Rethinking the Female Partnership: Physics, Psychology and Politics

By Rianna Ellis

Former Competitor · Teacher · Adjudicator · Coach · Studio Owner - Ellis Dance Club

Female partnerships in Ballroom dancing are nothing new.

Women have been dancing with women for far longer than the competitive Ballroom world sometimes likes to acknowledge. During the Second World War, when there was a rather obvious shortage of men at “social dances”, women partnered one another for a boogie on a Saturday night - and somehow, society survived (who’d have thought it!)

In today’s competition scene, we have all-girl partnerships/competitions, female teacher/student partnerships and still countless women who have spent years dancing in studios and at social dances too.

So, this isn’t a piece about whether two women can dance together. We know we can. (And, if I do say so myself, sometimes we do it VERY well too.)

It’s about something slightly different: a topic I don’t think I ever really see or hear brought up in the countless conversations the dance world has. Dancing as two women is one experience. Dancing as two women in competitions designed around, and largely populated by, the “traditional” male/female partnerships can be quite another.

The steps are the same. The rules are the same. The floor we are on is definitely the same – although, in my experience, sometimes other dancers and couples seem rather more convinced that it belongs only to them.

I can still remember when I first started partnering my students on the ‘Teacher/Student’ scene: I noticed something. My mum noticed something. And my students’ families noticed something. Certain male teachers seemed to be very interested in exactly how little space they could leave us on the floor.

They would start directly in front of us. Box us in. Refuse to give way. And, on occasion, make me wonder whether competitive Ballroom dancing had quietly become a contact sport and someone had forgotten to send me the memo.

(Now, disclaimer alert - before anyone gets their tails(uits) in a twist, this isn’t a piece bashing male dancers. I actually quite like a few of them…it’s a piece about my experiences over many years, my thoughts and my feelings on what I feel is a very important, yet often overlooked, piece of the Ballroom dancing puzzle.)

I don’t really experience those tactics anywhere near as much nowadays. I have built a reputation, had considerable success with my students and perhaps most importantly, people know I am quite capable of leading myself - and my pupil - around a competition floor no matter what happens out there for that minute and a half. But it made me think: why did I have to “prove” myself in the first place?

I could think of a hundred reasons why it’s so “unfair”, but the reality is, it is a different experience when two women walk onto a competitive floor together than when a traditional male/female partnership does.

Physically, our bodies move differently. Psychologically, there can be added pressure and a feeling that we need to be better than simply “good” to be taken seriously. Socially and culturally, we are also stepping into a competitive environment where technique, traditions and visual expectations were built around and for the male/female dynamic.

None of that means we don’t belong out there, though.

Quite the opposite.

But it does mean that the experience of stepping onto that floor can involve far more than simply doing the steps. And I think that’s a conversation worth having.

Let’s Get Physical:

Let’s start with the bit nobody can argue with, shall we: physics.

A traditional Ballroom partnership is, on average, made up of two bodies with quite different physical characteristics. Men generally have a greater height, broader shoulders, a much higher proportion of upper-body muscle mass (I can’t do a push-up) and a higher centre of mass. Women, on average, tend to have a lower centre of gravity, different pelvic proportions and less absolute upper-body mass (coming back to it, I can’t do a push-up or carry more than two shopping bags at a time).

Now, before anyone messages me with their gym progress photos: yes, these are population averages. There are plenty of very strong women, smaller men, tall women (hello!) and men with centres of gravity that appear to have gone completely rogue. But I’m speaking generally; let a girl be scientific for 5 minutes.

In a traditional partnership, those differences can create a naturally complementary physical system (looks very beautiful too!). The taller, bigger, generally heavier leader can provide a larger base of support, generate huge momentum and absorb and redirect the forces created by the partnership. The lady’s different body proportions and centre of mass then help the partnership’s counterbalance, swing and overall movement. (That’s nice, isn’t it?)

With two women, we are working with two bodies that are, statistically speaking, much more similar. Sounds like it should make things easier, right?

Yeah…not so much.

When two women dance together, there is often less difference in height, mass, shoulder width, upper-body strength and centre of gravity. Neither partner necessarily has the larger, heavier physical frame that traditional Ballroom technique has historically relied upon to generate, absorb and redirect a great deal of the partnership’s momentum.

The similarity in our centres of gravity can also subtly change the way the partnership handles movement. With two women and their similar centres of gravity, rotation can sometimes feel heavier, swing can feel slightly flatter and recovering from big driving movement can be harder - yeah, we have to put in an overtime shift to get it all done!

Before anybody starts writing an angry Facebook comment, I’m not saying this means two women can’t rotate, swing or move across a floor wonderfully. It just means that this type of partnership needs to be more deliberate about how it creates and controls those things.

