This story is part of an occasional KCUR series called The Regulars, about Kansas City’s neighborhood hangouts and the customers who bring them to life.
Sweat drips from the dancers as the clock ticks near midnight. Even though it’s a Wednesday night, inside Society, a bar in Kansas City’s Crossroads Arts District, the crowds are still turning, crossing and mamboing over the open concrete floor.
DJ Zammy Martinez blasts salsa, bachata, cumbia and merengue, and between songs, the dancers twist their shoes in a white powder piled on the ground, to make their feet glide easier.
Society is a bar and restaurant by day, but two evenings a week the space is taken over by “Latin Night.” The event began in 2021, as a place for local dance students to practice after their Wednesday classes ended, but then took on a life of its own.
They became so popular that Society added a Friday night event too, hosted in their smaller “Scarlet” room, where social distancing could make way for social dancing.
“It was a refuge for us dancers after the pandemic,” says Alejandro Parrales, a Mexico City-born cancer researcher who’s lived in Kansas City since 2013.
Parrales is here at least once a week. “It’s a place that isn’t pretentious or expensive, it’s more casero,” he says.
For him, Parrales says dancing is a form of communication — easier to express his feelings than through words. He can dance cumbia without thinking, but bachata is his favorite, because it’s slow and there’s more time to focus on the musicality.
“My mother is a great dancer,” says Parrales. “She forced me to learn by practicing with my aunties and my cousins while growing up.”
He even met his wife when teaching her to dance cumbia, at a different event. “And even though she was seeing someone else at the time, I think I won her over her through my dance,” he says.
Out on the floor, Valentina Soto, with her short dark curls and heels, executes a perfectly controlled double turn with her partner.
Born in Mexico but raised in Kansas City, Soto is a salsera at heart. She loves how dynamic salsa is with its quick spins, and it’s a great workout, too.
Soto has only been dancing for three years, but it has become more than just a hobby.
“Last year I fought cancer, I could not wait to come back and just dance,” Soto says. “But when you are so restricted and when you can't move and you can't do what you love, it really puts things into perspective.”
Now, Soto’s here once or twice a week. “To me it’s literally an injection of life,” she says. “I just couldn’t wait to come back.”
Soto only wishes Latin dance enjoyed an even bigger scene in Kansas City. She says sometimes the ratio of followers to leaders isn’t equal, which makes it hard to find a partner to dance with.
“I feel like the girls have to learn to lead so that we don’t have to wait on the guys to show up,” Soto says.
After a fast-paced salsa, people gather by the water pitchers. Parrales says it’s a sober night for most — unlike other late night dancing, salsa requires a lot of precision, so alcohol is optional.
Each song ends with the couples thanking each other for the dance, and finding a new partner to share the next rhythm with. Sometimes that means waiting your turn, especially if you’re asking someone who’s experienced. Promises are made about who owes whom a song next.
The large screens on the walls light up with the next music video, ears tune to figure out which genre it is, and the floor repopulates in a new constellation of couples.
Daniel Aguilar, is a life-long dancer who was born and raised in Kansas City, but his parents were born in Veracruz, Mexico. He’s been coming to Society for two years, and he says he has two important rules:
“If you’re going to ask someone to dance, always do it with a smile,” Aguilar says. “And then, if you mess up a step, don’t get embarrassed. It’s just an opportunity for both of us to have a laugh.”
About half of the regulars at Society are Latinx.
Lily Burke, from Shawnee, Kansas, is in the other half. Burke has already danced across the globe — from Michigan to Spain — and heard about this Kansas City event from a friend.
Even though she describes herself as an extrovert, Burke says it can be hard to connect with people who are outside of your circle.
“You can go to a coffee shop and say hi to somebody and try to start a conversation but it’s not a place that’s geared towards connecting you with another person,” Burke says. “Social dancing is made to connect with others.”
Parrales says he can always recognize the newcomers, and it makes him happy to see the community grow.
“What’s nice is that in this community we respect each other, we take care of each other and we protect each other,” he says.
A few songs before 1 a.m., Martinez plays some reggaeton tunes to signal that the bar is closing soon. As the dancers start to head out, they check in on each other, making sure they get home safe.
“It’s a bit late if you work in the morning, but hey,” Burke says, laughing. “It’s worth it. Vale la pena.”
For Aguilar, the best feeling comes when the night has ended. “Lying in bed after a shower and realizing, ‘You know what? Today I loved talking to everyone, meeting new people too, and learning new rhythms.’ One just falls in love with the dance community.”
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