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The evolutionary fitness of dancing?

There is some interesting about how dance is indicative of physical health and fertility, but I particularly loved Chris Hampson’s take on some new research about why older guys dance poorly.

It is one of the mysteries of life, then, that such dexterity and skill ultimately, and invariably, leads to a phenomenon widely known as Dad Dancing
Sadly, you’ve all seen it.
Grown men who should know better hog the dance-floor at wedding receptions and indulge in cringe-worthy, awful antics that make other adults shrink away, and children wish they had eloped.
It is worse than those school pick-up moments when some spotty, gangling teenage child you have rushed to collect asks you to wait in the car because your very existence embarrasses them.

Dad Dancing is our revenge.

Explanation? Evolution
But now an academic in the U.K. has come up with another explanation. Evolution.

It seems that middle-aged wannabe “John Travolta dancing” is nature’s way of warning lovely and nubile young women to look elsewhere. Who knew?
It is, according to Dr. Peter Lovatt, the psychologist behind the study, a way of sending out a message: “Stay Away. I’m not fertile.” They then hurry off to look for a young man who is at his sexual peak, so they can have babies and save the species. 
Dad Dancing is, it seems, like fly spray – a repellant intended to kill off any sexual desire
Why you would need an academic study to tell you that I don’t know. I have yet to hear of any lovely 18-year-olds who long to dally with middle-aged, balding, boring men who are several years older than their dad.
Lovatt has apparently compared the dancing styles and confidence levels of nearly 14,000 people – more even than the judges on Dancing with the Stars. (Where did he find the time?) It seems that men between 35 and their 60s typically attempt complex dance moves with limited co-ordination. Women gauge the males’ testosterone levels by assessing the style and energy of their moves.

Then, according to this theory, they apparently make a dash for the nearest Boy Scout camp.

In a somewhat unflattering comparison, Lovatt explains: “It’s like an apple that’s going brown – you want a fresh green one instead.”

A brown apple? Me?

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