We can’t simply rely on the average physiological differences between a male and female body to help create the traditional dynamic. We have to deliberately train the strength, positioning, counterbalance and muscular control that allow us to produce it.

PSA to the ladies that I teach and partner - do you see why I moan at you when you’re leaning back in my right hand like you’re settling into a recliner at the fancy cinema? I love you, but I am not your armchair.

Every powerful drive, swing, turn and change of direction involves forces that have to go somewhere. A partnership needs to accelerate together, maintain balance, control rotation and - crucially - stop itself from taking out an adjudicator mid-pivot. Maintaining a strong, stable frame against those forces we use when dancing may also demand greater muscular effort...from the already smaller muscles we have.

And this can be noticeable when dancing alongside male/female couples. A six-foot-plus man with a broad frame can create an enormous amount of movement with and for his partner. As two women, we’re not suddenly going to develop broader shoulders and another twenty kilos of muscle mass halfway through a Foxtrot (trust me, if there was a legal supplement for it, I’d be on it).

So, when we create the same movement, cover the same space and maintain the same speed and control, we are working harder - and solving the physical challenge differently. And that’s before we even get to body contact…hello boobies!

Putting your “Big Girl Pants” on:

The physical side of it is only part of it. (Pop the kettle on, huns, I’m a yapper at the best of times and this is no exception.)

Psychologically, taking on the leader’s role can be a huge adjustment too.

Many female dancers spend years - often from childhood - learning how to receive information, respond to a lead, wait for an invitation, be moved and shape around somebody else’s initiation.

And then one day, you put yourself in the leader’s shoes and realise that nobody is telling you where you’re going anymore. And how much more comfortable those shoes are too. Small wins.

The responsibility is now yours.

You’re responsible for initiating movement, making decisions, navigating the floor, protecting your partner and making those split-second choices about whether to continue your carefully practised routine or to abandon ship because a couple has unexpectedly appeared in your path. And there is a psychological shift that comes with that.

Leading requires you to take responsibility, yes, but perhaps most importantly, to take up space. You can’t stand there apologising for your existence out on the floor. At some point, you have to put on your big girl pants and think: “I have every right to be on this floor.”

Because we do.

As all-female partnerships, we may be working with different physical challenges and different competitive experiences, but we aren’t borrowing somebody else’s floor. We aren’t guests. We have trained, prepared and entered the comp like everybody else.

So yes, we need to be aware of the challenges. But we also need to stop making ourselves small because of them. Sometimes the most important piece of technique is simply knowing that you belong out there.

Space Invaders (my 3rd favourite crisps of all time, by the way):

And this leads us rather neatly from the psychological challenge of taking up space to what happens when other people decide how much space they are willing to give you.

Ballroom floorcraft is, of course, competitive. Couples need to navigate. People get in each other’s way. Collisions can happen. Nobody is expecting the floor to part like the Red Sea every time they start a Natural Turn.

But there is a difference between normal competitive floorcraft and repeatedly finding yourself boxed in, started directly on top of or physically moved aside by a partnership that appears to have decided you are the easiest person to displace because you are lacking a certain appendage. Ahem.

And there is another rather obvious issue if a couple has decided you are target number one: if a larger male leader hits you, it is probably going to hurt a whole lot more than if another woman of a similar size does. That’s not sexism. That’s mass, momentum and basic physics, baby.

Now, I should point out I am a tall female. I’m not exactly a tiny little thing being blown around the floor like a lost feather. But I’m also not Arnold Schwarzenegger. Have you seen my bicep? No? Exactly, there’s barely one there.

A bigger, heavier body moving at speed creates a lot of momentum and there is more force in a collision. So, when you are already the smaller partnership on a crowded floor, you can find yourself having to make a very quick calculation:

“Do I hold my ground because I have every right to start here, or shall I move because I quite like having all my ribs in their current position?”

This is where pulling up your big girl pants becomes slightly more complicated.

You have every right to take up space, dance your choreography and hold your position. But we also have to develop the judgement to recognise when standing your ground is going to result in you and your student being flattened by somebody with a considerably larger centre of mass.

And this brings me back to my own experience and question. When I first started partnering, I experienced the above a lot more. But now, I don’t experience that anywhere near as much.

So here is the fascinating question:

Why did success change how much space I was allowed to occupy?

I hadn’t suddenly grown six inches (thank God, trousers are already a nightmare to get). I haven’t developed shoulders like a pro rugby player (I chose marathons instead).

What changed was my reputation.

I was getting results in a male-dominated area. And good results at that. People knew I could navigate a floor, people knew my students were dancing well and that, crucially, we weren’t simply there to make up the numbers.

