There is very little else on earth I love more than a dance floor. A space specifically designated for chaos to reign supreme: the sweaty grins, the heaving bodies, the pile of clothes and miscellaneous things not stuck to your body that get dumped in the middle of your dance circle. Sticky floors that get stickier as the night goes on, or the lush grass at a music festival that turns to red dust under your pounding feet.
At home, my dance floors are the cold kitchen tiles reverberating the music off my phone while waiting for the kettle to boil; or my bedroom in front of a loyal audience of unfolded laundry – an opportunity to forget where I am for a moment after a stressful day, or a chance to embrace joy at its fullest with nobody around.
Dance, to me, is a form of resistance. It is a series of movements all through the night that allow me to reclaim the freedom lost when stuck indoors – wiling away the hours from Zoom meeting after Zoom meeting, to push past the state of the world, or a bad date. I love the luxury of being near so many people eager to do the same, making their time their own once more.
When I learnt how to DJ, all I wanted to do was transfer my love of the dance floor to others. I choose music that I could picture two best friends making eye contact to across a crowded room the second the song starts, before dramatically dancing their way towards one another. Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Cardi B – it’s all fair play.
There’s nothing better than watching someone lose themselves in having fun. That, along with strangers tapping each other on the shoulder mouthing “I love your pants!” and seeing, in real time, the compliment transforming into confident, razor-sharp movements on the beat.
The author DJing. Source: Supplied
Time on a dance floor is a kind of choose-your-own-adventure, and no two events are the same. Even the same rituals could play out in different ways. Are we taking turns getting drinks, or abandoning our spots next to the DJ booth as a team? Are we casually flicking through Tinder, Hinge and Bumble as we shift our bodies to the beat, or focusing our energy on each other? Will we stop by the 24-hour Hungry Jacks to recoil under the fluorescent lighting at the end of the night?
Or will I be asking my Uber driver to stop at the petrol station across the road from my house so I can buy a sprinkle donut to half-eat in bed before waking well-rested with the remnants stuck to my face? On any given night, who would be crying into a burrito while sitting on the curb? It’s a magical world and we are the agents of our own destinies.
Whether it’s a dimly lit underground club, a shed at a friend’s wedding or the band room of an old pub, dance floors are my favourite sources of serotonin.
It’s a magical world and we are the agents of our own destinies
What I never imagined dance floors could give me was a sense of solidarity. After years and years of bops to indie and house music, it was one night at FEMPRESS in Adelaide in 2017 that showed me that there was room for me to carve space for myself and others like me both on and off the stage. Here is a space that placed Blak, Black and Brown women at the forefront, and as the true instigators of rhythm, community and a good time. It’s something my friends who DJ also deeply cherish, because we want to keep holding space for others to continue a legacy we’ve been lucky enough to witness.
The dance floor, in any form, is a space that feels like my own, where how I look or how my day went doesn’t matter. Dance floors are where I exercise, solidify friendships, and even once cracked back into place my own dislocated toe.
And the best part about dance floors, of course, is that the moment you stop, they return to a quiet, dormant space until the next time. Only the brave get to witness that transient beauty around them – the kinetic energy that lasts for a night, or an hour in the afternoon. Either way, you come out of the moment smiling, half-eaten sprinkle donut stuck to your face and all.
Haneen Mahmood Martin is a Malay-Arab writer, artist and creative producer based in Garramilla/Darwin. You can find her on Instagram
