To loosen inhibitions, Trimbur suggested some screaming. And hugging a stranger. Dancers — clad in everything from ballet slippers with ripped tights to Converse and kneepads — were instructed to run across the room, wail in one another’s faces, then embrace. I joined in: It felt great and powerful and properly ridiculous. The energy was equal parts eighth-grade gym class and righteous affirmation.

Then came the routine, to a synthy 1986 cover of “You Keep Me Hangin’ On.” “I don’t do counts,” Trimbur said, directing us to slap our bottoms, roll on the ground, switch-kick, punch and spin. Her references were less Balanchine and more “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” — she choreographs for faces, too. “F.Y.I. flailing about wildly IS dancing,” she wrote in her newsletter.

The kind of intuitive movement Trimbur champions, low-stakes and accessible, found a new audience during the pandemic, as dancers and dance teachers migrated online. Ryan Heffington — the pop choreographer whose Los Angeles studio, the Sweat Spot, helped a “come one, come all” dance culture blossom there — had tens of thousands of followers (Trimbur among them) in his Instagram Live sessions during early lockdown. Even eminences like Debbie Allen two-stepped for the feed, finding an unexpected communion, though everyone was literally dancing on their own.

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