And perhaps that’s the uncomfortable part.

Because if my physical size didn’t change, but the amount of space people were willing to give me did, then something else changed: was it the perception that we deserved to be there?

That doesn’t mean that every person who ever boxed me in was deliberately trying to intimidate a female partnership. Ballroom floors are chaotic, competitive places and sometimes people are simply trying to survive their own Quickstep. But when it’s the same people, round after round, event after event…it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

But I do think it’s worth thinking about how much of dancers’ floorcraft is purely technical - and how much is influenced by who people instinctively perceive as having the “right” to occupy space around them.

The burden of being “seen”:

When you’re one of the few female partnerships on a floor full of the “traditional” couples, you are visible before you’ve even danced a single step. You don’t really get to blend in.

And that can bring a particular kind of pressure: the feeling that we don’t get to have an “off day”.

A traditional couple can have a slightly ropey round, make a mistake, have a bad comp and, generally speaking, still just be another traditional couple having a bad day. But when your partnership already stands out, it can feel as though every mistake is noticed twice.

Fair or unfair, that perception can create the feeling that simply being good isn’t enough. In fact, I remind every girl or lady I dance with before the comp:

“We can’t just be good. We have to be fantastic to be able to stand on the same start line.”

Now, is that always so literally true? Of course not. There are plenty of wonderful, fair-minded people in our industry, and I don’t believe there is a secret judging oath they all take to look the other way when two women take hold.

But psychologically, when you are different, there can be an enormous amount of pressure to make sure you are so good nobody can question whether you belong in a final or not.

I am personally a great example of somebody who absolutely hates being noticed and always wears the most subtle, understated outfits possible.

Ha.

Yes, I love fashion. I love styling. I take inspiration from films, characters and iconic looks, and I have never been one to quietly put on a plain black outfit and disappear into the background. I’ve worn colour. I’ve worn drapes. Heck, I’ve even worn capes.

But if I’m honest, there is another reason I dress the way I do. It says: we’re here. And you’re gonna see us.

We’re already going to be visible walking on, so why on earth would I then try and make us invisible?!

So yes, my outfits are because I love clothes, fashion and serving a look. But they are also my armour. A visual statement before we’ve danced a single step.

We’re here. We’re taking up our space. And we’re going to look fabulous doing it.

The elephants in the room…

Now for the bit where I tread very carefully.

I want to be absolutely clear. I am not writing this section as somebody who believes adjudicators are standing (or sitting, that’s a thing now, isn’t it) there waiting for an opportunity to mark down female partnerships. Nor am I suggesting that judges don’t judge female/female couples fairly. That is not my experience, as my students, my all-girl couples and I have been incredibly successful and have beaten many excellent traditional partnerships over the years.

But that doesn’t mean the question isn’t worth asking.

I once had an adjudicator say to me at the end of a competition, about one of my junior girls, “She was so amazing…but you just have to give it to the girls dancing with their male teachers, don’t you?”

That sentence sat with me for a long time. I went through all the stages of grief, I think. But it got me thinking.

Was this judge just influenced by what is familiar? The norm. What’s “expected”?

For generations, competitive Ballroom dancing has presented us with a particular picture of what a partnership looks like. A male leader. A female follower. A certain difference in height and shape. Tails and a dress for the Ballroom and a questionably low shirt and short dress for the Latin. That is a visual pattern most of us have watched thousands upon thousands of times.

So, when an adjudicator looks at the floor, their brain is doing what all our brains do so brilliantly: recognising patterns. And recognising excellence within a pattern we have seen repeatedly is far easier, and quicker, than assessing something that looks different.

Unconscious bias doesn’t have to mean somebody thinks, “I don’t want two women to win.” It can be far subtler than that. It can simply be that something familiar feels more immediately “correct”, “balanced” or “a proper Ballroom partnership” because that is what we have repeatedly been taught to see.

Now that I’ve judged, I don’t envy them at all. They have seconds to assess multiple couples moving around, at speed, while trying to judge timing, technique, musicality, movement, partnership, floorcraft…they are human beings, not Ballroom dancing AI robots with instant replay (although maybe…that’s for a different blog!).

But perhaps that makes conscious awareness even more important.

So, my gentle request to anyone adjudicating a female partnership would be this:

Stop for a moment and really ask yourself: if I prefer what this partnership is dancing - their movement, their technique, posture, musicality - am I allowing the fact that they are two women to change my decision?

And if the honest answer is:

“Actually, even though they’re two girls, I like what they’re dancing more.”

Then that is your winner.

Not because they are two girls. Not despite the fact that they are two girls. But because, on that floor, on that day, you liked what they did best.

