Gay the Macho Away: An Exploration of Tango’s “Queering”

Elise Kelly

As he drove me from Palermo to Recoleta, my cab driver asked me, “Why are you in Buenos Aires?” to which I responded, “I am studying tango.” The driver—who had been stoic like the average Argentine taxista—alit with joy. “I dance tango!” he exclaimed, then began to give me his tips: feel the rhythm, be light, follow the man. At this, I told him that one of the things we were studying was the inversion and elimination of gender roles in modern tango. He laughed. “That’s not real tango,” the man said, then dropped me off at my apartment.

His words still ring in my ears. Having little knowledge of tango culture at the time, I could not even begin to fathom what he meant. What makes tango real? Doesn’t someone just lead and the other follows? What does gender have to do with any of this?

Apparently, a lot. Kathy Davis says that tango is “the performance par excellence of gender inequality: feminine subservience and masculine machismo” (5), and she is not alone in this conclusion. Scholars around the world (primarily from Argentina, the United States of America, and Europe) have dedicated special attention to the importance of machismo within the dance, song, and music of tango, noting it as “the most extreme embodiment of traditional notions of gender difference” (3), and “emblematic of heterosexual ‘love’ and its unruliness” (Savigliano 139). Even my classmates, all citizens of the United States, came to Argentina with the knowledge that tango is a macho art.

But what does macho even mean?

According to SpanishDict, machismo (noun of the adjective, macho) is “male chauvinism” (“Machismo”), or the superiority of men over women. When this was first explained to me, I could not believe my ears. Tango is just a dance; how can it show the authority of one gender over another? Even my research demonstrated that tango history gives a certain agency to women—“[milongueras (female tango dancers)] were seen as autonomous and hence dangerous women” (Archetti 104)—and that the “scant” clothing is merely a device of convenience:

the skirt does not get in the way of the legs entangling along the tango walks and during the figuras; the high heels facilitate pivoting on the ball of the foot so that the body can promptly switch directions, and they also help to tilt the body's axis toward the partner in the tight tango milonguero (tango de apile); short hair does not interfere with the milongueros' sight, given that their heads are held in contact (cheek to cheek either facing the same or opposite directions), thus helping to prevent collisions with other couples on the dance floor. (Savigliano 15)

Even the iconic passion of tango “that may seem erotic to the onlooker” is contained within the dance (Carozzi 9), as traditional códigos (cultural rules of tango) require there be “no apparent sign of attraction or desire beyond the dance’s embrace, and the couples are renewed in each tanda [set of four tangos]” (4), preventing any unwanted flirtation. However, when reading further into gender in tango, I found that it is not the dance itself that evokes machismo, but instead the tradition that surrounds it. For example, Orthodox (traditional) milongas require that men and women sit on opposite sides of the room (3), and in terms of the dance itself, women

are forced to follow their partner’s lead, dancing backwards with their eyes closed[… M]en are expected to do the inviting, while women wait passively on the sidelines, waiting to be asked to dance. The separation of the roles according to the sex of the dancer, the performance of the dance, and the gendered organisation of the salon culture all reproduce traditional notions of gender (Davis 8).

Even the lyrics of tango songs call to stereotypical male aggression and sexual triumph: “these lyrics[…] consist of a presentation of a rufían or cantinflero or malevo (‘rabble’ or ‘malevolent’), his ability to dance tango, to control women and his courage and supreme skill in knife duels” (Archetti 100-101). Due to the prominence of its surrounding culture, machismo has been brought to the forefront of tango.

Of course, when one criticizes a facet of anything, they must also consider the origins of said critique. Eduardo P. Archetti explains that “Argentine society and Buenos Aires itself[…] was predominantly male” at the time of tango’s popularization (99), which means that men held the power (100). In fact, a common narrative of tango’s origins claims that it began as a dance between men and men only for the purpose of establishing dominance (Molloy 1). Tango did not involve women until later, when the male majority desired female partners and used the dance to woo them.

The sexist rituals and male-dominant origins of tango have interested some authors in whether it can be politically correct to dance tango as a feminist (Davis). Others find fault with same-sex pairs not being allowed to dance at Orthodox milongas (Carozzi et al.). Some women are tired of how tango teaches them “to resist and even how to conceal their knowledge about their own agency[,…] consistently foreclos[ing] the possibility of alliances among women” (Savigliano 139). Due to critiques from those who enjoy dancing/listening to tango but not following the códigos, a new set of traditions has been born: “tango queer.”

Before this essay continues, it is necessary to define “tango queer.” Though this style of tango can refer to homosexual pairs or relations between tango dancers, it more commonly refers to the inversion of gender roles, ignorance of preconceived traditions, or feminist viewpoints combined with tango as a dance and music. I have decided to use the term “queering” to describe the process in which said viewpoints shifted from the acceptance of Orthodox tango to preference for tango queer.

