Upon surveying the boot-stomping, hooping and hollering crowd at Borderline, I couldn’t help but wonder, where did all these pseudo-Texans come from? When did the residents of Los Angeles County learn to two-step? I concluded that Texas has finally given teeth to its claim of being a whole different country and has begun to colonize its biggest rival state.
I had been looking forward to a night at Borderline since the summer, when I kept seeing the Facebook statuses of Malibu summer students recounting their fascination with the country Western dance hall. The Wednesday college night ($3 for students over 21, with ID) seemed like a perfect way to celebrate making it halfway through the first week of school. Plus, as some of our peer schools retain their “Footloose”-era dancing bans, it’s an opportunity to exercise our controversial dancing rights.
Borderline has brought a model of dancing completely out of sync with the Los Angeles natives and has conformed West Coasters to its ways through cultural fusion and peer pressure. This model of invasion is genius, really. Borderline has disguised a hostile takeover as a fun night of socializing and playing dress up.
It exhibits clear syncretism of the Texas and LA cultures, a common historical tactic of bringing a colonized people around to the invader’s culture, usually religion. Rather than inciting rebellion by forcing patrons to endure an entire night of country music, the DJ blended hip-hop into the playlist. “Apple Bottom Jeans” and the like came with their own line dances, however, which the regulars already knew by heart. He also threw a bone to the newbies, including the “Electric Slide” with the lesser-known pure country hits, like the “Watermelon Crawl.”
The décor also curiously incorporates elements of both cultures. Hanging from the ceiling is a mirror-encrusted disco saddle. Other pieces are subtler, though. It wasn’t until the end of the night that I noticed that the lights and speakers were mounted on a giant cowboy hat frame ominously hovering over the dance floor.
Borderline’s ritual indoctrination scheme is camouflaged as dance lessons, the first of which is at 10 p.m. Regulars also help out the less coordinated by pointing in the direction of the next step or calling out the moves, which helps disseminate the lingo.
Late in the evening, the DJ asked all the girls to clear the floor for a guys-only dance. I was confused at first by the amount of effort that the men put into their performance, a level of effort I had previously seen only in male resistance to dancing. But after several rounds of competitive pushups entered the routine, I realized that this was, of course, the mating line dance. The girls got their turn, too, but they substituted twirling for pushups.
It looks as if this colonial power will exercise a benevolent dictatorship, with a rule well suited for students. Line dancing is perfect for the Pepperdine group (non-)date model, because most of the numbers don’t require a partner. Not only does this style limit the amount of debauchery that other, holier schools associate with dancing, but it is also a plus for the ladies who avoid dancing because of the inevitable creepers who like to sidle up uninvited. For the boys who use that strategy, this is not the place for that. While we’re on the subject, just don’t do that anywhere.
Borderline is also not the place to be self-conscious. Those of us who did not grow up chasseing across a barn floor spent the better portion of the evening hopping on the wrong foot, spinning off count, and apologizing to those around us after bumping into them for the third time. The key to getting over the associated embarrassment is to remember that even the people who are dancing with all the correct hops and spins are still doing a dance called the “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.” So, really, who should feel embarrassed here?
As concerned as I was to be supporting a rogue state, I couldn’t help enjoying myself. Borderline provides a great energy boost for anyone with a pair of daisy dukes lying around. Just be sure to leave before the nightly sacrifice to the memory of Sam Houston. That gets a little dicey.
