No wonder the Prancing Elites are from Mobile. Mardi Gras might be the one party in the world where Alabama's most famous dance troupe can just blend right in.
At least that's the way it seemed Monday night as the quintet, which stars in its own reality show, "The Prancing Elites Project," marched in the Order of Venus parade. For the Elites, it was a 90-minute Tour de Prance, as they balanced the need to show the moves for which they're famous against the need to keep up with the inexorable forward movement of the parade. For onlookers, it seemed to be mostly a delight, one colorful surprise amid a long caravan of colorful surprises.
The Elites, who've done this before, approached the event with businesslike confidence. Lined up amid trailer bands and other marching groups beforehand, they patiently waited for the parade to get moving. There wasn't much of an audience just yet, but as the young ladies of the Fabulous Dancing Dolls walked past to take their own place in line, one girl ran over to hug one of the Elites. (Speaking of trailer bands, the teen rockers known as the Stereo Dogs provided lively pre-parade tunes, including a cover of Van Halen's "Jump."
Once the parade rolled out, the Elites got down to business. Certainly, here and there, they caused some jaws to drop. For every onlooker who wasn't familiar with the Elites' claim to fame - namely, being male practitioners of an overtly feminine dance style called J-Setting - there was a slyly smiling friend to explain that those moves and those legs belonged, in fact, to dudes.
Here and there, a few onlookers turned away. Maybe a very few covered the eyes of their children. Many more whipped out cell phones for a quick photo or video of the reality-TV celebrities.
The most common reaction, by far, seemed to be laughter prompted by the fundamental audacity of the Elites. And even that was a fleeting sensation, believe it or not, for this parade moved along briskly and it was never more than a few seconds before the next eye-catching sight passed by.
For context: Directly in front of the Elites was a unit of Abba Shriners in full hillbilly regalia, aboard a Lincoln Town Car, or some similar land yacht, that had been Frankensteined into an El Camino-style monstrosity. The "Party Train" DJ wagon that led the Elites partly concealed them until they were at hand, but it's not like they snuck up on anybody: Every time the DJ yelled out their name, which was often, they got a cheer of recognition.
They approached, they passed, and then along came a giant float representing the '80s arcade experience, with tributes to Pac Man and other icons of the genre, and riders flinging doubloons and Moon Pies and beads.
"I finally got to see the Prancing Elites!" exclaimed Cheryl Meacham, standing near Moe's Original Bar-B-Que with her husband, well-known local guitarist Britt Meacham.
Afterward, the Elites seemed pleased with the experience, and less footsore than one might have expected. In fact, they were bantering about whose home would be the site of the after-party.
Team leader Kentrell Collins said he'd heard a few boos here and there, but aside from that, the response had been positive. And with that, the Elites joined the host of disbanding units, dispersing back to whatever mystic chariots had brought them downtown for the night's proceedings.
Come Tuesday, they'll have the spotlight all to themselves in another new episode of "The Prancing Elites Project." There might not be a live studio audience of thousands, but there also won't be any need to compete with people throwing doubloons and other shiny trinkets.
Reality TV might put a dazzling array of stuff on the small screen, but it's no Mardi Gras.