My friend J and I showed up at Holocene last night to go 80’s 90’s aerobics dancing, and as we arrived, a whole squad of other women was showing up. They were dressed to the nines in their aerobics gear: sweatbands, leotards, legwarmers, sequins, the whole nine. J and I were dressed up too, and I waved a big happy hello. They waved a big happy hello back–it turned out they were J’s friends that we were meeting. We commented on each others’ outfits, J caught up on chit chat with them, I introduced myself, then we took a rad group photo.
We entered the club soon after 7pm, and soon we were all aerobicizing together in our silly and wonderful outfits. Our group of ten or so made up the bulk of the crowd, and we brought an ebullient spirit. We dutifully followed the moves of our instructor, who made it known that she was not only unqualified to lead our class, she was also completely untrained. She sipped her aperol spritz between exercise moves.

I watched us moms bounce around with glee, happy to follow a leader, aerobicizing in unison, stretching our arms over our heads in big, sweeping movements, then practicing a grapevine all together. Our instructor would lead the group for maybe ten minutes or so, then she would leave us on our own as the music and projected aerobics videos continued. When the was gone, some of us kept following the videos, some of us spun ourselves into our own dance worlds, some of us pranced around with friends.
All of us danced in earnest, faces serious then smiling, like we all had something we needed to work out on the dance floor. Something we needed to let go of, some stress that could be set free by bold makeup, sparkles, and jumping jacks. The something for each of us was different, but we were connected, we understood the deep need to shake it off as we bounced around the floor and let our hearts get lighter together.