Why Arthur Murray Was Right
Earlier this year, I walked into my 8am class at Stanford’s Graduate School of Business looking something like a Disney villain, with elaborately coiffed hair, a dark smokey eye, and bold red lip. My professor and classmates graciously pretended not to notice (for the most part, anyway). That evening, I would ditch my jeans and T-shirt for a Swarovski-encrusted gown and join a twirling mass of men in tailcoats and women in crinoline and feathers at City Lights Open, a local ballroom dancing competition.
When I was a child, I spent hours wearing out my DVD of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella (the 1997 version) and dreaming of going to the ball. Growing up in the 21st century, ballroom dancing seemed to exist only in that fantasy world. Even after I realized one could actually learn to dance like that, taking lessons kept falling to the bottom of my priority list, as so often happens with the things we want to do purely for ourselves. So it was twenty years after Cinderella was released that I finally walked into a ballroom studio for my very first lesson, with no prior dance experience, no partner, and no clue of what I was getting myself into. I’ve now been competing for six years.
It’s easy to dismiss ballroom as backward-looking, and yes, it’s a world steeped in tradition. But it’s modernized rapidly as music and tastes have changed, and developments like the inclusion of same-sex couples in competitions and the rise of wheelchair ballroom have widened access. I fell in love — with the activity itself, the complexities of unspoken communication and thrill of competition, but also with the community that surrounds it: a vibrant group of people from all walks of life who come looking for music, movement, and connection in a space that is welcoming and empowering in ways I wouldn’t have expected.
With loneliness on the rise, activities like ballroom that necessitate presence, touch, and cooperation feel all the more valuable. When I hear people’s dance stories — why they came, and why they stayed — there’s a common thread of escape. We’re bombarded by stories of war, natural disaster, and political rancor. Everyone needs an outlet for joy.
When I hear people’s dance stories — why they came, and why they stayed — there’s a common thread of escape.
Ballroom traces its roots to European court dancing, when it was reserved for the social elite, but reached its peak in the 20th century as figures like Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire pioneered the social dance movement in the States, believing that everyone should learn to dance. Today, there are four main styles of competitive ballroom. Two International styles — standard and Latin — and two analogous American styles — smooth and rhythm. If rhinestones and judges aren’t your thing, you’ll also find Latin social dances, nightclub dances, country dances, and more at your local studio. If it’s partnered — no matter the music style, setting, or attire of the dancers — chances are you can call it ballroom.
It’s that versatility that I love most: both the sheer range of what falls under the umbrella of “ballroom,” and the diversity of those who pursue it as a result. Among those I’ve met at studios over the years are a child psychiatric nurse, a technologist (who happens to be blind), an esteemed federal judge, and a Stanford economics professor. They come for different reasons but find their way to the same place because ballroom is inherently multifaceted: simultaneously a sport (“Dancesport” is the official name, recognized by the International Olympic Committee since 1997), an art, and a social activity. It can be, really, whatever one needs at that moment.
Studios’ websites will tout the benefits of all three aspects, backed by a growing body of scientific research. Improved fitness, posture, and flexibility. Greater self-confidence and creativity. Reduced stress levels and improved mental health.
But beyond that, I’ve found that many seek solace in dance. I was initially drawn to ballroom by the beauty and romance of it all, but also by the opportunity to let go — to forget for a moment about the next deadline, and learn to follow rather than lead for a change. For most, ballroom dancing, in whatever form, looks absolutely nothing like the rest of their day, and sometimes that’s exactly what we need.
…also by the opportunity to let go — to forget for a moment about the next deadline, and learn to follow rather than lead for a change.
More than a series of steps to music or a pastime from a bygone era, ballroom is a journey into a world of beauty, connection, and joy. It offers a haven from the stresses of daily life, a platform for personal expression, and a community of like-minded individuals. Whether you’re drawn to the elegance of the waltz, the passion of the rumba, or the lively rhythms of the salsa, there’s a place for you on the dance floor.
So, shall we dance?
Editor: Kha-ai Nguyen
