Tango and Gender Equality

Some believe that traditional tango, danced in close embrace, is politically incorrect, while the open-embrace style popular in Europe and North America is a distilled, sanitized version adapted to modern sensibilities. A book I recently read expressed this opinion:

“In Europe, the idea seems to be that harmony in dance is arrived at by mutual consent and that men and women are equal partners. I get the distinct impression, however, that even today, in Buenos Aires, the idea is that the man is in complete control; every action has its lead and the progress of the dance is a series of well-established consequences… A recent article from a tango website in Argentina touched on the relationship between the man and the woman. It used the phrase ‘The woman’s attitude of surrender’… I am not at all sure this notion would find much acceptability with the women I dance with. I can see how it might be interesting to look at the undoubtedly macho flavor in the history of tango and perhaps derive some ideas from it for our dance-play today. I am less happy to accept this idea as the essential feeling of tango in the modern world. I am more attracted to the idea that tango evolved out of a lucky fusion of multiple cultures, mostly European in origin. It seems that it received a transfusion of refinement in Paris in the 1920s, and it looks to me as if it is benefiting today from another shot in the arm all over Europe. Tango is growing apace here and is being distilled to meet the requirements of today’s relationships. I believe it may be losing its narrow, even parochial feel and is becoming truly international in the hands of a new and more cohesive European people. We are not frustrated, homesick, stressed Europeans seeking love miles from home with too few women to share. We are a new breed in a new world. Though the passions we bring as individuals to the dance will be the same basic feelings all men and women have shared since the beginning of time, the intensity must be different, and the balance between the sexes has altered most of all. It may also be the case that our societies in Europe are evolving at a different pace from that of Latin America, though not, I suspect, in a different direction. In Europe today, women have immense power, status, and influence, and they express their needs very clearly. The modern European woman is unlikely to respond too positively to macho posturing… It seems women like their men to be positive, but they also want finesse and thoughtfulness. Women hate to be bullied. They prefer to be invited and to feel that they are in full control to accept, or decline, as they feel. Accepting an invitation is not ‘surrender'... When you think about tango being danced way back at the beginning of the 20th century by earthy men in bordellos, hungry for a woman’s touch, closeness between a man and a woman was the business they were in. It was in the ‘sanitizing’ of tango for the more genteel public and the wider world audience that the open embrace evolved.”

The author's sense of superiority and arrogance toward things he seems to have little understanding of is absurd. Traditional tango is not bullying, nor is open-embrace tango all that “genteel.” In fact, the opposite is often true. To suggest that people who dance in close embrace are somehow “dirty” and less civilized than those who dance in open embrace is both preposterous and hypocritical. (See Artistic Sublimation and Vulgarism in Tango.)

What concerns me most, however, is his perception of "gender equality," which reveals a canting bias against the traditional gender roles in tango and the attempt by some people in Europe and North America to turn tango into a gender-neutral dance.

While we support those who struggle with gender identity, it's equally important to acknowledge that most people are comfortable with their gender—and they find joy, strength, and authenticity in expressing it. Most men that I know are proud of their manhood and masculinity, and they behave, function, and dance as men. Most women that I know embrace their womanhood and femininity, and they behave, function, and dance as women. Men and women are different; they depend on, complement, and complete each other, and they are attracted to each other because of that. (See Tango and Gender Interdependence.)

Women bear and nurture life; men support, protect, and provide. They play different roles in life and tango, which nobody, certainly not modern people, should feel ashamed of. True modern people do not believe that women must act and dance like men in order to be equal—they can be women and still equal with men. True modern people recognize that femininity and masculinity both have intrinsic worth. They see relationships not as power struggles but as partnerships based on love and mutual respect. They do not view decent intimacy between men and women as filthy, and they are not chauvinistic, especially toward a people whose art they are deeply indebted to and whose culture they may not yet fully comprehend.

As I wrote in another post: “The idea of tango is to welcome another person into your personal space—to accept them, be considerate, cooperative, yielding, and accommodating; to surrender and become one; to listen deeply to their unspoken emotions; to share intimacy; and to bring them love, joy, and contentment. This is a stark contrast to the values dominant in our modern culture: individualism, independence, self-interest, and aggression.” (See Tango – The Art of Love.)

