"Tradicional" Milongas ¿Authenticity or constructed narrative?
- María Olivera
- Apr 6
- 6 min read
A reflection on history, codes, and the dangerous trivialization of a word
“When I hear an old tango
one of those that can make you cry
I find myself thinking, my friends,
no one has the right
to try and change it.”
The phrase belongs to the tango "Así era el tango" —written by Juan José Guichandut in the 1940s— and captures an idea that, far from disappearing, continues to resurface time and again in the world of tango: the defense of a supposed “tradition” against anything perceived as change, deviation, or threat.
And yet, there is something deeply paradoxical in that statement. Because tango —from its origins to the present day— has done nothing but transform itself.
So the question is not a minor one:what are we really talking about when we speak of “traditional tango”?
The problem with the word “tradition”
The current use of the term “traditional” in tango usually refers to a fairly defined set of codes: the cabeceo, certain social dynamics within the milonga, a more contained style of movement, specific ways of dressing, and sometimes even particular configurations of dance partnerships.
All of this exists.All of this is valuable for many dancers.That is not the issue.
The issue is calling all of this “tradition.”
Because doing so implies something much deeper: it means arbitrarily fixing a moment in history —generally associated with the 1940s and 1950s in Buenos Aires— as if it were the legitimate origin, the point of purity, the model to be preserved.
And that simply does not withstand even the most basic historical scrutiny.
The origins: when “tradition” was not even a thing.
If we go back to the late 19th and early 20th centuries —to the times of Villoldo, for example— the picture is entirely different.
There is no evidence of those codes that today are presented as traditional. There is no institutionalized cabeceo. No organized distribution of roles in space. No homogeneous aesthetic of the embrace. Nor is there the kind of consolidated music that would later be developed by the great orchestras.
What we do find is something else:
Men dancing with men, practicing and exploring movements that they would later test —possibly in rather rough ways— with women (who often “learned” to dance in the act of dancing itself).
Marginal contexts, such as brothels or hybrid social spaces.
A relationship with the body and with space that was far less regulated and, of course, more oppressive toward women.
A remarkable creativity of resources, because when nothing exists, everything is possible.
If one were to take that moment as a reference point —as the starting place of tradition— then everything that followed would necessarily be a deviation.
In other words: if dancers from 1890 were to observe those of the 1940s, they would likely say that tradition had already been completely destroyed.
The embrace as an example of transformation
The tango embrace itself —so central to today’s debates— is a clear example of this evolution.
It is said that around 1912, tango underwent a process of “refinement”: physical contact became minimal, almost ceremonial, with noticeable distance between bodies.
Years later, during the golden age of the great orchestras in the cafés and cabarets of downtown Buenos Aires, the embrace closed again —among other reasons, due to the need to optimize space on crowded dance floors.
So, which of these embraces is “traditional”?
The distant one? The intimate one? The experimental one from the early days?
The answer is uncomfortable, but inevitable: none of them can claim that position exclusively.
Selective "tradition"
If we were to take the “traditionalist” argument to its logical conclusion, we would find ourselves facing rather absurd situations.
For example, during the so-called golden age (1940–1950), women attended milongas accompanied by a “chaperone,” who would approve or disapprove of the men inviting them to dance.
If tradition is to be respected as a whole, then it should be respected in all its aspects, not only in those that feel comfortable, aesthetically pleasing, or conveniently acceptable. By that logic, we should also reintroduce the chaperone into today’s so-called “traditional” milongas.
Absurd hardly begins to describe such an idea.
The fact that we select certain elements and discard others reveals something evident:we are not preserving a tradition —we are constructing a narrative.
Current etiquette: value without dogma
Now, the fact that some of today’s etiquette is not strictly “traditional” does not mean it lacks value.
Quite the opposite.
Practices such as the cabeceo or the spatial organization of those who invite and those who wait to be invited fulfill very concrete and, in many contexts, highly effective functions:
They facilitate the flow of dancing, avoiding unnecessary interruptions.
They protect the sensitivity of dancers, particularly in moments of rejection.
They allow for more subtle, less exposed communication.
They create a sophisticated social game, almost like a game of chess, where knowing how to move —not only on the dance floor, but also through the gaze— becomes part of the experience.
For those who understand this game, the milonga becomes a space of great richness.
The problem arises when this set of tools stops being understood for what it is —an effective system— and begins to be defended as unquestionable historical truth. Worse still, when any space that chooses not to use them is discredited.
Tango as a living art and its quest for freedom.
The truth is that tango is not a museum piece, nor a closed form, nor a static tradition. It is a living art.
And like all living arts, it transforms, adapts, contradicts itself, and reinvents.
At the heart of its creation and inevitable evolution lies the human spirit’s need to express freedom. Otherwise, it would not be called art.
From the brothels of the late 19th century to contemporary dance floors, passing through elegant salons, periods of censorship, moments of creative explosion, and phases of pedagogical systematization, tango has never stopped moving in step with its time —with a certain rebelliousness, a defiant spirit, and a profound sense of freedom.
And yet, it remains tango.
No one is the judge of tradition
And this is, perhaps, the most important point of this reflection.
No one can claim the authority to define what the tradition of tango is, for a very simple reason: if we speak of its origins, none of us were there. If we speak of its future evolution, none of us will be there.
We are, inevitably, situated in an in-between space —a place from which we interpret, reconstruct, and imagine.
That is why, when someone claims with certainty what is “traditional” and what is not, they are in fact speaking from their own time, their own experience, their own perspective.
When many people echo the same interpretation, what is created is a narrative.
And a narrative is not indisputable historical truth.
Unevitable contradictions
Within all of this, it is also fair to acknowledge our own contradictions.
Mine, for example, is quite clear —and I hold it with a certain irony: for me, tango is only tango if it is danced to tango music. That is my line. My personal boundary.
Is this an academic statement? Not at all.
But it does respond to something I consider essential: tango as a cultural expression deeply tied to its music, as part of the urban folkloric fabric of Buenos Aires.
That said —and this is the key point— recognizing that personal boundary does not grant me the authority to judge what others do.
A shift in perspective.
Perhaps, then, that phrase sung by Ángel Vargas can be read today from a different perspective.
Not as a call to stop change, but as a testimony to something deeply human: the discomfort we feel in the face of transformation.
Because tango changed before us, it changes with us, and it will continue to change after us.
And perhaps the most honest way to relate to tango’s “tradition” is this: to stop using it as a boundary…
and begin to understand it as a process that began long before what we were told —and will continue long after anything we ourselves will ever be able to tell.
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