even contradictory opinions. What seems right to you does not necessarily make other opinions wrong. (Of course, even the authorities disagree, so how does one choose “the right one” in the first place?) In fact, I find that oftentimes the differing opinions of the experts either complement one another or else are the same idea wrapped in different language.

At the same time, there’s something to be said for people who have some experience, but not so much that they have lost a more objective perspective. We’ve most likely heard the expression “We need a fresh set of eyes” at one point or another. This is a great attitude – a recognition that those who are immersed in something can lose perspective or objectivity – but it is also an attitude which is sometimes adopted up until that “fresh set of eyes” proposes an unpopular idea, at which point it’s easy to say that the person doesn’t have enough experience.

Thinking of our own community, we don’t all have to agree, but I believe we should hear out and respect others’ opinions, no matter what they are or where they come from. We should also present our ideas with respect for others, recognition that there are others who have been around longer and know more, and an open mind that acknowledges that the content of our discussions is frequently if not always subjective.

What do you think? Do you think all opinions are equally valid or are some more valid than others? Do you agree that winning awards makes someone an expert? Are there other ways of becoming an authority? Are there ways to ensure that we do a better job of being open and respectful? What can we do to resolve differences in a more civil manner?

The $64,000 Question

Every few years a controversy erupts in the swing community, something at a competitive event that riles people up and gets everyone talking. That happened once again at this year’s Tampa Bay Classic.

I first heard about this through the grapevine, not long after it happened, and I subsequently read Liza May’s account of what happened. After a few rounds of phone tag, I was finally able to get in touch with someone who was in the room, so I could find out what actually occurred from someone who was there.

I’ll spare you the details, but essentially what happened was that the Showcase couples competed Friday night, and on Saturday, the head judge convened a second judging panel to review video of the routines for swing content. Saturday night the Showcase competitors were called into a special meeting, where they were informed that their routines would likely receive swing content violations at this week’s US Open. Competitors were shocked and concerned, others were appalled and confused, and everyone was upset and angry that the head judge killed the mood of the event.

As a result, a firestorm erupted on Facebook as Mario Robau commented, and then Earl Pingel and Parker Dearborn debated with him about what happened, what it means for the competitors involved, what it means for judging in general, and what it means for the dance and the dance community as a whole.

While pretty shocking, it wasn’t nearly as bad or as severe as reports might have you believe. The Showcase competitors weren’t disqualified at the event, and no one told them they had to change their choreography. From what I heard from Showcase competitors, they were mostly upset that no one provided a clear explanation of what “swing content” is – and therefore what they should do to make sure they have enough of it in their routines.

And that, in my mind, is what this is ultimately all about: swing content. What is it? What is enough of it to call a dance “swing” or not “swing”? And even if you could say how much of it you need for a dance to be “swing”, how would you measure it?

Whether we like it or not, our dance is competition-oriented, meaning that it is competition that both sets the standard and simultaneously pushes the limits of our dance. One could argue that our dance has evolved so rapidly because our community’s top competitors have been seeking new music and new moves that expand our dance. At the same time, others argue that what’s being done is no longer swing – and that brings us back to the definition of “swing.”

I don’t consider myself a swing purist, but I also think that there are some things out there today on our competitive dance floor that aren’t swing. I took one of Mario’s intensives once, and personally, I kinda like how he defines swing. I’m paraphrasing here, but in his intensive he lays out the elements of swing that together make the dance: partnership, a slot, starting with even rhythms and ending with odd rhythms, the connection of the anchor, and a foundation of 6- and 8-count patterns. He then uses the analogy of a table to describe how he sees the dance: swing is the tabletop, held up by several legs – these elements of swing – and while you can remove one or two of them, eventually, if you remove too many, the table collapses and you no longer have swing.

In my mind, there are certain things that are not swing: excessive walking, finger spins, rolling around on the floor. These are not unique to our dance, or even to any dance, and when I see too much of it in competition, I can’t help but roll my eyes and think, “For goodness’ sake: dance!” But there’s a grey space between swing basics and “flash and trash” – where two people are dancing together to the music with some but not all of those key elements of swing – that leaves some of us thrilled by the display of innovation and others disappointed at the degradation of our dance.

The bottom line is that there is no universal definition of swing, and the definition – like the dance itself – is very personal, with each person having their own view. We may get a consensus among an authoritative body of judges, but my guess is that the definition will either be so narrow as to limit creativity and innovation (and thus cause a riot among competitors) or else be so broad that it says nothing (but appeals to everyone). This dance evolves – it originally came about and became its own dance by evolving away from its parent dance, lindy hop – and it will continue to evolve. Maybe a new dance will be born, maybe this dance will cycle back to its origins the way the lindy community did a few years ago when it had its revival, and maybe we’ll just keep pushing the limits of this dance while keeping it rooted in the fundamentals.

I don’t know how this will all play out, but I’m looking forward to seeing it either way.

What about you? How do you define “swing”? How do you feel about the direction of the dance and its “swing content”? Would you like to see more swing in competitions? How much more? Post your comments below.

One more thing: Happy Thanksgiving! And best of luck to those competing at the US Open this weekend!