I also want to make this clear from my own perspective. I am not writing this as somebody saying, “I would have been successful if only judges had given me a chance”. That simply isn’t the case. My students are successful, and we have won major competitions together, which I am immensely proud of.

But I also know how hard we have worked to get there. I have spent years dancing with my students in every lesson - building their confidence, developing their technique, working on my own leading, movement and floorcraft. We have worked hard to be able to stand alongside fantastic traditional couples and genuinely challenge them.

And this is the point I want to leave this section with: an all-female partnership should not have to recreate the look of a traditional male/female couple to be recognised as excellent.

Fine. We’ll be exceptional then.

As I mentioned before, there is a mentality I think many female partnerships develop, whether we consciously mean to or not:

We can’t just be good. We have to be exceptional.

But actually? I don’t think we should be afraid of it.

Yes, there are times when that mentality can become exhausting (thank goodness for full-coverage makeup with the bags under my eyes). We are human beings. We have off days. We make mistakes. Sometimes the music starts and it feels like you’ve left your brain by the side of the floor.

But wanting to be exceptional doesn’t have to mean being afraid of our weaknesses. In fact, I think the opposite is true.

Know what your weaknesses are. Know where your partnership is physically disadvantaged. Know when your body contact isn’t quite working, movement lacks power, rotation needs more control - whatever it is…work on it.

Really work on it. Train it. Develop it. Ask questions. Ask for help. Find coaches and teachers who understand what you’re trying to achieve and aren’t simply saying, “Dance more like a man” (no thanks).

There is absolutely nothing weak about admitting, “This is difficult for us.” Identifying the problem is the first step towards becoming bloody good at solving it!

But - and this is truly important (and one that, if you work out how to do it, let me know) - don’t become so focused on your weaknesses that you forget what your strengths are.

Two women dancing together can bring genuinely beautiful and powerful movement. There can be matching quality, flexibility, musicality, symmetry and a shared understanding of shaping and expression.

Those things aren’t consolation prizes. They are strengths.

And once you’ve done the hard work of understanding where you need to improve, don’t be afraid to let those strengths shine too.

If you have incredible musicality, use it. If you have incredible movement, use it.

I can honestly say that when I walk on the floor with one of my students, I never want somebody watching us to think:

“That’s a good lady/lady partnership.”

I want them to think:

“That’s a good partnership.”

Period.

The conversation we should be having…

I’m wrapping up now (thank goodness, I hear you all say) and if you’ve got this far, you deserve a medal…or another cup of tea.

The first question we need to ask is: why do we appear to now be seeing fewer all-girl partnerships on comp floors?

Is it simply because girls don’t want to dance together? Do they just prefer dancing solo now?

Or is there something about the way we train, choreograph, judge and culturally perceive all-girl partnerships that makes them a less attractive option for competitors?

How should we judge them and compare them against traditional couples?

This is something I find particularly interesting in Latin.

I have seen many female partnerships where the choreography is heavily based around synchronised movement: lots of side-by-side, matching lines and doing the same choreography at the same time.

Don’t get me wrong, it can be visually effective. But when an entire routine is built that way, I find myself asking:

Am I watching a partnership, or am I watching two excellent soloists who have agreed to dance slightly closer together than usual?

Because surely, a partnership - regardless of who is dancing it - should involve partnership.

Connection. Communication. Lead and follow. Cause and effect. Moments where the movement only works because there are two people creating it together.

So perhaps there is another question for us all:

Are we giving all-female partnerships enough freedom to develop their own identity - or are we sometimes avoiding the challenges of true partnering by turning them into synchronised solos?

And equally, if two women do develop a partnership with strong lead and follow, genuine connection and clear roles, how do we judge that against a male/female couple?

Do we expect it to look identical? Should we?

Or should we be looking beyond the familiar silhouette and asking the simple question I asked earlier:

Which partnership is dancing better?

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. And I don’t think I’m supposed to.

This needs to be a conversation that’s had. A conversation between female partnerships, teachers, adjudicators, organisers and dancers of all ages.

And the most important question we need to think about is:

How do we make sure that the next generation of girls who want to dance together don’t feel as though they have to ask permission to take up space?

Because they don’t.

They belong there.

So, put your big girl pants on.

And dance.

About the contributor

Rianna Ellis is a former competitor, teacher, coach and studio owner. She has many years of experience within competitive Ballroom and Latin American dancing and contributes to Community Voices from her own professional and personal perspective.

Studio: Ellis Dance Club

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Facebook: Ellis Dance Club

This Community Voice reflects the contributor’s own experience and perspective. Views expressed are those of the contributor and do not necessarily represent the position of Dance Sport Trust.