The death of romance
“Dance this Way” is a short, searing piece of emotional reportage. In just a handful of lines, it captures the humiliation of being treated as an accessory rather than a partner. The narrator’s repeated “I hate you, I really hate you” is not melodrama but the blunt edge of betrayal — the kind that happens not in grand betrayals, but in the small, public moments where someone you love makes you feel invisible.
The scene is painfully familiar: a couple arrives together at a favourite bar to see a favourite band — a shared ritual. But instead of sharing the night, the man abandons his partner to socialise with his friends. When he does return, it’s not to reconnect, but to issue a command: “dance this way.” The woman is reduced to a performer, summoned at will, her emotional state irrelevant. When she cries, he laughs. The dream — of romance, of mutual respect — collapses in that instant.
Objectification
The man’s behaviour treats the woman as an object in his evening, not a participant in it. She is there to enhance his social experience, to be displayed or activated when it suits him. The “click of the fingers” dynamic is implicit — a gesture of control that assumes compliance. This is not partnership; it’s possession.
Etiquette Then and Now
In the 1940s–1950s, social etiquette — at least in its idealised form — demanded a public code of courtesy between men and women. A man escorting a woman to a dance or bar was expected to remain attentive:
- Staying together in public spaces was a sign of respect.
- Introducing her to friends rather than abandoning her was considered proper.
- Inviting her to dance was done with a request, not a command.
- Protecting her dignity in public was part of a man’s social role.
Of course, these codes were not universally upheld, and they often masked deeper inequalities. But the performance of respect was socially enforced. In contrast, the scene in Dance this Way reflects a modern erosion of even that veneer. The man feels no social pressure to maintain appearances; his disregard is casual, unhidden, and unashamed.
The Shift in Power Dynamics
The difference is telling:
| 1940s–1950s Ideal | Scene in Dance this Way |
|---|---|
| Man as attentive escort | Man as self-absorbed socialiser |
| Public courtesy as social currency | Public disregard without consequence |
| Woman as honoured companion (within patriarchal norms) | Woman as optional entertainment, summoned at will |
| Emotional restraint in public | Public humiliation without hesitation |
Lyrics
I hate you, I really hate you.
You take me to our favourite bar,
To see our favourite band and you leave me.
You hang out with your mates, you talk and laugh.
Then you come over and tell me to dance this way.
You walk away, I cry, you laugh, our dream is shattered.
I hate you, I really hate you.
Dance this Way is not just a personal lament — it’s a snapshot of a broader cultural shift where the minimal courtesies of mid-century etiquette have been replaced, in some circles, by a casual entitlement. The man’s behaviour is not simply unkind; it’s a small act of social erasure. In the 1940s, he might have been judged for it. Today, in certain settings, it passes without comment — unless, as here, the woman names it for what it is.
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