Twerking

Back in a year I can’t quite recall, before the pandemic but after the orange one became president, I went to New Orleans on a spiritual retreat. While the retreat grew somewhat infamous online, one woman introduced the idea that twerking was sacred. I framed that sentence on the wall of my mind. It remained there, enduring as the other things I had learned about shaking any part of my body began to decay and fade away.

I was raised in a household where booty-shaking was seen as sexual or “being grown”. Once, while outside in the front yard, I gave it a try. The attempt did not last long, because my mother returned from a walk and saw me. That was the end until I was finished with high school. I did manage to learn other things like the chicken head and the heel-toe, but twerking never quite came to me until college.

My first trip to the club was at a place called Ricks. I was 17 when I started at Valdosta State, so I lied at the door, said I left my license at home, and used my student ID to get in the door. Surrounded by my friends (and in JEANS for some reason), I had to learn how to twerk on the job (yes, I whistled just to get the urge out of the way). Thankfully, I was a quick study. I was also addicted. I started going to Ricks (or Sensations) frequently. Every Friday or Saturday night, lined up at the door by 9:30 so I could get in free, wearing cheerleading shorts, hoops, and sneakers. I knew why I was there: to shake some ass.

My mindset never changed, though. I still saw twerking as a sexual thing, I simply did not care. By 19, I had begun to lean toward being more sex-positive, despite never having had it. Plus, there was no issue of twerking being grown because I was over 18. Legally, I WAS grown. Booty-shaking metamorphosed into a miniature rebellion, as though I could shake off the archaic ideas about sex as I moved. A mating call, because the delight of exciting my dance partners could not be denied. It became a dance move I was skilled at, like all the others.

The sacredity of moving my hips and butt up and down, side to side, and in a circle (or some other geometric shape), was not introduced until the year I have forgotten. Twerking went from a rebellion to a way to connect with my ancestry. From a mating call to a method of rooting myself down, grounding excess energy. It went from just a dance move to a way to tap into my sacral chakra.

It has been at least 4 years since that weekend in New Orleans. I have put on weight, so now I have a stronger bounce effect, which is great. While the move isn’t inherently sexual to me anymore, I won’t pretend I don’t feel sexy when I do it. Of course, I do! Feeling my body jiggle makes me feel womanly. When I have a dance partner, it feels good. After all, it is affirming to know that I can still draw someone in and, if I am so inclined, put them in a blender.

Megan Thee Stallion in the “Freak Nasty” video. A great song to twerk to.