“It is crowded," Nico Osier says through a Britney Spears-style headset to at least 100 people, all squished onto Sagebrush’s dance floor on a June summer night. "Kick on an angle.”
In between dozens of sweaty dancers making the wooden floor creak beneath their glitter-covered boots and cow-print stilettos, you'll find Osier perched on a 1-foot-tall wooden stage, directing a hip shake or foot shuffle. The horde doesn't seem to care that it’s crowded, or that it’s so hot you feel like you’re sweating from the inside out, or that, if you’re back far enough, you probably can’t even see Osier.
Everyone is here in the South Austin honky tonk for a night of free line dancing lessons unlike any other.
Osier runs Country Fried Dance, which specializes in creating queer-friendly dance spaces, offering line dancing and western-swing style partner lessons. The queer-and-trans-led business seems to have exploded in popularity in recent months, in part, because Osier has created an inclusive environment in spaces where everyone wasn’t always welcome. And, you don’t have to know a thing about dancing to be embraced.
“Anyone can do it. I’m just an idiot who loves to dance. I’m not using any official technique,” Osier said.
On a Whim
Country Fried Dance just celebrated its second birthday, but it was in the works long before then, even if Osier, a full-time professor, didn’t realize it. They grew up doing competitive ballet, tap, and jazz in Michigan, before falling out of love with it in middle school when it felt too strict and inauthentic. Even before that, Osier learned line dancing routines in elementary school.
But it wasn’t until after they moved to Austin in 2017 for the line dancing bug to truly bite.
Osier found themselves at Neon Rainbows’ dance events, learning the same couple of line dances over and over again.
“I had fun with it, but at some point I was like, ‘I want more,’” Osier said.
They went to another queer dance night, too, but the instructor wasn’t even queer. Osier started taking line dancing lessons and found a dance partner. The pair would dance at Neon Rainbows events, and one night, someone came up to Osier and asked, “Can you teach me how to do that?”
Nico Osier. (Erika Rich Photo)
Osier rented a dance studio in July 2023 and thought, “Let’s see what happens.” The first event was full of friends and strangers and people left asking when the next lessons would be. And then, Boi Orbison, who runs Neon Rainbows, was hosting a queer line dance night and needed an instructor.
“That’s when the gay audacity kind of kicked in,” Osier said. “Call me old-fashioned, but maybe we need a card-carrying queer to teach queer line dance, and I feel like it just sort of clicked in me.”
Having a queer instructor who was also a beginner resonated with people, and is what Osier attributes to Country Fried Dance’s success.
“When you're talking about going into honky tonks, it can be kind of intimidating,” they said.
Sense of Community
Hopping into step with a Country Fried Dance crowd doesn’t feel scary, and it’s OK if you mess up. Chappell Roan, George Michael, Doechii, and Kim Petras blare through the speakers while people carrying pink and purple fans, wearing clown makeup, and rocking black leather harnesses share the floor.
“Nico does a great job at making it accessible,” Alexis Alexander, a regular attendee with bad knees, told us.
Alexander was at a recent line dance night with friends she’d made at previous Country Fried Dance events.
“Do whatever is gender affirming for you,” Osier instructed dancers as Alexander took a break.
When she moved to Austin from El Paso, Alexander, who loves line dancing, felt uncertain about how the experience would be. But she felt right at home with Country Fried.
“It was so much fun,” Alexander told us. “It’s a nice way to be in a community without a lot of pressure.”
Country Fried dancers. (Erika Rich Photo)
Osier has felt that sense of community, too, even before Country Fried Dance began.
“I actually came here as a very closeted trans person, just living a cis-passing life and not even being out to myself,” Osier said.
They thought Austin would be more conservative than it turned out to be.
“I think part of what helped me on my own self-discovery journey was seeing a lot of people being authentic and just expressing themselves however they wanted to, whether they were queer or not,” they said. “People are a little weirder here than where I grew up, and I mean that in the best possible way.”
Osier wants to grow the Country Fried Dance community and expand outside of honky tonks. For now, they’ll continue to advocate for more inclusivity in the Austin honky tonk world.
“It is this sense of community. I don’t even have to know you, but we’re all part of this shared culture by having this knowledge of, ‘This is the 32 counts we’re going to do over and over again for this whole song,’” Osier said. “We’re moving together in unison and it feels powerful.”
Hope
Underneath the dark sides of the Sagebrush dance floor sits Al Reid, who nearly jumps at the chance to tell us why he loves Country Fried Dance. Reid, who has lived in Austin for 40 years, found the dance troupe about a year ago and hasn’t missed an event since.
“People need to know about this,” Reid told us before heading back out to the dance floor. “Seeing young people dancing country is really promising and wonderful. When you see this, there is hope for line dancing and country dancing.”
