UF Yearns to Shake Ass

High school homecoming dances always felt like a vision of my future: A beacon of shining light amongst AP classes and cheer practice. Teachers would look the other way and students would form a mob, dancing like baby birds trying to fly for the first time. Awkward, yes, but in the moment, nothing felt more spectacular. It gave me hope. If I could just focus on getting good grades for the other 364 days of the year, I would get into a great college and dance like this every weekend. I worked hard for euphoric, sweaty movement with friends, loud music and hot guys. That is what I was promised.

Well, I did everything I was supposed to and made it to my dream school: UF. With it being one of the best academic and party schools in the country, I was ready to shake some ass.

But to my dismay, there never seemed to be an occasion to throw it in a circle. Midtown bars played mumble rap that nobody but the DJ ever seemed to know. Tailgates left us packed like sardines. I could barely move to the restroom, much less the beat. And frat parties were overrun by the dreaded frat flick. Nobody wants to wall twerk next to a 5’4 Delt flicking his beer everywhere. I was disheartened, disappointed and deeply distraught. Was this really it?

Months into Freshman year, I was a starving woman. I begged for a morsel of what my lord and savior, Megan Thee Stallion, promised me. “Hands on my knees, shaking ass. I’m a thot shit. Hot girl shit, finna graduate college,” yeah right Meg. That is when I discovered the promised land… Well, the promised lands: hip hop fitness and University Club. Two nations of peace and love, ruled by benevolent queer people, where twerking is a symbol of pride. In these pockets of paradise, dirty dancing is used as a form of worship: a way to cultivate community, bolster our bodies, and satisfy our souls. Dancers cheer each other without judgment or reservation, and regulars yearn for the unique joy of these dance floors.

It’s no coincidence these booty-shaking havens are steeped in queer culture. Gay bars in the U.S. date back to the 1800s, using drinks, music, and dancing as a cover to find community and love when homosexuality was criminalized. Although the laws have since changed, the need for a space where queer people can be unapologetically themselves remains. So while bars like JJs, Grog, and Social are always rotating names and identities, the University Club has stayed put since the 90s as a hub for queer culture.

The deep history and loyal patrons mean that UC cultivates a unique sense of community on campus, which I never expected from a nightclub. UC baddies bring that sense of camaraderie and a love for dancing to other spaces on campus, such as hip-hop fitness classes. There, you can always find lesbian night regulars, Claire, Robin, and Steph, cheering on anyone brave enough to twerk in a push-up.

For years, these environments satiated my hunger. It wasn’t exactly what I imagined since the whole flirty, sexy, find my next boy-toy element was eliminated, but it worked. Listening to explicit hip-hop and shaking my humungous ass (manifesting the humungous part) was at the core of my hoco fantasy. I took my place in the court of bumping and grinding as the token ally. There was harmony: hip-hop on Mondays and Wednesdays, lesbian nights on Thursdays, but I couldn’t help but wonder why there was this great divide. When did straight people stop shaking what their mamas gave them?

Historically, queer culture sets major trends like disco dancing, house music, and ballroom culture, which are often adopted by the mainstream—but dancing itself isn’t exactly a queer specific tradition. To boogie is one of the most natural things a human can do. So where did it go? Why did I have to search for months to find a haven where people actually get down?

Over the years, I have found more pockets of movement, but none have met my expectations. Line dancing at Vivid is a hoot, salsa and bachata at The Bull is sexy, but nothing ever seems to match the vision. Ninety percent of our bars are completely lame. We stand around, drink our asses off, barely talk, never dance and pretend like it’s a great time. It’s a topic I have often posed to my friends. Why are the bars so damn lame? And more often than not, I’m surprised to find companions in the same boat. People are bored, going to these bars over and over again, praying it will be better the next time, and sleeping off not-worth-it hangovers every time it isn’t. Our nightlife is failing us.

UF doesn’t need another renaming of Rowdy’s or some frat boy-turned-house DJ. We need space to move, sweat and grind like our future depends on it. So, if you see me busting it down with the Queens at UC or two-stepping at Vivid, just know I’m still searching for Boogie Wonderland—where everyone is shaking ass.

Strike Out,
Writer: Ginger Koehler
Editor: Ria Pai

Ginger Koehler, otherwise locally known as "the sex girl", is everyone's favorite sex and relationship educator and columnist, or at least that's what she likes to think. She is a certified yapper and not-so-certified rapper, and if you ask her to freestyle you will find out why. If you'd like to reach out, direct all questions and guacamole recipes to her Instagram @gingerkoehler52, or email gingerkoehler52@gmail.com—we made her promise not to rap back.

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