When Animal-Attacked Dresses Attack!

The online tango storefront is a treacherous place. You can be swimming along, clicking through pictures of strappy shoes, Pugliese CDs, not-so-strappy shoes, that print of two people dancing that is some kind of tango government issue. You're enjoying yourself. It's good times.

And then, you click on 'Apparel'.



Not bad! you think to yourself. Sure, she seems a little awkward in this pose - maybe she doesn't like pink? Neither do you, but if someone paid you you'd wear it. And the skirt has a little flair, the waist a little interest, and it looks very comfortable and easy to move in. You wonder if it comes in black, and you scroll down.

That's when it happens.


A vicious, pixelated attack on this poor model, whose blue velvet dress was violently ripped away until nothing remained but a neon foundation garment and a ragged slip of skirt that can't avoid revealing the high-waisted, lacey, monokini granny panties that lurk beneath! Your only consolation is that her fishnets obviously have plenty of animal-repellent control-top action, and that she will be able to walk for help without her legs freezing. She will make it through this. She will, in time, forget.

Can you?

Funny story.

"So, you guys will never believe what happened to me! I got all dressed up for the milonga in this adorable red dress, and on the way over I was like, I'll walk through the zoo! Because I just love animals, you know I do, like seals and kittens and all the other animals that dont' smell bad. Anyway, so I was walking through the zoo and I passed the big cats; apparently cats don't like the color red or something? Like I was supposed to know, right? Exactly! They pulled it off me right away, though, so not even a scratch - oh, well, the dress. But whatever, right? It's still totally cute! Anyway, I'm here now. Who wants to dance?"

Starvation.

I thought this business trip would involve tango - I was so sure of it, had heard such good things about tango in Town, that I brought my flashiest shoes just so I could work off excess energy on the dance floor. I worried about whether to present myself as a leader or to just anonymously follow. I had decided to do the former, because at this point my pleasure in tango comes from switching roles depending on my mood, on the orchestra, on how my feet feel, on who's available. To lead in a city where I am a stranger was scary stuff; I'm a bastardy grump, sure, but no one wants to make an ass of themselves in public, and the decision was a big one. I worked up my courage, put on my signature scent.

Not meant to be. Tried two nights in a row, and all possible tango venues were closed or otherwise empty. I got restless, and last night I found myself going out fully prepared just in case I passed someone who could dance. My shoes banged around in my empty bag; Di Sarli played mournfully through my headhpones; I looked at every face on the street thinking, Do you? Can you?

I never used to look for anything in anyone. (It is difficult and humbling; I propose all tango dancers have something inscribed on their foreheads.)

I give it two days before I'm wearing my stilettos to the meetings here. Someone in Town is going to see my nice shoes, dammit, I don't care who it is.

This afternoon in my free time I flipped through Flickr for soothing pictures of tango dancers, and got this:

Did we still need to talk about wild animal attacks? About VISIBLE UNDERPANTS? I really tought that was over. If a cougar eats your skirt, no mantilla will do, okay? You have to buy a whole new skirt. That's the rules.

Luckily, a few pictures later, I found this:

This is what I am missing. Not the visible underpants so much.

Okay, what?

Am I wrong, or do these shoes have a belt?




I really don't think I'm wrong. That's a belt, you guys.

*screams*

Tango - A Photo Essay.

Okay, a brief photo essay about tango.

This is social tango.

This is stage tango.

The End

The difference? Visible underpants. I don't want to see any underpants, people. I mean it. It's not that kind of dance floor.

All photos from Flickr: here, here, here, here, here, here.

Because I'm not THAT mean.

To the anonymous tipster who left me some links to hilarious tango dresses:

Thank you for the laugh. And the cringe. I'm not really sure what was going on with some of those dresses, but I'm really flattered that you took the time to leave the comment that would be sure to scar my eyeballs forever.

I didn't publicly post it, because it links directly to the frightening frocks in question, and as much as I love making fun of them, I do try not to link directly to them, because I'm sure the person who made them thinks they're beautiful, and I try not to be a total bastard sometimes, so I'm letting them stay anonymous.

However, I might stick one in here and there as I wade through the worst the internet has to offer, so definitely keep an eye open for one of your picks! I'd give you a finder's fee, but come on, I dance tango. I'm poor.

Do not adjust your monitor.

Some of the fetching ladies of the brand-new tango show "Tango Para La Eternidad" stand proudly in their costumes, designed to personify the many faces of tango: space alien, 1880s saloon girl, naked hippie, and Morticia Addams. *





* These dresses are real. They are designed by a fashion label that exists solely to manufacture "tango dresses", the majority of which presumably look like this. On purpose. I don't even know.

Because pictures are nice. Sometimes. Sometimes they burn your eyeballs.

