Constanza Macras

Walking on the streets of Kyoto I bump into a group of girls all dressed in the same style – mini skirt, tall high heel boots, hair dyed blonde (all exactly the same color) and wearing t-shirts that say “Fuck cool” or “You think I’m hot wait to see me riding my bike.” The girls were dancing to the sound of a boom box (the politically correct term for ghetto blaster). With a very absent attitude, no energy and some very simple steps, a guy with the same color hair tint joined spontaneously. I was taking pictures with them and filming them and we seemed all having fun.

But when I decided to join their dance, I cleared the room. The girls picked up their bags, stopped the dance at once, and ran away. I could not tell what was wrong with me joining them. I think I will never understand dance. It served as a way of communication between them and people with the same hair tint, yet there was a disruption when I joined in. Even if it looks global like Britney Spears, pop is something that
relates intrinsically only to the culture it’s representing.
During the last decade in Europe dance was more on paper than on stage, and there was the need to bring philosophers and semiologist to dance ...