I Saw Dirty Dancing For The First Time on Friday
and it reminded me that abortion is not federally protected anymore.
I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve been fucking depressed lately. I was feeling extra restless on Friday so I biked over to Vidiots in Eagle Rock and got myself a ticket to see Dirty Dancing, the 1987 movie with Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. I had never seen it before, though I knew a lot from cultural osmosis.
There were a bunch of gen X ladies who were jazzed to be there. The energy in the room was truly abuzz. This was my first time at this business, a movie theater and VHS rental shop. The theater itself has been operational since 1940 (with a quick break existing as a church in the 2000s) and they played Dirty Dancing when it originally premiered. The venue made this screening immersive by having dancers dance down the aisles carrying watermelons and dancing throughout the movie.
Watching this film for the first time in this environment was so special. The crowd would cheer when certain beloved characters appeared on screen, or laugh before the funny scene happened. I could tell that a majority of the moviegoers had seen this film many times and felt super connected to it. I love watching movies at the theater; from the big screen and sound system to the shared emotions in an audience, it’s the best way to consume this media.
I cried three separate times; I had been feeling so listless, depressed in my head that being in this wholesome communal experience of laughing, cheering, even screaming with others touched me. Dirty Dancing is a well told story with important themes about class, family, and self acceptance.
I was saddened by the abortion plotline, imagining audiences in 1987 must have viewed the idea of illegal abortion as archaic. It was a stark reminder that this fundamental, crucial, ability to make decisions about our bodies is not a given, that governments consistently override our autonomy. Though Roe was overturned two years ago, I am renewed in my anger. Dirty Dancing reminded me that we as humans do not own our bodies. Whether it’s the right to abortion or gender affirming care for trans folks of all ages, or an issue as small as an ankle injury, the medical system is not in place to keep us healthy. Not to mention the way our food system ensures we consume poison and the time taken away from workers - our bodies are actively harmed under this exploitative capitalist system.
I don’t know where I’ve been, why I haven’t been angrier about the overturn of Roe. Maybe because Biden was promising to reinstate it if re-elected, as if he isn’t currently fucking president and could literally do that RIGHT NOW. Or maybe because I lived in New York and now live in California, two states with abundant resources and protections. As the spectacle of the election unfolds, I’m learning more about Project 2025 and I’m scared of these regressive policies and the threat of living in a theocracy and then I’m like oh wait I already AM in a theocracy. They already control everything and most people don’t have any fucking freedom and the conservative media is scapegoatting trans people, my people.
I can’t stand when shit doesn’t make sense. Abortion is healthcare. Gender affirming care is healthcare. People are more likely to regret having children than receiving gender affirming care. The numbers and the science point to an obvious conclusion: let people do whatever the fuck they want to do with their own bodies and if you’re not going to help, at least get out of our way.
I am incensed. I am scared that many of the rights I take for granted now might not be a given in the near future. Dirty Dancing reminded me that every freedom I enjoy was fought for, tooth and nail, and can be taken away in a snap.
I wrote most of this in the throes of depression, and, as I edit and put this piece together, I’m feeling better. While it’s true that our rights are under attack, I’m here to remind myself that I can blast (I’ve Had) The Time of my Life by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes and dance around my bedroom, imagining myself moving as smoothly as Patrick Swayze AKA my ultimate Himbo Gender Goals. Yes, another revelation that came to me upon watching Dirty Dancing was that I am a himbo and I can just kind of lean into that. A himbo with titties and a Substack.