Because I have no high horse to get up on today, it's picture time!

First off, this picture of two tango dancers who are both girls (say it ain't so!):



I don't know how you're supposed to walk, much less dance in those dresses, frankly. I especially love the grumpy girl on the left. She needs to breathe, people! She probably hasn't eaten in a year! Let her out!

But for every soft-focus beauty shot of Belle Epoque dresswear, we have a photo shoot for modern tango wear that looks like it was shot at the Winter Formal or something:

1. Love that picture-in-picture! If only it had that oval frame action from my junior prom days, where you got TWO shots of you and your date looking uncomfortable, instead of just one. (Tradition in my school was to take one serious one and one "wacky" one, which usually involved the girl looking like the beginning of a Mentos commercial, fake-baffled and -dismayed, while the guy grabbed some ass. Classy, classy establishment.)

2. Speaking of grab-ass, how about we maybe add a skirt to that dress?


There is nothing wrong with this next dress. It's a little tight for tango, maybe, but there's nothing at all wrong with it - it's something I'd wear to a wedding. I just love the story created by this unintentionally hilarious picture editing :


"Sally couldn't stand how Sadie was so blissfully happy to steal Sally's every move, her every thought, her every outfit - but all that would soon change. Oh, yes, it would. Sadie would be very, very sorry."



And some more shoes:


I can't tell if these are interesting or appalling, and I absolutely cannot fathom what they look like on someone's foot. My brain loses today. I do appreciate them taking a stab at a new look, but is it like a straightjacket for your foot? I think these might be like a pair of Comme il Fauts I saw someone wearing once, open-toe slingbacks in white satin with a black toile print and a big velvet cord tied around the ankle. I didn't like the shape of the shoe, but I totally admired the idea behind it, and the fact that this girl could keep a shoe on her foot with something flimsier than ribbon.

It was like a gossamer, marshmallow fairy-kiss of a shoe tie, you guys, seriously.

Have you been attacked by wild animals?

Everyone's posting about what (and what not) to wear, from Cherie to Debbi to Miss Tango, which is exciting and yet sad, because when people have to mention what you shouldn't wear, I know that wild animals have once again been set free to maul young ladies' hemlines.

"But I want to express myself!" some women cry, clutching their keyhole tops and necktie minikirts. "This is beautiful and fluid! I can only dance in this!"

To this I can only promise you you're expressing something, but it usually just gets you the pearl-clutching "oh my GOD!" kind of reaction, and less "I bet that girl in the skirt made of neckties can really burn up the floor!"

For those still uncertain, I have included some concrete examples.

RED

Attacked by a Wild Animal

Not Attacked by a Wild Animal

Both of these dresses are red, with collarbone-showcasing proprties. However, you'll note that the first one looks as if cougars have shredded it to ribbons, leaving an underskirt that barely covers the undercurve of the backside. Ladies, you don't want to flash people, I PROMISE. No matter what Claire Anderson told you in fifth grade, flashing people is not cool. The second dress is slightly more conservative, but still beautiful, and with this one you can wear a bra! I know, I know, it's crazy talk, but dammit, it just might work!

ASYMMETRY

Attacked by a Wild Animal

Not Attacked by a Wild Animal

The first dress is not quite as bad as it could be, but the material looks deeply uncomfortable, as if this woman is somehow playing the Mother of the Bride in a tango show and they wanted to come up with an Argentine version of an organza bolero jacket. And by Mother, I mean Hootchie-Mama mother, because that slit goes up to what I desperately hope are some underpants. At least she knows it's a little much and has tried to cover it up with a shower curtain. It's still a little small, though; maybe she could have avoided that little gauntlet sleeve and just used the extra material to finish it off.

Meanwhile, the second dress is matte cotton jersey (the only material I wear to dance in, because it's pretty and your skin can breathe and you're not all confined and GOOD LORD how do women dance in satin I'll never understand it), and it's classy enough that you can wear it to tango and outside tango, like on dates or other things people do in the real world when they're not dancing tango. I don't know what those things are anymore.

And double bonus - even the asymmetric part is still thick enough that you can sneak a black bra strap under there and no one will ever know! Who knows what genius designed a dress you can wear a bra in? Who knows why so many women decide to forego said bra while they're dancing, even if maybe they shouldn't? The world is full of mystery.

What I do know is that this dress is so hot I just ordered it for myself.

I hope that this helps, indecisive tangueras! I'm sure it did. I know that now I never have to see the remains of an animal attack ever again.

Except that I'm going dancing tonight, so I guess it's not a matter of "if" and more a matter of "how many".

Attacked by the Wild Animals of Fashion.