As observed by Savigliano, “queer milongas have become visible only very recently, responding to the impact of the globalised queer movement and to gay and lesbian tourism” (141), though we know that the Tango Mujer—a womanonly tango venue—existed in the 1990s (Batchelor 26). It is important to note, however, that just because a venue caters to only one gender, it is not necessarily queer. Batchelor defines the requirements of a queer milonga as follows:

1. The sexual orientations of the dancers correspond to LGBT ‘norms.’ 2. Conventional gender roles are challenged because: both dancers in a couple are of the same gender; or conventional gender roles in a couple are reversed. 3. Those dancing believe they are dancing queer tango. 4. The dancing occurs in an overtly queer tango context. 5. What they dance corresponds to the observer’s precepts of what queer tango is

If held to these requirements, it is clear that neither the male-male origin story nor Tango Mujer can be defined as tango queer. For this reason—along with the natural underground nature of LGBTQ+ institutions before Argentine gay marriage was legalized in 2010—the historic and specific origins of tango queer are relatively unknown.

Nonetheless, scholars have been able to decipher how the queering of tango was facilitated. Though many core aspects of common tango are clearly against said queering—“tanguidad is about supplementing sexual relations” (Savigliano 141)—others demonstrate a series of inherent devices that yield to tango queer. For example, many tango songs condemn heterosexual relationships and instead “offer male-bonding as a reliable net on which to fall” (139), which supports tango as a natural purporter of male bonding. Since “the homosocial nature of tango never quite disappear[ed]” (Molloy 1), male-male tangos have been “regarded as the most harmonious and beautiful from a stylistic viewpoint” as they “are easily recuperated as straight.” (Savigliano 141).

On the other hand, there are many aspects of Orthodox tango that have hindered the queering, especially in terms of female-female tango pairs. Since tango traditionalists believe that the dance relies on male decision, lesbian pairs fundamentally cannot exist within the space of tango. Some even say that female-female tango dancers deliver “an overeroticised spectacle (when seen from a male-perspective), that runs against tango’s subtle sensuality.” To counter this, female-female tango dancers “often resource to [the] cross-dressing of one of the partners.”

The inversion of gender roles is key in tango queer, especially for heterosexual couples who choose to participate. In queer milongas, a woman can not only ask a man to dance (142), but she can also take the lead (Carozzi et al.). Many couples, whether homosexual or heterosexual, switch who leads multiple times throughout a tanda, indicated by a change in position or weight. In a queer milonga, “tango masculinity and femininity are, so to speak, suspended and left floating phantasmatically” (Savigliano 139-140).

However, some people indulge in the use of gender roles. While researching relations between feminism and tango, Kathy Davis found that many women enjoy being carried while many men enjoy the power to lead (13). According to her, “[t]ango thrives on difference[…] It offers [dancers] a temporary escape from the norms of sexual equality which many people find important in their everyday lives,” meaning that these dancers would never enforce these gender roles throughout their daily lives, but do enjoy the rituals when it comes to dance. Davis says that in terms of feminism, tango “needs to be challenged” (7). Even though these dancers choose to use the gender roles, they know it is only for the milonga and are challenging tango just as Davis has instructed through mutual acknowledgment of sexism within the rituals, effectively queering their form.

Same-sex tango pairs and inverted gender roles are consistently growing in Buenos Aires (Verdenelli 88). These days, queer milongas simply

look like more relaxed tango venues (which is why they are aptly named milongas relajadas). They play old and contemporary tangos (including electronic ones), the attendees are generally younger, there is rarely a dress code (Savigliano 142), and sexual orientation is not flaunted because “[t] ango queer desires are sensual, aesthetic, and romantically playful[, …] not phallocentrically sexual” (143). They are generally more welcoming to new dancers or foreigners and “offer a decompressed overall atmosphere” (142). One thing, however, that is inversely similar to an Orthodox milonga, is that “queer milongas, like traditional milongas, do have their stars,” but these stars are women who are admired for “their dancing abilities as leaders [and] their capacity to switch gendered partnering roles,” not the preconceived choreographies of seasoned male tango dancers.

As is proven by the queering, tango does not rely on machismo. In fact, Juliana Verdenelli argues that “tango must […] promote the desexualization of roles, the freedom to choose which role to dance in, and with whom to do so” (89, emphasis added). Though machismo continues in modernday Orthodox milongas, the transition of younger generations’ attitudes from acceptance of these gender roles to their acknowledgement shows promise for a future elimination of ideological sexism within tango. One day, queer milongas may hold the majority. All dancers at Orthodox venues might acknowledge that gender roles are outdated, but playful and fun. The machismo could be gone, and people will still call it tango because tango is not grounded in male chauvinism, and it can be “real” without it.

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