Have We Forgotten Intimacy in Tango?

Intimacy

the state of being intimate.
a close, familiar, and usually affectionate or loving personal relationship with another person or group.
a close association with or detailed knowledge or deep understanding of a place, subject, period of history, etc..
an act or expression serving as a token of familiarity, affection, or the like.

(Thank you for the image Hadis Safari  ihadissafari )

In a recent discussion with a former student, I was struck by their vulnerable sharing around their desire and need for intimacy in their dance. As I reflected on that conversation I realized that I too deeply crave this and sometimes shy away from it. Maybe because I’m teaching all the time and want to maintain clear boundaries and YET, this is the very essence of what I love to share in tango. 
The word that often gets used in tango is connection. But beneath it lies another word, one we rarely speak aloud: intimacy. For some, that word may feel too vulnerable or even too easily misunderstood. Yet intimacy — the quality of being deeply attuned, present, and receptive — is the heartbeat of tango. Without it, we may still move beautifully, but something essential goes missing.
In the embrace, intimacy is not about closeness of bodies; it’s about the meeting of an awareness. It’s the quiet moment when two nervous systems find coherence, when the breath synchronizes, when the dance stops being a sequence of steps and becomes an act of mutual listening, an act of whole body listening.
It’s not romance. It’s not seduction. It’s a form of honesty. The willingness to be seen, to soften control, and to feel what is truly there, in that present moment to moment.
Lately, I’ve noticed a shift. The culture of tango, like the world around it, is speeding up. We move quickly from one partner to another, one tanda to the next. The surface looks alive — but often, the depth feels thin. Many dancers learn patterns before presence, performance before patience. We’ve become more comfortable doing tango than being in tango.
But intimacy can’t be performed. It asks for stillness, for humility, for an embodied presence, and for the courage to not know what comes next.When I dance and feel that quiet electricity — that unmistakable pulse of true embodied presence — I remember why this dance endures. Because intimacy in tango isn’t about holding someone else; it’s about allowing yourself to be held by the moment.
Maybe intimacy isn’t being lost. Maybe it’s simply waiting — beneath the noise, beneath the patterns — for us to remember how to listen again. To be present, to get back to our bodies’ innate wisdom. So perhaps the question isn’t “Is intimacy disappearing?” Perhaps it’s “Are we willing to slow down enough to feel it?”
I’d love to hear your thoughts.