Just like the Samba from Brazil, the Salsa from Cuba, and the Square dance from the American West, Tango is a genre of movement that defines Argentina and its capital city, Buenos Aires.
Tango arose in the early 1900s as a melting pot of immigrant communities were coming together in the tenements of Buenos Aires. It was a poor man’s dance created by an influence of European and Latin culture, and with the evolution of tango music and singers such as Carlos Gardel, it quickly gained popularity and snowballed into a cultural icon for Argentina.
It is just as common to hear Buenos Aires referred to as “Land of Tango” as it is to hear that it is the “Paris of the South,” and the must-do tourist activity when visiting the city is now to attend a tango show or take a tango dance class. And I’m sure, for many tourists who are only visiting for a few days to a few weeks, the façade of street performers dancing this intimate number makes it appear as if tango is well and alive in the city.
It’s not. At least, according to Argentine millennials. I learned this quickly after coming to the city and chatting with locals my own age; student-age people who had mostly grown up in the city and who, frankly, had never danced the tango in their lives. To them, it was part of the culture of their grandparents and great-grandparents, so naturally it was no longer “cool.” After several interactions with porteños (natives to Buenos Aires) that involved some eye rolling and snickering on their end, I learned to stop asking about the tango and joined the attitude that the dance is for tourists, and since I was living in the city, naturally I couldn’t let myself fall under that category.
Over the course of my months in Buenos Aires, I didn’t attend a single tango performance or lesson, and I avoided areas like La Boca, a notorious tourist trap famous for its brightly painted buildings and tango culture, as much as possible. I scoffed when my professor assigned me to do a power-point presentation on my analysis of a tango song, and none of the souvenirs I bought for friends and family back home—god forbid—had anything to do with the tango.
What was up with my obsessive aversion to this cultural pastime? I just didn’t want to seem “touristy.” I’m already a 5’9 gringa and hate getting the American treatment. I was committed to living like a local, a modern porteño, and that just didn’t fit the description. I wasn’t trying to conform; I just wanted my experience in Buenos Aires to be authentic and not sugar-coated by touristy regurgitations of a culture that took place now one hundred years ago.
I didn’t want to admit that even though I was technically living in the city, there was still a part of me that would always be a tourist in Buenos Aires no matter how many times I almost got hit by a rogue bus or how many empanadas I ate. But do I regret this? Definitely. So maybe, when I can get over my traveler’s ego and return to Buenos Aires someday, I might take a tango class. Maybe. One thing is for sure though: no matter when I come back, the timeless tourist activity of the tango will still be around.