Tag: twerk

So, you’re white.

Here, let me help you with that.

 

So last week I was down in LA visiting some friends. One night, out of sheer boredom and probably some mental instability brought on by the fact that they didn’t have air conditioning, we decided to learn how to twerk. The five of us gathered around a laptop in the living room and searched “How To Twerk” on YouTube.

 

My only other experience twerking was in Las Vegas the week before; at a pool party called Rehab, a very drunk and lovely black girl stumbled towards me in the water with a big smile on her face. “TWERK IT, GIRL!” she screamed at me. “I don’t know how to twerk,” I explained.

“Well, I’m gonna show you,” she said. “Stand up. Bend over.”

(Usually not a command you should obey, kids.)

I did what she said. “Alright, bend your knees….good.”

She then proceeded to slide her hands BENEATH MY SWIMSUIT BOTTOMS AND ONTO MY BARE BUTT.

“NOW TWERK!” she screamed.

I twerked to the best of my abilities, as she used her (very strong) hands to help my butt shake itself up and down.

“YOU TWERKIN’!!!!!” She roared.

“I TWERKIN’!!!!” I roared back, raising my beer towards my posse of white people who couldn’t twerk either. I knew they were jealous. Black Twerking Spirit Guide (is that racist?) chose me, not them.

 

 

But on this boiling hot night in LA, Black Twerking Spirit Guide (racist? yes? no?) wasn’t there to help me. There were my two girlfriends, Brianna and Amy, who picked up on the booty poppin’ dance move quickly, and Amy’s two male housemates, who refused to twerk themselves but very graciously offered tips and held chairs.

“Here, Kristen; I’ll hold this chair, and you just try to hit the seat of it with your butt. There you g–no, nooo, don’t actually sit down—well, now you’re on the floor. That’s your own fault.”

Amy tried to help. “Maybe it would be easier for you if you started on the floor? Maybe get down on all fours…ok but you have to like, pop your butt more–no, like POP it…no, don’t thrust…alright, stand up, you look like a humping dog.”

(I did look like a humping dog. Not that there is proof of this on video or anything (there is.)).

What no one really explains about twerking is that its basically just like doing one long, painful squat while also trying to dance. If you a.) work out and b.) have an arsenal of basic dance skills, you will pick up on the twerking in no time.

But I have neither of these things. A workout to me is carrying my laundry upstairs. My arsenal of dance skills includes 1.) the awkward sway and clap, 2.) the Electric Slide. That’s it. Nothing else.

They offered more advice.

“I think you need to bend your back more,” they said.

No. What I need is a drink.

“You need to pop your hips more,” they said.

No. I need to travel back in time to when I was 6 and I need to demand that my parents put me in dance class. I need less Holland and more Africa (is that racist?). I need Black Twerking Spirit Guide (is that racist?).

Help me, Obi-Wan Twerknobi; you’re my only hope!

 

We were headed to a club the next night, and it was decided that we needed to practice in our heels if we were going to bust out twerking on the dance floor. So, despite the fact that I’d still failed to master the basic twerk, I put on my massive heels and I wobbled around the carpet. Now; if you can’t twerk on flat feet, you certainly can’t twerk in heels. It’s not going to happen. I fell down a few times before taking my heels off and going back to the basics.

By the time that I was able to twerk 3, maybe 4 times before losing my rhythm again (“You’re doing it! YOU’RE DOING I—ahh, you lost it”), the others were all working on a move called the “Red Nose”, which essentially is just twerking one hip at a time. I can’t even understand the basic concept of this. Do other people have more bones in their bodies than I do? Are you made of rubber? How are you doing that?

 

My back hurt. My quads hurt. My dignity had flown out the door hours ago and I fleetingly wondered if it was too late to chase it down.

It was. It’s gone. Byyyeeee dignity.

 

 

 

And so, I’ve accepted that twerking is something I’m just not meant to do.

But sometimes, when I find myself alone in the bathroom or in front of my floor-length mirror in my bedroom, and I’m absolutely sure that no one is watching, I like to squat down and try it again, just to see if I can.

 

I can’t.

I’m sorry, Black Twerking Spirit Guide. I’ve let you down.

Your dreams were just too big for me.

 

I can still do the Electric Slide like a boss, though, so not all is lost.