Artistic Sublimation and Vulgarism in Tango

Humans possess a unique ability: identifying the common nature or essence of things and setting aside individual and non-essential properties to form transcendental concepts. For example, the word "woman" in human thought does not refer to any specific individual female but to an abstract idea. As Carlos Gavito once said, "She's a dream of something I want in real life, but that ideal does not have a face." Abstract thinking—though it can give rise to generalized biases like racism—is a hallmark of human cognition and the foundation of art itself. Beauty, after all, is an abstract concept. By synthesizing the shared attributes of all women, we create the image of a goddess with perfect face, figure, curves, hips, legs, softness, flexibility, sexuality, fertility, character, temperament, and intelligence—an ideal lover, companion, partner, friend, wife, and mother of human offspring (see The Conceptual Beauty of Tango).

In the process of abstraction, desirable traits are often emphasized. Artistic representations, such as portraits and statues, typically exaggerate features like fuller breasts, narrower waists, wider hips, and longer legs. This tradition spans across artistic expressions. Even the Bible captures such abstraction in verses like: "Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle" (Song of Songs 7:3) and "How beautiful you are and how pleasing, O love, with your delights! Your stature is like that of a palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit" (Song of Songs 7:6–7). The woman herself echoes this imagery: "I am a wall, and my breasts are like towers. Thus I have become in his eyes like one bringing contentment" (Song of Songs 8:10).

Tango, as an art form, aligns with these exalted expressions. It elevates our shared humanity rather than diminishing it. A culture that distinguishes between decenct physical intimacy and vulgarity is, in my view, more civilized than one that conflates the two and condemns both. Innocent intimacy between the sexes is human, moral, and beautiful. This sentiment resonates worldwide, as seen in tango’s enduring popularity. Humanity has matured to a point where we can distinguish between healthy intimacy and obscenity. Tango women should understand that embracing their femininity to attract, please, and bring contentment to their partners is an essential part of their role in tango (see Close Embrace and Open Embrace (I)).

The same principle applies to men. As Perri Lezzoni notes in A Little Machismo Goes a Long Way: "One of the most difficult things leaders have to learn is how to put some machismo into the tango connection. The tiniest amount will do, but exuding it without offense is not easy. It is the most important spice in the stew; without it there are no women, and without women there is no tango... Machismo is the expression of a person’s inner warrior, and it is not solely manufactured by men. It is the fighter inside of us that the follower finds so alluring."

Men must recognize that what makes them attractive to women lies in the essence of their manhood, masculinity, and machismo—not in political correctness. Women naturally want to rely on our broad shoulders, melt into our strong arms, feel the strength of our muscles, admire our vitality, and enjoy our protection. It is in their nature to seduce us, capture our attention, awaken our desire, and ultimately surrender and follow. Harnessing our masculinity to support, protect, lead, comfort, and bring contentment to women is fundamental to the male role in tango (see Gender Expression in Tango).

The innocent intimacy and playful connection of tango celebrate our shared humanity. They fulfill the deep human yearning for closeness, quench our thirst for affection, and strengthen the bond between the sexes. While some critics claim that tango promotes gender inequality or sexual harassment, arguing for a "sanitized version" of tango favoring open embraces and gender neutrality, such accusations misrepresent reality. Tango dancers around the world can attest: although deeply intimate, tango is not sexual. Like ballet, figure skating, and other performing arts, tango represents an artistic sublimation. Practitioners of these art forms must distinguish between artistic sublimity and obscenity and embrace the former. For beginners, this is often the first hurdle they must overcome (see Tango and Gender Equality).

The Conceptual Beauty of Tango

In the philosophy of tango, the unity of form and content holds profound significance. Tango is born out of a human need (see Why People Dance Tango). From this need arises beauty, which then leads to a deviation from this need and only pursue beauty, hence the alienation of tango. Admiration for beauty is not without merit—after all, without it, there would be no art. But in creating art, we must not lose sight of its purpose. Art is not merely form; without substance, it loses its meaning. A watch that looks elegant but fails to keep time is not a good watch. A selfish woman, though physically attractive, does not make a good partner. Tango is no different: you may invent dazzling steps, but without the essence of tango, it is not good tango.

Novice dancers often judge tango by its appearance, just as naive minds judge success by material wealth. Warren Buffett once said, “The truth is, when you get to my age, you will measure your success by how many people really love you.” Money does not make one truly rich—love does. We may envy someone’s fortune, but at the end of the day, we long for relationships grounded in genuine care. The same applies to tango. What makes it deeply fulfilling is not its steps but what the steps convey.

