Dancing Badly Still Counts

There’s something deeply liberating about dancing badly.

Badly for real. No technique. No choreography. No recording it for anyone.

Not everything is performance

We live in constant evaluation mode.

• Is it productive?
• Is it efficient?
• Is it well done?
• Can it be optimized?

And sometimes the body just wants to move.

No KPI. No test. No “if I do it, I’ll do it well.”

The inertia dance

I’ve always had decent rhythm (or so I like to think), but at some point in certain clubs there was an inevitable phenomenon: the inertia dance.

One hand in the pocket. More one foot than the other. Little knee taps. A face that says, “I’m still here, but my body is negotiating terms.”

If this isn’t a style, it should be.

The Lopes dance (yes, it exists)

And then there’s my favorite: the Lopes dance.

I used it to close concerts with Covertura (yes, cover songs — that’s the pun) when we played acoustic gigs for more than two years at the Quiet Man, the first Irish pub in Barcelona, in El Raval. It’s gone now, but still loud in memory.

The dance goes like this:

• Left hand to the back of the neck.
• Right hand to the right ankle.
• And hopping on the left foot, try to connect your left elbow with your right knee.

I’m not sure it’s biomechanically elegant, but it guarantees laughter.

And the audience tried to follow. That was the real show.

The freedom of not doing it well

We’re taught to improve.

But we’re rarely taught to enjoy without improving.

Dancing badly is exactly that:

• No approval seeking.
• No progress tracking.
• No outcome chasing.

Just being.

A small act of resistance

In a life that leans toward constant optimization, doing something “mediocre” on purpose is almost rebellious.

Not everything has to become discipline.

Not everything has to be training.

Sometimes moving is enough.

No epic meaning. No lesson. No deep conclusion.

Just rhythm.

And yes, dancing badly still counts.