There are a lot of attractive ladies at dance parties.

Sometimes I speak with them, but it’s almost exclusively in the context of simply establishing some half-decent conversation on a random topic.

The Hospital Records podcast.

The death of Muammar Gaddafi.

Skittles.

Which cousin shot which cousin.

Leave-in conditioners.

Normal stuff.

Someone named William Dean Howells once said, “The secret of the man who is universally interesting is that he is universally interested.” Taking these words to heart has made me a reasonably-capable conversationalist.

But also a terrible pickup artist.

Until recently, I had accepted that my general lack of success in this area was entirely the result of some flaw in my character or disposition or nature. I never really examined the considerable role played by my own agency.

Almost exactly a year ago, I had a young (drunk) woman, who I knew, hanging off of me at an event, whispering that she was ready to leave with me whenever I wanted. I guess a lot of guys would jump at this chance, and I’m not particularly interested in specifically faulting them for it. As far as I’m concerned, it would be inaccurate for me to say that my first thought was that taking advantage of this situation would somehow be wrong, because it actually entered my head at the same time as another thought.

I’d kinda like to stick around for The Glitch Mob.

And Breakage.

As much as I want hot women in my life, I’m really into exploiting a comfortable place to shake my gorgeous ass.

The previous anecdote notwithstanding, I have always assumed that a good number, if not the majority, of people who go out dancing are looking for basically the same thing. And I had essentially been telling myself that women, in particular, needed me to respect that. While the truth of this premise is almost undoubtedly debatable, it’s also immaterial. Faulty or not, I operated under it.

Now, as I write this, it seems damn near certain that I just invented that entire reality. Within it, I can focus on going out and losing my shit to skullshaking beats without needing to gauge my sense of self worth as a person, who happens to be a man, by my ability to influence—and ultimately control—other people, who happen to be women.

In framing this position, I had initially been thinking that I didn’t want to squander an awesome dance party on futile attempts at seducing ladies, but I’m not entirely convinced that I would consider successful attempts to be any less wasteful.

Women are everywhere.

(A fact that I appreciate. However.)

Dangerously enormous soundsystems helmed by world-class artists are not.

Perhaps Dragonette’s Martina Sorbara summed up my point best with her guest vocal on Martin Solveig’s Hello.

“You’re all right. But I’m here, darlin’, to enjoy the party.”