The basis of a healthy and communicative relationship, Ben Kassoy writes, is touch.
On any given Monday, I may clumsily wrestle with a hairy, heavily tattooed Australian tourist. I may sit in the arms of an elderly woman and close my eyes as she strokes my hair. I may squat on all fours while a mentally retarded girl stands on my back.
Mondays are my night for contact improvisation, a dance form based, most simply, on touch. Completely non-choreographed, partners in twos, threes, or larger groups explore shared weight, momentum, and balance while maintaining a point of contact. Each dance is a different experience: I’ve been twirled upside-down by a professional ballet dancer. I’ve been tickled nearly to death by a grad student. I’ve been tackled by a neurologist.
Contact improv “jams,” as they’re called, appear chaotic and disorganized, mostly because they are. Unlike most dance forms, contact (for short) is often practiced but rarely performed. It’s less about look and more about feel, less about the dance’s aesthetic and more about the dancers’ experience.
Though a lifelong dancer, I’m a beginner at contact. Physically, it’s been a challenge exploring new and often uncomfortable sensibilities of movement, balance, and awareness. More significantly, though, I’ve begun considering—and reconsidering—the social significance of touch not only for me as a dancer but, in a broader sense, for me as a man.
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At birth, from a doctor’s hands into our mother’s, all people are welcomed into a world of touch. But despite its universality, touch carries varying implications depending on culture, geography, and circumstance. Studies have shown the French touching each other 110 times in on hour. Meanwhile, in the same period of time, their British counterparts managed zero physical contact. Parents and chaperones practically encouraged cross-gender canoodling at my Jewish youth group conventions. Strictly observant Jews, on the other hand, won’t lay a pinky on the opposite gender until marriage.
Touch also serves a wide array of purposes for each of us every day, whether functional, friendly, or romantic. And yet, for men, much of our touch—or lack thereof—is often misinterpreted or misunderstood, resulting from and reinforcing stereotypes towards our gender.
Thanks to sexual deviants in the public spotlight (Herman Cain and Jerry Sandusky, for recent examples), men are labeled “pigs,” dehumanized as voracious predators with an insatiable sexual appetite. Minds in gutters, hands in pants, supposedly craving sex on a second-to-second basis, male touch—even in its most benign forms—is often imbued with sexual intention.
On the other extreme, physical expression somehow makes men less “masculine.” Ever seen two guys hug? Take note of the tentative embrace and aggressive back-slapping marinated with general awkwardness. For whatever reason, guys aren’t supposed to be tender or intimate or communicative, so we eschew physical expression, even with those closest to us.
These polarized views of male touch correlate with and reinforce prevailing ideas about our gender: that men are hypersexual and/or emotionally distant. The conflicting implications yet undeniably negative connotations of male touch—or lack thereof—make it difficult for men to navigate the physical world. We’re constrained by vague yet stringent social boundaries and often struggle to achieve the delicate balance of what is appropriate and what is “manly.”
That said, it’s up to us—loving fathers, husbands, sons, brothers; caring friends; responsible citizens—to redefine expectations of male touch that both foster healthier relationships and combat assumptions about males in general.
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My experience in contact improv has provided a forum in which to explore touch outside our rigid cultural confinements. Contact grants permission to experience touch in a different register, to re-imagine touch as a means of connecting with those around us.
Whether with a man or woman, a close friend or complete stranger, playful or aggressive, dynamic or subtle, each contact dance is a unique, organic exchange between partners. While most of our daily physical interactions chiefly emphasize adhering to social guidelines, a contact dance instead focuses on mutual communication, empathy, and trust.
We may drag one another by the ankles or sit back-to-back in silence or end up in a heap, laughing on the floor. Without words, we engage in a nonverbal dialogue, silently internalizing the feelings and responding to the needs of the other. We react accordingly. We listen and express, provide and receive. It’s no surprise I leave a jam feeling satisfied, fulfilled, and appreciated.
While the apparent anarchy in contact improvisation is unrealistic and unsustainable outside of a jam, men can apply the principles of the dance to our relationships and our lives. Beyond serving as a boon to us as individuals, establishing an example of expressive, effective touch serves to counteract pervading generalizations about all males.
Actions, as we know, speak louder than words—which is great, especially if words aren’t your thing. You’re not a great orator or eloquent poet, but you’d probably rate yourself an above-average hugger. (Others will agree.)
Our world of germophobia, hypersensitivity, and dependence on cyber socialization makes it more difficult to engage with others on the most basic level (as a means of communication, touch, after all, predated language). And while the Internet keeps us constantly “connected,” our physical selves are the only means by which we remain literally in touch.
