Simple Is Beautiful

In societies of scarcity, simplicity and frugality are born of necessity. In contrast, in our world of abundance, excess has become the norm. Tasks once accomplished with a simple kitchen knife, we delegate to a multitude of gadgets: one for chopping eggs, another cutting meats, another slicing tomatoes, another peeling apples, yet another shredding cucumbers. Our kitchens overflow with clutter, just as the complexity of our homes, shopping malls, governments, and tax codes. Our national debt has surged past $14 trillion, with $350 billion paid annually in interest alone—yet we continue to spend as though resources are limitless. Commercial culture bombards us with increasingly bizarre advertisements, each one vying louder than the last for our attention. It's no surprise that many young people now confuse eccentricity with beauty. Punk hairstyles, tattoos, piercings, sagging pants—these aren’t so much statements of aesthetics as they are cries to be noticed.

The way we dance tango mirrors this cultural excess. Tango is actually a simple dance, yet we insist on complicating it. In Argentina, tango is danced with natural, unpretentious, and fluid steps. Here, it’s often overburdened with flashy, exaggerated, and awkward movements. Simplicity is an acquired taste that we lack. We tend to equate complexity and peculiarity with beauty. While tango in Argentina honors the music, feeling, connection, and harmony, our version is dominated by flashy footwork, revealing costumes, lavish venues, and grand festivals. We’re too focused on superficiality over substance.

I advocate for an aesthetic grounded in simplicity and authenticity. Nature’s beauty lies in its quiet elegance. A light touch of makeup looks more genuine than heavy layers. A home with simple, uncluttered decor is more inviting than one overrun with ostentatious ornaments. Concise writing is more effective than verbose prose. Silence often communicates more than words. Excess can detract rather than enhance, and this holds true for tango. Simple steps radiate elegance, allowing dancers to connect deeply with the music and each other, fostering meaningful, inward-focused communication. As I’ve elaborated elsewhere (see The Advantages of Simplicity over Flashy Movements), artistic simplicity unlocks unexpected, often superior, outcomes. The dance video that recreates a classic Chinese painting is a striking example of this principle in action.

The same principle applies to tango. A master dancer can evoke profound beauty with minimal movement, embodying the ideal that "simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." This subtle artistry eludes those fixated on surface appearances. Tango should not be an extravagant luxury, but a simple joy—an intimate, personal experience that doesn’t demand exorbitant expenses. As dancers, we must resist the pull of commercialism and frivolity, shifting our focus from the superficial to the essential. Just as a woman with inner grace captivates more deeply than one relying solely on outward beauty, authentic tango moves us not through spectacle, but through feeling. When we strip away the performance, what remains is something truer, deeper, and ultimately more beautiful (see The Conceptual Beauty of Tango).

True Beauty Comes from Within

We love tango in part because it is a beautiful dance. Our appreciation for beauty is deeply ingrained in human nature. Just as flowers bloom and birds sing to attract mates, beauty offers an evolutionary advantage—enhancing our chances of connection, survival, and success. For this reason, beauty is sought after, admired, and often imitated. Yet, in our relentless pursuit of it, beauty has gradually shifted from something natural and authentic to something artificial and, at times, deceptive.

This fixation on appearances often comes at the expense of substance, leading to a host of unintended consequences. While a beautiful woman may enjoy certain privileges, she may also face significant challenges. She might become entitled or superficial, ill-prepared for life’s harsher realities. Her desirability may attract unwanted attention, jealousy, or competition, making trust and genuine connection harder to come by. As a result, she may become guarded, aloof, or mistrustful—living a life that is far from carefree. Everything has a cost. Beauty is only skin-deep, and it is neither the only thing nor the most important thing—in life or in tango.

Just as an obsession with appearance can blind us to inner qualities, an infatuation with flashy steps can obscure the true essence of tango: connection, emotion, and feeling. Without these, tango becomes an empty performance. True beauty in tango comes from within. It reveals itself in the commitment, understanding, musicality, agreement, and harmony between partners. If you visit Buenos Aires, you’ll see this in the way the milongueros dance. They pay little attention to showy moves. Instead, they focus on the relationship, the music, and the shared feeling—and their dance is so compelling that it’s often imitated by outsiders who fail to grasp its essence.

Tango is still young in the United States. It takes time and maturity to move beyond superficiality and to understand what true beauty really means. The more I dance with women of all ages, the more I appreciate those who are mature. Even in Buenos Aires, I’ve found that older women tend to be better dancers overall. As their youthful freshness fades, they begin to embrace the deeper, more meaningful aspects of the dance. My hope is that, as tango continues to evolve in our country, we too will move beyond surface-level aesthetics and embrace the substance of this art form—as we grow into more mature dancers. (See The Conceptual Beautify of Tango.)