Contrary to the author's assumption, surrender in tango is mutual. It is in surrender that we stop competing and begin adapting. Tango resonates in the modern world because it offers something our contemporary culture often lacks: connection, intimacy, and the transcendence of ego. It allows us to be one with each other in an intimate relationship devoid of the bias of the last century. Tango is the opposite of hypocrisy. It transforms us into better, healthier, more authentic, natural, connected, cooperative, accommodating, and cohesive people. (See A Dance That Challenges Modern Ideologies.)

Those who prefer political correctness to decent humanity, individualism to partnership, gender neutralization to gender expression, alienation to intimacy, egoism to humility, and power struggle to love live in the shadow of the past. They are evolving at a different pace from that of Latin America, and not in the same direction as the author thought. They certainly do not represent the future of tango.

Three Theories of Leading in Argentine Tango

The traditional understanding of leading in Argentine tango is often described as the drive theory, in which the lead is conceived as a continuous, embodied driving force. Within this framework, the man assumes the role of the “driver,” guiding the woman primarily through his torso. This approach reflects the historical context of Argentine tango, where traditional gender roles and a close-embrace aesthetic are central. The leader holds the follower with firmness and care; she leans slightly forward into him, her chest against his and her arm wrapped around his shoulder. In this position, the woman surrenders to the lead, she does not plan or initiate steps, but yields, allowing him to shape her movement.

Through this torso-to-torso connection, the leader communicates movement directly and efficiently. A forward intention propels her walk; a slight twist of his torso guides her to step to the side; circular motion of his torso leads her around him; subtle oscillations create leg swings; controlled pivots produce planeos or boleos. The entire dance emerges from the center of the body, rather than from the limbs. This method is especially favored by feeling-oriented dancers, who value the warmth of the embrace, the sense of unity, and the intimate dialogue between partners. In this perspective, technical complexity is secondary. A skilled leader is one who can clearly and sensitively shape movement through his torso, while a skilled follower is one who can synchronize seamlessly with that intention. Steps exist only to support the connection, and simplicity is preferred in order to preserve musicality, emotional depth, and the experience of moving as one.

An alternative perspective is the la marca theory, which defines leading as a system of signals or “marks.” Here, the lead is communicated through localized cues: a pressure on the palm, a pull on the back, a tap on the side, a guided hand, or contact through the legs. These signals function like a coded language, conveying the leader’s intentions in discrete units. As Robert Farris Thompson writes, “Mastering tango is mastering the making of signals.” While this approach has contributed to the diversification of tango technique, it introduces several limitations.

First, it shifts emphasis away from the torso and toward the arms and hands, which traditionally should remain passive and supportive rather than directive. Second, the absence of a standardized vocabulary means that each dancer develops personal signals, forcing followers to interpret unfamiliar and sometimes inconsistent cues. This variability can result in miscommunication, discomfort, or even physical coercion. At the same time, the reliance on signals encourages adaptability: because responses may vary, the leader must remain flexible, reacting to the follower rather than guiding her continuously. In this way, tango becomes less about unified movement and more about negotiation, subtly transforming the dance into a reactive exchange rather than a fully integrated partnership.

A more recent and unconventional approach is the invitation theory, promoted by some in the West under the influence of contemporary cultural values such as individualism, feminism, and political correctness. In this model, the lead is no longer a directive force but an invitation. The leader proposes a movement, and the follower chooses how and when to respond. As described by David Turner, the leader “invites” the follower to enter a space; she accepts in her own time, and he then follows her response. In this sense, the traditional directional flow of leading is partially reversed.

