FRIEDMAN: Teach Me How to Dougie

Please, someone . . . Anyone. Teach me how to Dougie.
I’ve always wanted to be that girl who brings the fresh dance moves to the party. Instead, I’m the girl that brings the chips and dip—so not the same.
You know the girl I’m talking about. You’re at some lame party, bouncing your head to whatever dubstep music is blasting from the basement. You’re sippin’ Natty Light from a Solo cup, or maybe even slurpin’ some purple drank. Then suddenly, the ultimate dance song comes on with a killer beat, and SHABANG! Some girl hits the dance floor and gets her funk on. I’m not talking dirty grinding moves, gyrations or even poppin’ and lockin’ it. I’m talking larger-than-life moves. Maybe she’s doing the worm. Maybe she’s doing some breakdancing. Maybe it’s even the Cupid Shuffle. Whatever it is, it’s epic. She is epic.
Now, I wasn’t always this apprehensive about my dance skills. In fact, in the 90s, I was was pretty certain my moves were the bomb diggity. At birthday parties, I was known as the Dancing Queen. Seriously guys, ABBA had nothin’ on me. When The Hokey Pokey played, I was legendary. If the Chicken Dance got started, I was a mother cluckin’ animal. And if the YMCA got rockin’, I was the first to strut what my momma gave me. I was the life of the party, or so I thought.
Things changed when I got to high school. Suddenly, the moves I deemed “cool” were . . . well, not. How did I learn this? The hard way, people. Let me take you back to my friend Emily’s Sweet Sixteen. The DJ is blasting some techno jam, and the dance floor is empty. It is calling my name. Without hesitation, I throw off my heels, chug a glass of water, and hit the stage solo. That’s right, I start doing the robot.
Needless to say, I was single that year.
Fast-forward to college, and not too much has changed. I still break out the robot (it’s my go-to dance move), and I still get awkward looks. I just don’t understand—I have a pretty fabulous robo-routine. When did the old go-to moves suddenly become taboo? When did the lawn-mover and the sprinkler lose their luster? Better yet, when did I lose my title as Queen?
Something has changed in the past 10 years and I don’t like it. Times are a-changing, and apparently, I haven’t managed to keep up. When the Ying Yang Twins came about, I could not shake it like a salt shaker. When Outkast asked me to shake it like a Polaroid picture, I failed that too. When Soulja Boy asked me to crank dat, this white girl just could not ‘super man dat hoe.’ It was pathetic.
And no matter how hard I have tried to ignore my lacking dance skills, the proof is in the pudding: I am not “with it” like I once was.
I don’t know where I went wrong. I think it was sometime between “Full House” and “Sixteen and Pregnant,” but it’s hard to say. But no matter when it happened, the point is, it happened.
So how do I combat this? How do I cool-ify myself, again? How do I bring back the flava? How can this Stella get her groove back? (My name is Sam, but go with it). How do I reclaim my title as Dancing Queen and drop jaws like I did when in sixth grade?
Help me Cali Swag. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.
Ya got nothin’ for me, eh? Okay, fine.
Then here’s what I propose. I say we go retro. I say we blast to the past. I say we bring back the awesomeness of Bar Mitzvah dance moves, Sweet Sixteen funk and righteous wedding grooviness. Let’s revive the Electric Slide. Let’s bust out the Cotton Eyed Joe. I say the next time you hit up TITS, you request “The Macarena.”
Do it, you won’t regret it.
Now I understand this proposition is going to be a challenge at first. You’re going to be worried that people are judging you while you’re doing the Cha Cha slide. You’re going to be thinking to yourself, do I look uncool right now? Do I look unhip?
And you know what? The answer will be yes. Yes you will look uncool, and yes, you will most definitely look unhip. But you will also look awesome. And awesome trumps everything. Always.
So I say flip-off the Dougie, and high-five the robot. Whoever said it’s uncool to rock the old-fashioned moves didn’t get invited to the right Bar Mitzvahs. So turn up those stereo hearts and rock some moves . . .  like Jagger. Although that, groovetastic readers, is for another article.

Samantha Friedman is a senior in the College of Arts & Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at samtf@bu.edu.