don’t tell me to “shut up and dance”

By Carrie Teti

I was a victim of the night.

The night in question was a dance to celebrate the end of 8th grade, which took place at a local country club. Most of my wealthy classmates were members of that club and had already been there many times before. I, however, was completely unfamiliar with my surroundings. The lights pulsed between flashes of blue and purple, hundreds of screaming Catholic teenagers towered over me, and Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance” blasted over the speakers.

I stood out on the dance floor, not knowing what to do with my body. Should I be moving my arms? My legs? Or should I just stand there like a really, really short tree, continuing to be the awkward little teenager I was?

Suddenly, Bailey appeared. She was a classmate of mine, a descendant of the local bus dynasty whose many heirs packed the hallways of our tiny school. I hated her. She called me “stupid” for my lack of social skills, even though she thought Florida was its own separate country. But she had money to donate to the school, so they let her stay. “Oh my God, Carrie!” she squealed. “Someone wants to dance with you!”

Bailey grabbed someone by the shoulders and shoved him in front of me. It was Bobby, the class weirdo voted “most likely to become a mad scientist” in our 8th grade yearbook. Surely, he didn’t want to dance with me, or anyone. But we were two fellow misfits, and our classmates wanted a spectacle.

With its blend of pop and rock, synthesizers and electric guitar, “Shut Up and Dance” evokes a dance club in the 1980s. It makes any listener want to follow the advice of the woman depicted in the song: to get out of your head and dance. If you close your eyes and listen to the instrumental bridge, you’ll most likely picture a lively scene, with flashing lights and a crowd of people jumping with excitement. So, pretty much like that 8th grade dance.

But behind that peppy tune, it’s a song about awkwardness. After all, it’s the lead single on an album called Talking Is Hard. The chorus details a conversation between two characters: a nervous man and a beautiful, confident woman. “Oh don’t you dare look back,” says the woman, “Just keep your eyes on me.” The man follows up with “You’re holding back,” and the woman delivers the song’s powerful titular line in a shout: “Shut up and dance with me!” The man doesn’t know what to do with himself on that dance floor, but the woman takes his arm and helps him break out of his shell.

In an interview with American Songwriter, Walk the Moon frontman Nicholas Petricca said the song “sort of became this anthem for the dork who is 100% me.” If this is truly what he was going for, then the song more than lives up to its purpose. With all of my classmates huddled around me and Bobby, eagerly awaiting our forced first dance to the Cincinnati band’s first mainstream hit, it became my dork anthem, too.

“Dance! Dance! Dance!” our classmates chanted, their eyes fixed on the two weirdos at the center of their circle. Meanwhile, Bailey stood by with a smug smile on her face, proud of her role as the evil puppetmaster. I glared at her, thankful that after that night, we would all go our separate ways for high school and I would never see her again.

Then the music overtook Bobby, and he started to move. He broke out into what was quite possibly the worst and goofiest dance I had ever seen. He stood with his feet together and his arms flat by his sides like a penguin, and hopped back and forth, left to right to left to right to left to right. Our classmates roared with laughter and false cheers. I stood there, not wanting to give into Bailey’s manipulation. Through the speakers, Walk the Moon continued to provide their fitting soundtrack to this event.

In “Shut Up and Dance,” the man becomes more comfortable on the dance floor as the woman repeats her command: “Ooh-ooh, hoo, shut up and dance with me!” With his hopping, Bobby sure became more comfortable, too, but I did not. My awkwardness still controlled me, and I remained frozen on the dance floor. Overcoming this paralysis isn’t as easy as the song makes it out to be, especially with the cold eyes of thirty pretentious Catholic kids on you. All that man needs is a gorgeous woman in “a backless dress and some beat-up sneaks” for him to start moving, but my dress wasn’t backless, and I wasn’t wearing sneakers. No one was going to swoop in and save me. The man in the song knows the two are “bound to be together,” but there was no way in hell my fate was to end up with Bobby.

To all my fellow socially awkward friends out there: how often have you been standing against the wall at a club only for some beautiful specimen to come over and literally sweep you off your feet? I can tell you that’s never happened to me. In 8th grade, I was trapped with Bobby, and now, every time I go out to the bar for a fun night of dancing, I’m practically ignored. People do take my arm pretty often, but only to push me out of the way as they break through the crowd to get another drink. In a sea of people, an awkward little 4’10” college girl is by far the easiest target for pushing.

But maybe I don’t need someone to come and save me. Sure, like frontman Petricca, I’m a bit of a dork, but that’s just the way I am. Since 8th grade, I have broken far out of my shell. When I’m out dancing, I’m way more confident than that girl pushed around by Bailey. More likely than not, someone will push me, but soon enough, I’m sure I’ll gain the confidence I need to push them right back. 

For years after that 8th grade dance, whenever I heard “Shut Up and Dance,” it would fill my head with images of Bailey and Bobby, and fill my body with rage. But now, as I’ve matured, I see what makes it more than just your average pop song: its juxtaposition between the anxieties of an introvert and a crowded, noisy outward environment. Like the man in the song, I finally have the confidence I need to forget about my insecurities, set myself free, and just “shut up and dance.” Who knows, someday I might even attempt Bobby’s signature hop.