This reinterpretation produces several fundamental changes in the dance. The embrace shifts from the traditional A-shaped close embrace to a more open, H-shaped frame, increasing independence but diminishing physical and emotional closeness. Without torso contact, communication relies more heavily on the arms and hands, despite the principle that they should not dominate the lead. Moreover, this method only works if the follower is experienced enough to interpret subtle torso cues; otherwise, the leader may resort to arm‑leading, which can feel coercive or confusing. Even when both partners are experienced, the absence of clear physical transmission makes intention more ambiguous, expanding interpretive freedom but reducing precision. As a result, roles become fluid, synchronization loosens, and the dance increasingly emphasizes individual expression. Tango, in this form, shifts away from an inward, shared experience toward an outward, performance-oriented display.

These three theories give rise to distinct styles of tango. The drive theory forms the foundation of the milonguero style, characterized by close embrace, compact movement, and emotional depth. The Villa Urquiza style, with its more elastic embrace and emphasis on footwork, aligns more closely with the la marca approach. Meanwhile, open-embrace and Nuevo styles—widely practiced in Europe and North America—reflect the principles of the invitation theory.

However, these are not merely technical variations; they embody fundamentally different philosophies of what tango is. The drive theory prioritizes unity, clarity, and shared embodiment. The la marca theory expands the dance’s vocabulary, emphasizing communication through discrete signals rather than continuous connection. The invitation theory, in turn, prioritizes autonomy and interpretation, often at the expense of cohesion. While each approach has contributed to tango’s evolution, their consequences are not equal. The further tango moves away from the integrated, torso-led connection of the drive theory, the more it risks losing its essential identity as an intimate, unified dance. What remains may still be called tango—but it becomes a different art altogether, one defined less by shared feeling and more by negotiated movement or individual display.

Tango Is a Feeling

Steps are often described as tango’s “vocabulary”—the tools through which music and emotion find expression. Yet tango is never about the steps alone; it is about what those steps reveal. As someone once said, “Tango is a feeling that is danced.”

Defining a feeling is no small task. Feelings span a vast spectrum—sentiments, emotions, moods, reveries, euphoria, sorrow, excitement, and even the mysterious duende. Tango evokes a singular state of mind, one in which we feel vividly alive: exuberant, creative, articulate, expressive, fulfilled. But this state is fleeting and unpredictable. It may arise unbidden—or remain absent, even when we long for it. Still, anyone who has truly felt it knows its power. For many, that feeling is what makes tango so profoundly addictive (see The Psychology in Tango).

This experience is deeply connected to music. High-quality tango music resonates with us, awakens imagination, unlocks expression, and fuels creativity on the dance floor. The most compelling music—marked by clear rhythms, evocative melodies, and emotional depth—does more than organize movement. It connects souls, stirs emotions, shapes sentiments, and lifts us into that rare, transformative state of mind. We dance not to demonstrate steps, but to share the music and the emotions it inspires. When recalling a memorable milonga, we rarely remember the sequence of movements; instead, we remember the connection, the feeling, and the emotional imprint left by the music.

Yet music alone is not enough. The embrace is equally essential—perhaps even more so. Tango’s essence lives in the embrace (see The Fourteenth Pitfall of a Tanguera). Contrary to what beginners may believe, tango embrace is far more than a hold or a frame. It is the connection that unites us, the communication that links our hearts, the touch that sparks chemistry, the intimacy that soothes the soul. It fulfills a profound human need: for connection, belonging, and completeness. It evokes something primal—the warmth of a mother’s chest, the protection of a father’s arms, the cradle of infancy, the safety of home. Tango reminds us that we are not our best in isolation but in togetherness. In its purest form, tango is a longing for “home”—found in each other as we dance, becoming whole through the embrace—without it, tango loses its soul and becomes merely a sequence of movements.

If the embrace is vital, so is the partner within it. That transcendent feeling remains unreachable with someone who has not yet learned to truly embrace. A pedagogy centered solely on steps often produces such dancers—those who avoid closeness, lean away to create distance, cling mechanically, or remain emotionally absent. Such dancers miss the very heart of tango (see The Connection between Partners). Dancing tango is like cradling a baby in your arms, singing a lullaby as you gently rock her to sleep, or resting in a parent’s embrace, lulled by a tender hymn into a dream. Tango is warmth. It is safety. It is shared. Its music, its embrace, its connection, and its rhythmic movement weave a hypnotic spell, transporting us to a place so blissful we hesitate to return when the tanda ends (see The Cradle Effect). Yes, steps are necessary—but only as servants of the embrace, allowing us to move together as one.

