In Langston Hughes’s story, there’s a dance that seems to represent freedom, expression, and the beauty of different races coming together. It starts as a moment where people move, embrace their differences, and invite each other to connect and be seen. But as the story unfolds, we realize the dance isn’t what it seemed. What appeared to be an opportunity for liberation turns into something much more transactional—a dance that’s not about celebrating self-expression, but about survival. The party isn’t about creating meaningful connections or celebrating diversity; it’s driven by the need to make rent. Hughes shows us a dance that’s less about joy and more about making ends meet. Marcel, the host, isn’t part of the celebration. Instead, he’s using the party as a way to survive, turning his hospitality into something that can be sold.
Hughes doesn’t just reveal Marcel’s alienation; he also puts us, the readers, at a distance from the action. We’re like outsiders, observing the story unfold from a third-party perspective. This choice of perspective makes us feel even more detached and distant from the characters, heightening the sense of isolation. As the story reaches its end, that distance becomes even more apparent, as we hear the narrative from "another room," a symbolic space that keeps us further removed from the deeper details of Marcel’s life. This technique forces us to recognize the limits of our understanding, making us feel just as disconnected as Marcel does from the people around him. Hughes challenges us to confront the isolation and invisibility that many queer people of color face, a theme that resonates deeply with both critical race and queer theory.
Critical race theory (CRT) argues that race and racism are deeply embedded in the structures that shape our society. One of its core ideas is that race isn’t just about individual prejudice—it’s a fundamental aspect of social and institutional organization (Delgado). For Marcel, his role as a host in a predominantly white space exposes the systems that limit his freedom. The dance could have been an escape from these constraints, but instead, it becomes a performance for others—shaped by the financial pressures he faces as a queer person of color. His queer identity isn’t celebrated; it’s overshadowed by his need to make money. Through Marcel’s experience, Hughes shows how race and class intersect to restrict the self-expression and connections of marginalized individuals. In this space, Marcel’s queerness is hidden behind the necessity of financial survival.
Marcel’s alienation is compounded by his queer identity. Queer theory often highlights how queer people are pushed to the margins of both gender and sexuality, often rendered invisible by societal expectations. As Judith Butler notes, the connection between gender and sex is often treated as a rigid norm, creating a binary system that excludes anyone who doesn’t fit into it (Butler 1990, 9). Hughes’s story captures this struggle for recognition. Marcel isn’t openly expressing his queerness, nor is his identity fully accepted by those around him. Instead of participating in the dance of self-expression, he’s distanced from it, caught between his financial needs and his internal conflicts about his queerness. His relationships with the people at the party aren’t about genuine connection—they’re transactional. This dynamic mirrors how queer people of color often face a similar marginalization, where their identities are pushed aside in favor of survival.
The limits of the dance—its economic function and emotional detachment—serve as a metaphor for how queer people of color are often excluded from spaces of freedom and self-expression. The partygoers may appear to be celebrating, but they’re using Marcel’s space for their own pleasure, with little regard for his own needs. In one vivid moment, Hughes describes the laughter at the party: “The other couples laughed and the laughter bounced, like very hard rubber balls, around the room, not like tennis balls but like solid hard rubber balls, and Marcel laughed, too. Marcel’s laughter was like a painter’s ground cloth that protects the furniture and anything else under a ceiling being painted.” This stark image shows how Marcel’s laughter isn’t genuine—it’s a mask, a way to protect himself in the face of discomfort. Just as Marcel’s party becomes a vehicle for survival rather than celebration, queer people of color are often expected to perform their identities in ways that conform to societal standards, just to avoid danger or discomfort. Even in environments that claim to be safe or inclusive, like workplaces or schools, queer people and people of color may be asked to “perform” their diversity. Marcel’s situation reflects these pressures: even in a seemingly fun and safe space, he’s still forced to cover his true self.
The abrupt ending of the story, filled with shouting and confusion, highlights that there’s still tension and danger even in these supposed moments of freedom. It reinforces the idea that Marcel is safer when he stays guarded, hiding behind his laughter, even in what should be a celebratory environment. The way Hughes positions us at a distance from the action—making us unable to fully understand or connect with Marcel’s experiences—mirrors the way queer people of color often feel misunderstood, ignored, or misrepresented by those who don’t share their identities. The sense of isolation that runs throughout the story is reinforced by our role as readers, separated from the characters and left with only fragments of their inner lives. Through this distance, Hughes powerfully conveys the experience of queer people of color in America, urging us to consider the limitations of our own understanding, and offering a subtle justification for Marcel’s actions.
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