For better or for worse, males still carry the dual power and burden of dictating most social interactions, especially on a physical level. Differences in culture, values, and circumstance will determine how and when each individual uses touch, but all men have a responsibility: an important step to fostering communicative and healthy relationships truly is in our hands.
—Photo celesteh/Flickr
About Ben Kassoy
“Mentally retarded”? Really? Was this piece written in the 1980s? Newsflash: that is no longer an appropriate or acceptable way to refer to a person.
Good example of pointing to the finger, instead of watching the moon.
Maddy:
It’s just a term, and it’s NOT irrelevant any more. It’s both the name and definition of a broad base of people who are more readily accepted and supported today than ever before.
Yours is a self-absorbed, easily-offended agenda to gain attention and draw attention to so-called “offenses”.
Get over yourself.
Ben, I cannot imagine your battle on this topic. Women in the U.S. are allowed more freedom to touch, and I do so as much as I can. Where my child is concerned, I touch as much as possible; hugs, kisses, arm around shoulder, neck rub, shoulder squeezes, snuggles. It’s the most essential action I take each day. I think it may be more important than food or water.
Would this be a female privilege?:P
I have been touched maybe 5 times in 5 years, I get maybe 1 hug a year if that. I am touch starved (as my therapist has told me). I have a fear of touching female friends, I never know what is acceptable as I grew up with the rapeculture drummed into my head and a few experiences of being called creepy in highschool pretty much set that into stone (standing without knowing what to say is creepy, I am much better now at talking though:P).
Never wanting to make anyone feel uncomfortable though leaves me avoiding hugging others or touching them unless they initiate, I do wonder if women ever feel this reluctance when I see so many of them openly hugging, kissing, showing all this affection that I wish I could get even 5% of. But if I do any of that to a male, automatically I feel weird, and they would too. It’s sad how we treat men in society in regards to touch and how they can’t show any form of affection to other males without being questioned on homosexuality.
I’ve had some female friends touch my arm, shoulder, caress my thigh as a way to calm me (she was a nurse and sensed I was nervous), but rare experiences they have been. It became an emotional overload with my first romantic experiences with a woman, I found her to be quite clingy even and she couldn’t get enough of touching me, it became too much and freaked me out. Going from very little contact to full on contact + sex in 1 day put me in a state of shock, feelings and emotions were so high and strung out I couldn’t think straight. I truly hope this is rare and not a common occurrence for people but these are the effects of being touch starved.
I will say this, the days I get any touch, such as the hair dresser touching my neck, leave me in a state of euphoria, peace and calm that I never knew why until I had asked my therapist and basically that is what comfort feels like apparently, something I hadn’t known much of in my adult or teenage life. So yes, people touch each other, physical contact is proven to release endorphins and other “happy” chemicals in the brain, makes us feel good and is in my opinion a necessity. Don’t let anyone miss out like I and hopefully not many others have, it’s a huge shame to let such a small gesture not be shared…
Hi Archy,
Thank you for sharing that term – ‘touch starved.’ I am a woman, but I completely understand where you are coming from. To make a long story short, my childhood was full of touch- my father in particular was an amazing hugger, cuddler, tickler. Almost every day I knew I’d fall asleep with a big bear hug. It did make me feel so safe, and cherished, and loved. But he died when I was still a child, and after that, there was nothing. When I perhaps need that kind of comfort the most, it was gone.
By the time I got to high school, I was using the term ‘starved’ to describe it myself- I’d no idea it was an actual thing, I thought there was something wrong with me, that I was just being emo. But it felt like starving. I’ve often thought to myself that a good portion of my sad days and insecurities would be helped so much with just a big hours-long cuddle every so often.
Even now, when I have a few friends who are very huggy and affectionate that way, I struggle with allowing them to cuddle with me because I have a fear that they’ll either figure out how much I want/need it, or that I’ll allow myself to enjoy it too much and then when they’re done cuddling and want to do something else I’ll be disappointed and be back to square one. (And then they’ll be able to tell I feel like that, and they’ll think I’m weird.)
So I probably actually give out ‘vibes’ that say ‘don’t touch me.’ Meh.
In conclusion, (sorry for the ramble), I am very sorry that you feel this way, and I really truly hope that one day you find someone who will be patient with you and welcome you back into the world of touch.
@Tam: “I struggle with allowing them to cuddle with me because I have a fear that they’ll either figure out how much I want/need it”
Tam, what’s your fear about let them know your need?
I think revealing our needs (and frailty) makes us more human and more lovable; I think your friends would appreciate your honesty about it.
