In the creeping misery of late summer, when dark, rainy days conspire with the grinding of normal life to throw you into despair, Strictly Come Dancing shines like a glitter ball in the dark. For almost 18 years it was a personal dogma to avoid Strictly’s omnipresence in the run-up to Christmas. If asked for an opinion on who can be voted out or who would win, I would respond with a smug refusal. I did not and could not see the show.
My strong reaction was based in part on my inability to understand how it could ever be called entertainment, watching people who already had money and were paying more to dance poorly. To make the injury worse, participants inevitably snorted into the cameras and raved about being grateful for the “trip”. No thank you.
Strictly’s brand of cheesy sentimentality rubbed. People like Ann Widdecombe could be catapulted into national treasure status while loudly speaking out against abortion and same-sex marriage. D-list celebs were offered another opportunity to hold on to their dwindling fame – I couldn’t understand how viewers hit it. Its sweet digestibility smelled of it.
And then I had children. Now at the ages of seven and nine, their persistent calls to watch Strictly couldn’t be turned off with a simple “no.” Not creating a series of whys in lieu of the silence a parent might want. Nor would they listen to arguments such as “the counterpart to sentimentality is… brutality” (Carl Jung) or that “a sentimentalist is simply someone who wants the luxury of an emotion without paying for it” (Oscar Wilde). The best I could do was clear them off with a “maybe, let’s see” and cross my fingers that swapping Pokémon cards at school would trump the exchange of views on who might be eliminated the next week . But as most parents know, the power of playground discussions is indeed strong in seven-year-olds. I lost. We looked strictly.
We started our Strictly journey in the second week of Season 19 and I wondered what big mistake had happened in my upbringing. In the age of streaming and on-demand TV, how could my children (mine) choose from the myriad of options available to them. To comfort myself, I rationalized that at some point they would get bored. How could they not? Who but the jury really has the stamina to observe the various missteps of 15 stars? If all else failed, I would secretly resist. As soon as the show started, I occupied myself with preparing dinner or checking off an item on the to-do list.
Everything went according to plan until the first duo showed up. TV chef John Whaite and his partner Johannes Radebe, the first same-sex male couple on the show, danced cha-cha-cha, and I watched my children sit mesmerized by the joy of their performance. An isolated case, I thought. Next up, presenter AJ Odudu and her partner Kai Widdrington foxtrot to Amy Winehouse’s Tears Dry on My Own and I … hummed? When the Dragons’ Den judge Sara Davies and her partner Aljaž Skorjanec slid across the floor, I had lost all sense of cool distance. Now I harmonized with the band’s interpretation of Cass Elliot’s Dream a Little Dream. There was a lump in my throat when Rose Ayling-Ellis, Strictly’s first deaf candidate to be tipped this year, burst into tears as she watched her best friends wishing her the best of luck on their honeymoon. What happened to me
In the third week I tried to pull myself together. With the phone at hand, I’d use Strictly’s runtime to go through the long list of interesting articles I stumbled upon while browsing for something. Then why did I devour a specification of the “Strict Curse” and wonder who would fall victim to his power this year? At that point I gave up on the trick. Who have I been kidding? I was addicted
It only took a few minutes to fall victim to Strictly’s mesmerizing effervescence, but at the risk of sounding sentimental, there is depth behind that sparkle. At every rate, with all the glitz and oomph, Strictly is teaching a lesson that I hope will stay long after the winner is announced. The rule is: learning should be lifelong. It takes grace to listen and practice, which brings with it the vulnerability of failure. It’s about trying it yourself and most importantly, finding joy.
Bring season 20.