In this light, tango mirrors real relationships—rich with challenges yet sustained by trust, unity, love, and mutual support. Beyond choreographed movements, tango becomes a spiritual connection, an emotional resonance, a dialogue between two souls. It calls for surrender, devotion, openness, and the courage to remain connected. Seen from this perspective, tango reveals an entirely different dance—romantic, intimate, comforting, dreamy, soulful, and profoundly fulfilling.

The Tango in All of Us, by Beatriz Dujovne

At the end of our quest, a question remains unanswered: What is the power in the heart of this dance? Why does the tango - born of the angst inherited from the 19th century and the tensions of the 20th - speak so compellingly to people of the 21st century now?

Something in it feeds our hunger for being on a level with others. Something in it understands our rebellion and soothes our longing for “home,” giving us a sense of belonging and a shared communication that knows no barriers. Something in it mirrors our nostalgia. We are nostalgic, each of us, historically: we all have emigrated from the warm, the safe, and the personal. Our feelings parallel those of the inventors of tango, who left their familiar homes to arrive in a city where they saw their dreams for a better future crushed by an unexpected reality. They had to reinvent themselves and adapt to a world of sudden and rapid change. Our world no less than theirs puts us face to face with a grave uncertainty about the future: they did not know if they could survive in the small locality of the Rio de La Plata; we do not know if we can survive in a global world that veers us away from our most precious possessions - our subjectivity and our hearts.

The malaise of our times - the philosophy “any gain is good” - demands that we look outside for direction, that we put our status ahead of our hearts, that we treasure possessions over human connections and subjective fulfillment. What we lose in these exchanges are our “homes,” our hearts, our values. We are irredeemably nostalgic for that. Historically we have arrived at a nightmare of greed and its consequences: terror, endless competition, infinite careerism, alienation.

We are not only nostalgic. The “any gain is good” attitude is the culprit of another malaise: we are developing the uncanny homesickness that descends upon people who are still at home but feel estranged from the place they have lived all their lives. It has been called “solstalgia”: it occurs when ecological changes leave people watching their gardens becoming infertile, their birds disappearing, their crops and animals perishing.

The 19th century-born tango understands our 21st century “algias,” our nostalgia and solstalgia, our isolation-algia, our fragility, our immigrant condition, our anger at human-manufactured threats to life. That’s how this dance of tenderness and connection eases our return to a safe and warm “home.”

Whether as music, dance, poetry, lifestyle, or identity, the tango still fulfills human needs and soothes our 21st century angst. This is its power, but… is this all that propelled it to rise above cultures and to resonate around the globe? As I pondered this question, I flashed back to two experiences. I copy them here from my life notes; this is the first:

I wanted to participate in the miracle of birth, as an observer. The mother had to be someone I did not know. I was allowed into the delivery room, which was the mother’s private hospital room. Decorated in shades of green, everything was impeccably sterile.

When labor began, the “all” of life looked me straight in the eyes. There it was, staring me down. At its rawest. Unedited.

Mother’s ecstasy. Mother’s agony. Cries of joy. Cries of pain. Hard labor. Sweat. Blood. Strange body materials. Malodorous fluids. A mother’s body without will. Nature pouring her insides out. A thunderstorm agitating the ocean.

A mother’s suffering became a baby’s head, then a baby’s body, then a little person who could cry his very own terror out loud with his brand new lungs. This now human being could only calm down when his father’s arms held him securely and tightly close to his chest.

The birthing mother could have been an English queen surrounded by an entourage of caretakers, giving birth in the luxury of a palace. Or a woman from the Argentine pampas. Or a Muslim with a veil. The baby could have been any color. As never before, the basic common experience of all mothers and all babies struck me as being uncannily identical.