I can't believe it. I really never thought I'd have to do this again. I mean, lately the style has been jersey skirts with uneven hems (totally fine) or gaucho pants (totally fine, more "fine for tango" than "fine in real life", but still fine) or even those capris with the I Dream of Jeannie slits up the sides (looks like a stiletto trap to me, but if you can stay aloft in them, totally fine).

Sometimes a costumey dress or a strappy top or calf-length fishnets or weird liquid-gold pants pop up on a tango video someplace, but that's okay, because if you can dance in it without falling out or tripping or something, more power to you, and I actually appreciate weird fashion. Better weird than skanky, I say - liquid-gold pants are infinitely better than wearing a filmy white skirt with a black thong, which I have seen more times than I am really comfortable with.

Anyway, my prevailing point is that I like when people dress like sensible humans, and when I see someone whose outfit seems to defy all the bounds of logic, I get confused. We all get confused, I know. We all wish we could do something about Unsmart Outfit Syndrome. But then I see this:

Tango dancers of the world, I beg you - just because a woman is wearing a dress so long she can't possibly dance in it and is bound to trip is NO REASON to enlist a group of lions to rend the bottom of her dress so you can see where her ankles are. This will not help! The lions don't like the taste of mesh, and so you get all the inconvenience of a long, ratty hemline, plus now this poor girl is going to freeze. This isn't fair - she has enough to worry about, since her dress has split at the waist and is currently displaying the outline of every empanada she's ever eaten.

When Animals Attack.

I sometimes wonder if people understand why ugly dresses bother me. I'm not some kind of crazy "everyone must dress like a schoolteacher" antifeminist, I promise. It's just...it's just easier to find something that looks decent. Stunning or showstopping are harder to come by, but decent is everywhere. There's no reason to look as if you've spent a week wandering the forest in a prom dress.

Here. I'll walk you through a dress concept executed three ways, from Attacked by a Wild Animal (AWA) to Decent to Stunner. Let's say the concept is "show off my back".

Let's begin!

It is telling that even the model looks ashamed to be wearing this, and she's getting PAID to do it. Her poses are also unfortunate, as it makes clear that your arms must be positioned across your chest at all times so that people don't get a floor show they weren't expecting. This is neither stunning nor showstopping unless she does a flying boleo and the world sees her underpants. (I desperately hope she's wearing underpants. Nobody disillusion me.)

So, let's shield out eyes from the AWA and take refuge in a dress that makes allowances for bra straps, underpants, and ability to actually use one's arms for something other than protection. Is it a showstopping, New Year's Eve party dress? Maybe not. But it's comfortable jersey, it's flattering on a lot of people, and you don't look like you've been ravaged by pumas. What's not to like?

But Dora, you say, I'm not content to be one of the decent masses. Don't you see? When I walk into a room, I want them to turn and stare. I want them to say, "There is a dancer."

Well, why didn't you say so?

What, you can't ocho en pointe? *sigh* Beginners. Fine, try this instead.

Now this is a stunner. The front hem comes to the knees, the back hem fishtails beautifully; imagine what that skirt looks like on long backwards steps. The back is bare, to be sure, but you did want showstopping.

Admit it, you love it.

Begging pardon?

All right, fess up: this is a plant, right? Someone did this as a joke knowing I couldn't resist the pull of a frightful frock labeled "tango dress", right? RIGHT?

...right?

*sigh* Okay, people, here we go: Tango Dress, or Attacked by a Wild Animal? Who can say?

(Seriously, who did this.)

I can't believe I'm still finding these.

I thought that with my narrow criteria for an entrant this category -- dresses must be A) expressly described as tango dresses and B) hysterically bad -- I would have one, maybe two weeks of entrants. There's no way, I thought, no way that tango dresses can continue to be so frightening. No one would keep making such awful dresses and styling them like something out of Mad Max. Impossible.

I'm beginning to worry.

On the other hand, it's nice that at least this victim fought back and was able to take the beast's mane as a trophy.

Tango Dress, or Attacked by a Wild Animal?

Welcome to another edition of "Tango Dress, or Attacked by a Wild Animal?". I'm your host, La Planchadora, and here with us today is this unfortunate contestant:



Is she the victim of a terrible knitting accident, or has the camera caught her in a vulnerable moment as she reaches, still disbelieving, for the puma that has clawed her dress to ribbons?

You make the call.

Wow.

Tango is not known for the most demure dresses. I understand that. However, I really feel like some companies are getting the wrong idea. It looks like some kind of reasoning game - "Tango Dress, or Attacked by a Wild Animal?"

Go on, you make the call.





Tougher than you thought it would be, isn't it?

Dress for Success

Remember that scene in that one movie where the woman changes how she dresses and the music plays and after that she looks better and good things happen to her? Remember that one?

...that's every movie, you say? Dammit. I knew it!

Well, regardless of which movie springs to mind for you personally (for me it's Aliens: all the Marines dressing up!), the message is clear: dress the part.