Marie Curie observed, “If you’re not pretty at 17, you can blame your parents. But if you are still not pretty at 30, you only have yourself to blame, for in all those years, you added nothing new to yourself.” True beauty comes from within. A tango dancer who only values look and ignores feeling is like a parvenus who lives in a mansion and drives luxury cars, but at heart he is still a poor man. What makes a person noble is not his money but character. Dancers obsessed with form and upstarts flaunting riches are kindred spirits. Art that endures—be it painting, music, or dance—is that with inherent depth of human spirit rather than just aestheticism.

As Mother Teresa poignantly said: “Hunger is not only for bread, but for love. Nakedness is not only for clothing, but for dignity. Homelessness is not only the need for a roof, but also the feeling of being unwanted.” Tango, at its core, feeds the soul. Its beauty lies not just in its form, but more profoundly, in its spirit.

This inner beauty is invisible. It exists in emotions, thoughts, relationships, character, and imagination. In the eyes of a lover his beloved is a beauty. What seems attractive may become plain over time, and what seems plain can become deeply beautiful. Some people are attractive because of their intelligence, others because of their charisma. Certain beauty can only be appreciated by the heart and not the eyes, such as poem, music, love and friendship. A tango can stir up different emotions because what people hear may not be the song itself, but their own feelings. The world appears radiant when the heart is joyful, and somber when it is heavy. The past is more splendid in memory than it was in reality, and so is the future in the vision. All this reveals that beauty is not merely form—it is also a subjective experience.

The highest beauty is conceptual. It transcends the visual boundaries and invites the mind to wander through the realm of imagination. Tango is not primarily a visual art—it is an art of consciousness and feeling. In tango, you can close your eyes and let your intuition guide you. You do not watch your partner dance; you feel their embrace, their touch, their movement—and through these, their temperament, personality, and emotion. His masculinity, strength, dependability, protection, thoughtfulness, and finesse; her femininity, softness, affection, agreement, and subtle seduction—these are all conveyed through feeling. Even musicality and the quality of the dance are experienced through sensation. Tango leaves abundant space for imagination. Dancing it is like attending a feast of emotions. Its beauty is largely conceptual rather than visual (see Tango Is a Feeling).

It is unfortunate that many formalist dancers focus solely on what can be seen, ignoring what can only be felt. What sets tango apart is its conceptual beauty. This is where its deepest potential lies. To explore and cultivate this inner richness is a worthy aspiration—one that can make tango an even greater emotional feast. Although it is natural for beginners to focus on the external, as comprehension proceeds from the outside to the inside and from the shallow to the deep, my hope is that this journey can be shortened. So that, when you reach the age of Warren Buffett, Marie Curie, or Mother Teresa, you won’t regret for what you have missed out in your pursuit of vanity. Isn't that often the case beyond tango (see The Psychology in Tango)?

Highbrowism and Populism in Tango

Art forms that reflect the general public’s tastes, needs, and educational backgrounds are often categorized as popular arts. In contrast, highbrow arts are defined by their very high standards and exceptional technical requirements, often beyond the reach of the average individual. For example, highbrow music typically demands a complexity and range that only a select few performers can achieve, whereas pop songs, with their simpler techniques and narrower vocal demands, are accessible to nearly everyone.

The belief that intricate and demanding art is inherently superior to straightforward and accessible forms, however, is deeply misguided. A painting is not automatically more valuable than a photograph, just as a pop song can be as compelling as an operatic aria. In fact, simplicity and accessibility often yield extraordinary results. Simplicity is not synonymous with artistic inferiority, nor does ease imply a lack of skill. On the contrary, achieving both often requires a high degree of sophistication. Truly accomplished artists make their craft appear effortless, and those who masterfully distill complexity into simplicity often demonstrate greater virtuosity than those who do not (see Simple Is Beautiful).

Individuals who believe in art for art's sake often overlook a fundamental truth: art—especially popular art—is created for people. What value does a pop song have if it is too complex for the general public to enjoy? What's the worth of a social dance if only an elite few can perform it? Argentine tango is a prime example of a social dance; it was created by sailors, gauchos, immigrant workers, and street women. It maintains its grassroots essence in Argentina even today. Most people who dance tango are ordinary people. They love tango because it is a simple and easy dance that serves their need for connection and affinity with other souls.