In that delivery room, I felt myself made of the “stuff” tango is made of: the beautiful and the ugly, the joy and the pain, the blood and the sweat, the fragrances and the odors. Tango has earth in its soul. It melts down differences by zeroing in on our commonality. Tango is all of us in life’s common places. It is who we are at the core, behind our social masks.

How is it that other social dances do not take us there? I believe that the physical tango embrace is a one-second ticket to emotions so old we do not have names for them, to the moment we enter this world as a creature. In the embrace, we are held in the same exact vertical position against someone’s chest, feeling safe and connected, engaging in a myriad of bodily duets. This ineffable universal “home,” the beginning of our ontology, still matters to us in that zone of the “unconscious,” where present and past are one and the same.

I heard the sound of silence during my visit to the Galapagos Islands, off the coast of Ecuador, in the wildlife that inspired Charles Darwin, in the habitat that remains largely as it was when he studied it. We were not supposed to disturb the animals while touring the islands. When we encountered, on our narrow path, the Blue-footed Boobies with their white and black outfits and blue painted feet, they did not walk away or fly off. We humans stopped in our tracks. Then we detoured so as not bother them.

They owned the place. The familiar differences between urban animals and humans did not exist in Galapagos. In that semi-pristine landscape, it was crystal clear that they had more rights than we did… Detouring around them, we reached the ocean; a sea lion had given birth in the beach. I could tell because a solitary placenta was basking in the sun, waiting to become food for another species. Perfect cycles of nature: one’s discard becomes food for another.

On that beach, for the first and only time in my life, I listened to a new sound of silence. Not the one that results from absence of noise. A silence that enveloped the earth and the skies and everything in a larger dimension, where human and animals lived in a shared space and had equal rights. This zone transcended both our species.

The delivery room and the Galapagos confronted me with something basically human… maybe bigger than human… cosmic perhaps.

In bother memories I encountered a point, as it is at the beginning of life and (I imagine) as it is at the end of life. Between these two points, we do the dance of life that pushes them apart… We grow away from our common stock, from our one same story, believing that our different affiliations to country, religion or ethnicity separate us. We kill for those beliefs. And in many cultures we deny our bodies as inferior to our minds and spirits. Tango bypasses all these camouflages of the self and goes right into the ineffable zone of the cosmic where we were in the first place, to that ineffable story of sameness, those points where our bodily nature screams its existence.

Tango’s power also resides in how it works in our psyches from the inside. The carnal embrace destabilizes our polar tendencies, while giving us a visceral sense of being more complete. The dance is a meeting ground of opposites and synthesis of the extremes that are in our very cores: man and woman, masculinity and femininity, oneness and separation, spirituality and carnality - all of these universally human polarities clash and blend in the embrace. We dance our man and woman to the fullest, in halves that need and complement each other. Yet, in this dance where the polar genders meet, I feel strands of androgyny that we dance, that we hear in the music, that we experience in the poetic text and in the singing. Many compositions insist on the beat; they seem more masculine. Others are melodically slower and gentler; they seem more feminine. Others balanced in their melodic and rhythmic aspects. Men and women singers switch from grave “masculinity” to tender “femininity” in voice and feeling in a fraction of a second. So do poets, who, in a macho culture, felt free to express their “feminine” emotions.

The opposites of oneness and separation do their own dance as well. The embrace summons us back to a wonderful oceanic experience, where two of us become one - for three minutes - until we recover our boundaries. The distinguished psychoanalyst Otto Fenichel used the expression “oceanic” to refer to the blurring of boundaries between self and world (which is uncannily similar to the experience of “merging” reported by dancers in moments of transport). It is a wonderful metaphor for the connection we feel but that others cannot see. In certain moments of the dance we go back to the ocean. In the rhythmic tides of the music we rise and fall; we are waves with a form that merge with the water, but that soon enough acquire individuality again. As dancers directly or indirectly told us, even in nonspectacular moments, we often feel snatches of a vast zone beyond ourselves and a sense of connection to more than what our senses perceive.

Not only does the dance fulfill needs, but it also confronts us with our ineffable nature, with a mystery our minds cannot understand but our emotions do.