With some dances - flamenco, ballet - this works out just fine. Everyone immediately knows what a flamenco dancer or a ballerina should be wearing. Tango is generally considered the realm of the slinky red dress.

Problem One: Not one thing about me is slinky.

Problem Two: Slinky = expensive. Planchadora = cheap.

Cheap as in, I hate to pay, not cheap as in...well. If you wear a bra and miniskirt to a milonga, people will make assumptions. The first assumption is, "Her technique is terrible," and that assumption is almost always correct. The second assumption is probably cattier. But seriously, if you have gorgeous technique, you can wear pajajmas and hiking boots and men will still want to dance with you, because you make the dance look good. Just learn!

Personally, I like pants. They make me look taller, they remind me to extend my legs when I walk backwards, and they help correct my posture. I have slinky skirts, and when I wear them I have no idea how I'm standing or how far back my leg goes, because there's no resistance. With a waistband and some insteams I can get a feel for how I'm doing.

Also, in a skirt, how many ochos before the world sees your underpants? Not many.

There is no rule, though, that says I can't have some awesome tops. I have bought material, and plan to make slinky shirts over the weekend in a delightful montage full of giggling and sighing through my bangs and getting stuck trying on one of my own shirts, because that's the sort of wacky hijinks people get into when they make stuff!

(Actually, that last thing has happened to me. Not that I sewed it closed, I just wasn't paying attention and put my head through an armhole.)

(Don't judge me.)

Eighteenth Lesson

Last night's lesson was courtesy of the slightly portly, nasal gentleman who crushed my ribs, kept up a constant stream of (supremely unhelpful) advice, and then crowed triumphantly, "See what happens when you trust me? I've taught you ocho cortaaaaado!"

Uh, no you didn't.

When I tried to point out that my teacher had actually taken care of that, the gentleman in question shook a finger at me and said, "Ah, but this is because you TRUSTED me!"

"No I didn't," I said, a little repulsed at the idea of this guy thinking I trusted him. "I know the lead for the ocho cortado. I did what you led."

"And that's the dance!" he cried, waving his arms and grinning.

While in its most technical form this statement is true, "Doing what the man leads" is to tango as "Naked people touching" is to sex. While this element is crucial to the overall success of the venture, it hardly captures the full promise.

I should have known before he ever asked me; he sat down and chatted me up, and talked glowingly of his teacher, recalling their first meeting where the gentleman asked to be made into a great tango dancer, and the teacher replied, "I can make you a martini. I can't make you a great tango dancer."

"Just like the Buddhist legend," I said placidly, and he looked at me askance. (Smartass women have a tough time getting dances. I'm fine with this. He wants to be pressed against me for ten minutes, let him work for it.)

Still asked me to dance three times. Not three dances, three tandas. Normally this is about ten minutes. With him it was approximately 8,302 hours.

Later in the evening a tall gentleman approached me, held out a hand, and asked, "Care to dance?"

We were in an alcove a little off the main dance floor, so it was just the two of us and a wooden floor and music from another room, and I said, "Sure." (Forgot to tell him I was a beginner. No harm came of it, though, so he probably knew.)

We danced two songs. He didn't grope, mangle, overstep, or breathe funny, and when it was over I had a pleasant little buzz. Afterwards we did the introductions, and I checked more than once to make sure he and his boyfriend were planning to come again next week.

That's how you dance tango, thanks very much.

*

A designer had rented space at the milonga to show her stuff, and as I walked past to price a few things (I can make them better and I can make them for less) she pulled out a pair of palazzo pants.

"I saw you dancing, and these are your style," she said helpfully.

They weren't - they were chiffon and pleated, neither of which are in my vocabulary - but i was wearing gauchos, and could see where she'd made the leap, so I made a polite noise. Encouraged, she continued, "They're wonderful for a woman of your size."

Wow. Now, I'm five foot eight and a size ten. Granted, I shouldn't be wearing strapless tube dresses, but she was holding out a pair of pants that people's grandmothers wear on formal night on cruise ships.

"Excuse me?"

At my tone, she tried to backpedal. "Well, I mean - I mean, there are a lot of shapes, and of course the Argentinians are all so thin, and I mean, not all of us are tango dancers..."

I smiled politely. "I am a tango dancer," I said, "and you can put those pants back."

Why yes, I am going to the fabric store today. Why do you ask?

*

Actual lesson: I danced for nine hours yesterday, and by a certain point my feet hurt so much I couldn't keep my balance, so I did what anyone would do and took off my shoes. I danced barefoot for the last hour and a half, and let me tell you, nothing lengthens your backwards stride like knowing the lead has leather-soled shoes on.

Funny enough, my ocho cortados are better barefoot than with shoes.