Besides, everybody has needs and fears, so what’s the point in hiding them?
Personally, I like cuddling or holding a friend in my hug, when this is needed. It feels nice for me, too. You can’t give without receiving as well.
I’d give you hugs with pleasure, but I’m afraid we are too far away.
Thank you.
I do need that reminder sometimes.. I think I’ve just gotten used to, in the past, friends reacting with surprise/misunderstanding when I try to express certain things. I get nervous about rejection because it’s happened before and it’s easier to just keep certain things hidden. I know I might get pleasantly surprised if I told people.. but then again, I might not.. :/
Haha, thank you. If only someone would invent an internet hug machine! Le sigh.
I have a feeling that since I reached highschool, I was well over 6 foot and quite large and have heard from others that this was very intimidating. It’s sad because I am quite a gentle person, if anything I wanted to protect others from harm (good ol hero dreams), it’s just sad that they didn’t get to know me that well to understand. I had depression bad in highschool and gave off “creepy” vibes, apparently someone who doesn’t know what to say or is very quiet is “creepy”, I guess we need much more understanding of each other, mental illness, and other issues which make others judge us.
Sorry to hear of your fears, it sucks that we have to fear so much in life. I hope you find more hugs too and thank-you.
It’s interesting to read this article. I’m female, but the idea of all that touching sounds like the 10th circle of hell to me. Growing up in one of those old-school cold New England families, varying between emotionally absent and emotionally abusive parents, attending catholic school where touching wasn’t allowed much of the time, and being incredibly geeky meant that by the time I went to college — an academically elite, and thusly filled with other socially awkward beings — I literally did not know how to hug. Occasionally someone would surprise and hug me and I could play it off being surprised, but this could be difficult.
Halfway through freshman year at college, my best friend, who was male and raised in the most loving and affectionate family I’ve ever seen, figured out I couldn’t hug at all. It took him 3 years to get me comfortable to hug HIM, and he’s the person I’m closest to in the world.
After graduation, I moved to Britain. It’s been awesome living here, and it’s true that the older generations don’t hug or touch much, but the younger generation certainly does. Maybe that’s just another americanism seeping across the pond.
It’s strange — I never missed not being touched or not being hugged until I was first romantically involved with someone seriously. Rather than the short lived relationship, or the hug between friends, actually being held by someone and knowing they care for you is an amazing feeling. I now miss it quite a bit, and kind of wish I’d never experienced it, and go back to my socially awkward self. I’m still not convinced that human touch is all that important — as of right now, the only contact I’ve had with people for weeks is bumping into them on subway platforms. Maybe touch is a luxury, and not for everyone.
PS– I also relish those little random touches, btw. I used to have a friend who liked to give massages, and so once a year or so I’d end up with a ten minute shoulder rub, and I’d be in a happy daze the rest of the day.
Archy, I’m sorry for your feeling starved, and I feel your pain.
Even if here in Italy touching is easier, sometimes I feel touch-starved too.
I’d like to suggest you two opportunities for experiencing touch:
- Biodance (originated in South America, it’s now quite widespread, even here in Europe)
- Free Hugs – Google it and check some videos on YouTube.
I’ve been giving away Free Hugs just today, and it was a delightful experience.
Free Hugs would be interesting in rural Australia, but I’ll look into them. Thanks.
As a matter of fact, the Free Hugs Campaign WAS BORN in Australia (Sydney), by a guy named Juan Mann.
Maddy read my mind. The “broad base of people” you describe are indeed more readily accepted and supported today partially BECAUSE WE STOP CALLING THEM RETARDED. There are many more accurate ways to describe a person. Using retarded in a clinical setting has an entirely different meaning and connotation than using “retarded” to describe a class participant. I’d imagine that most people using harmful names to describe a person [insert your slur of choice] hide behind the “It’s just a word (or term)” defense.
Maddy and Mike,
Thank you for your comments. To be honest, I feel embarrassed for using a term that I in fact know is inappropriate. Despite my editing and rewriting, that was a careless oversight, and I do apologize.
Ironically, I only mentioned that particular dancer to convey the diversity and inclusivity of the contact improv community. I certainly never intended to offend or alienate everyone, so I’m glad you made an astute observation and responded accordingly.
I’m sorry firstly, that I used a politically incorrect term and secondly, that the term detracted from the quality and distracted from the real essence of the article. I hope you and future readers can appreciate that and instead focus on the positive, progressive message I intended.
Respectfully,
Ben Kassoy
Touch is vital and pleasure is important. Contact improv is amazing. Thanks for this piece.