Whether as dance, lifestyle or identity, song lyric or alternative culture, the tango has proven itself able to fulfill universal human needs. Most popular dances celebrate the happy side of life and put the tragic off to the side; the tango speaks to our pain and losses without trivializing or erasing them. Instead by in fact confronting and intensifying what is usually left in the margins, it summons us back to our realness.

Its initial spread and its current resurgence around the world show that, despite the disparities of time and place, language, skin color, religion or social status, we find ourselves, we find each other, we find the tango’s strength in strangers’ arms.


Beatriz Dujovne. In Strangers' Arms: The Magic of the Tango. North Carilina: McFarland & Company, 2011.

The Styles of Tango

Many terms are used to describe different styles of tango, such as tango milonguero, tango apilado, tango Villa Urquiza, estilo del centro, estilo del barrio, the salón style, tango de salón, tango fantasia, tango Nuevo, and tango para exportar.

The origins of various dance styles lie in human psychology. People who are feeling-oriented tend to focus on inner experiences. These dancers, many are milongueros, developed the milonguero style of tango, also known as tango milonguero or tango apilado. It is danced in a close embrace with a slightly leaning (apilado) position, featuring intimate physical contact and simple steps to emphasize connection and feelings. This style is commonly seen at tango clubs in downtown Buenos Aires, where crowded floors prevent elaborate movements, hence its nickname, "estilo del centro" or downtown style. The milonguero style prioritizes embrace and feelings.

On the other hand, dancers who are movement-oriented tend to focus on steps and action. These dancers, many are also milongueros, developed the Villa Urquiza style of tango—also known as the salón style—which is danced in a loose embrace with an upright posture to facilitate stylish movements. These action-oriented dancers like to dance at neighborhood clubs, such as Club Sin Rumbo in Villa Urquiza, where open dance floors allow for elaborate movement, hence the term "estilo del barrio" or neighborhood style. The Villa Urquiza style prioritizes footwork and impression.

The Milonguero style and the Villa Urquiza style are commonly recognized as tango de salón, or social tango. Social tango is a loose term—broad enough to encompass stylistic differences yet narrow enough to exclude anti-social behaviors. Social dancers may be feeling-oriented or movement-oriented, but they all dance at clubs and abide by the milonga codes.

Social tango dominated Buenos Aires' culture from the mid-1930s to the mid-1950s, a period known as tango’s Golden Age. Between 1940 and 1950, some 23 dancers—who were even more movement-oriented than their Villa Urquiza colleagues—met regularly at Club Nelson to develop novel steps. The result is a new style known as tango fantasia. The names of these 23 dancers are listed in Robert Farris Thompson's book, Tango, the Art History of Love. Danced mainly in an open embrace, tango fantasia dramatized tango with flashy movements and elaborate choreography, and distinguishes itself from improvisational social tango by employing rehearsal and not conforming to the milonga codes. The purpose of this style is stage performance; therefore, it is also known as stage tango, show tango, performance tango, or exhibition tango (see Social Tango and Performance Tango).

From 1955 to 1983, Argentina was ruled by military juntas whose policies discouraged social tango. Curfews were enforced, and pedestrians were frequently stopped by the military police. Many were arrested or simply disappeared for association with the previous, pro-tango regime. As a result, people stopped dancing socially, and tango went underground. The absence of social tango during this period gave tango fantasia an opportunity to take the stage. When military rule ended in 1983, it was this style that led to the revival of tango (see Tango: Historical and Cultural Impacts).

The renaissance was led by a group of stage performers who brought their show, Tango Argentino, to Paris and New York City in 1983 and 1984, where they ignited enthusiasm for their style of tango. Seizing the business opportunity, these professional dancers began teaching tango fantasia to Europeans and Americans, thus spawning the tango Nuevo movement that catered to foreign tastes. Because tango Nuevo incorporated many non-tango elements, such as exotic music and eccentric steps, it ceased to be the tango in its original sense. For this reason, milongueros despise it and call it "tango para exportar," or tango for export. (See Three Theories of Leading in Argentine Tango.)