Those who regard themselves above the crowd try to make tango increasingly intricate and challenging. I question whether this serves the dance well. Tango will continue to evolve as an art form, of course, but transforming it into a highbrow dance akin to ballet is, in my view, a step in the wrong direction. The vitality of tango lies in its popularity and sociability, without these qualities, it risks becoming a detached, impractical art, a castle in the air.

Schopenhauer’s well-known remark, “Man is either vulgar or lonely,” invites multiple interpretations. It may encourage embracing individuality rather than conforming to the crowd. It could also warn against aloofness that leads to isolation. Alternatively, it may speak to the need for balance between refinement and accessibility, between high and popular culture. In the case of tango, this final interpretation seems especially apt. As a Chinese proverb wisely observes, “Water that is too clear has no fish, and a man with overly high standards has no followers.” Schopenhauer’s words, too, may be best understood as a caution: in seeking to set ourselves apart, we risk cutting off from the very human connection that gives art—and tango—its soul.

Simple Is Beautiful

In societies of scarcity, people value simplicity and frugality. But in wealthy nations like ours, extravagance and waste are the norm. Tasks that others accomplish with a single kitchen knife we assign to an array of specialized gadgets — one for chopping meat, another for slicing tomatoes, another for peeling apples, another for shredding cucumbers. Our homes overflow with clutter, a reflection of the complexity that pervades our shopping malls, our government, and our military. Today, our national debt has surged past $14 trillion, with $350 billion drained each year just to cover the interest — yet we spend as if resources were infinite. Meanwhile, consumer culture assaults us with increasingly bizarre advertisements, each louder and more desperate than the last. It’s little wonder that many young people now confuse eccentricity with beauty. Punk hairstyles, tattoos, piercings, sagging pants — these are less expressions of taste than cries for attention.

The way we dance tango reflects this same cultural excess. At heart, tango is a simple, intimate dance, yet we insist on making it unnecessarily complicated. In Argentina, it’s danced with natural, understated steps, focusing on inward feelings. Here, it often becomes a display of flashy, exaggerated, and awkward moves. Simplicity is an acquired taste that we have yet to cultivate. We mistake complexity and peculiarity for beauty. While Argentine tango is rooted in music, emotion, and the connection shared between partners, our version tends to emphasize theatrical footwork, revealing costumes, opulent venues, and extravagant festivals. In this shift, substance gives way to spectacle.

I advocate for an aesthetic grounded in simplicity and authenticity. Nature’s beauty lies in its quiet elegance. A light touch of makeup feels more genuine than layers of concealer. A home with simple, uncluttered decor is more inviting than one overrun with gaudy ornaments. Clear, concise writing communicates more powerfully than verbose prose. Silence often speaks louder than words. Excess can distract rather than enhance—and this is especially true in tango. Simple steps radiate elegance, allowing dancers to connect more deeply with the music and each other, creating an intimate, inward-focused dialogue. As I’ve discussed elsewhere (see The Advantages of Simplicity over Flashy Movements), simplicity in art can unlock unexpected, often superior, outcomes. A dance video that recreates a traditional Chinese painting exemplifies this beautifully.

The same principle holds true in tango. A master dancer can evoke profound beauty with minimal movement, embodying the idea that "simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." This subtle artistry is lost on those fixated on surface-level flash. Tango should not be an extravagant luxury, but a quiet joy—a deeply personal experience that doesn’t require lavish spending. As dancers, we must resist the pull of commercialism and superficiality, and instead focus on what truly matters. Just as a woman with inner grace captivates more deeply than one relying solely on appearance, tango moves us not with spectacle, but with connection and feeling. Strip away the performance, and what remains is something more genuine, more profound—and ultimately, more beautiful (see The Conceptual Beauty of Tango).

True Beauty Comes from Within

We love tango in part because it is beautiful. This 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 imitated. Yet, in our relentless pursuit of it, beauty has 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 unintended consequences. While a beautiful woman may enjoy certain privileges, she also faces unique challenges. She may become entitled or superficial, ill-prepared for life’s harsher realities. Her desirability can attract unwanted attention, jealousy, or competition, making trust and genuine connection more elusive. As a result, she may grow guarded, aloof, or mistrustful—living a life that is far from carefree. Everything has a cost, including beauty. 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—revealing 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, focusing instead 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 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—growing into more mature dancers. (See The Conceptual Beautify of Tango.)