Dancing in high heels is boosting these women’s confidence ‘exponentially’

It’s a dark and cold Wednesday night in Martinez, and Liz Carnathan, 36, is exhausted after a long day of working her job in healthcare.

So, too, is marketing manager Stephanie Pacheco, 35, who spent her day in front of a computer, and Elia Vallone, 25, who has been working all day as a nurse.

For these three women, a comfy couch and a warm blanket beckons. But instead, they find their way to a small studio, where they join 27 others in strapping on a pair of high heels and throwing themselves into two hours of dance moves.

This is the beginners heels class at Vibe Dance Studio, which was started by Izzy Gonzales and her dad Ed four years ago. It’s a place where people can show up exhausted, but end up with so much energy they don’t want to go home.

“You feel like you’ve just been to a party,” explains Carnathan. “It’s like, ‘Where are we going next?’”

There’s something about the heels class that has these women buzzing.

“It’s purely about confidence and empowerment,” says Vallone. “That’s my story with Vibe. It’s boosted my confidence exponentially.”

 

Gonzales, who owns the studio and teaches the class, had a rich history in dance, performing competitively as a child until she began her undergraduate studies at Saint Mary’s College in Moraga. Finally unshackled from the commitment of competitive dance teams, she quit the sport.

She thought she’d love all her free time.

“But my sophomore year, I hit a lull,” she says. “I wasn’t feeling myself. That’s when my parents were like, ‘I think you need to take a dance class.’”

They took her to her first heels class at Full Out Studios in Oakland and “something shifted for me,” she says.

“It was just a style I’ve never done before,” she says. “And it was so freeing and expressive in a way that I don’t think I’ve had before. Being a competitive dancer, you’re focused on being in tune with your whole team and there’s not a lot of room for individuality. So when I took that heels class, I rediscovered my love for dance. That’s why I wanted to create something for people.”

In 2021, as Izzy was finishing up her undergraduate degree, the pandemic lockdown was coming to an end.

Her dad Ed worked in real estate and knew some contractors who could help fix up an abandoned gym in Martinez. He suggested she turn it into a dance studio.

“If you can get people in here and keep them in here, I’ll handle the business side,” he told her.

Together, they opened the studio. She put a heels class on the schedule. And one person showed up.

Week after week, she’d host the class. Week after week, the same student would show up.

Nobody else.

“I would be like, ‘Are you sure you want to come? Because it’s just you and me again,’” Gonzales says “And then she brought a friend. And then the friend would bring a friend.”

And that friend brought a friend, who brought a friend, and before she knew it, the class had between 25-35 people every week. She now hosts the class twice a week.

“Sometimes there’s a wait list,” Carnathan says. “I love that it’s gotten so popular. Izzy absolutely deserves it. What draws people to her is not just great choreography and her great class. It’s the fact that she encourages such a positive space by being such a positive and loving person herself.”

Carnathan says the heels class in particular has given her a chance to rediscover sexiness and femininity.

“How often are you in a room full of women here to just hype you up to do whatever you want to do?” Gonzalez says. “The more full-out you go in here, the louder we’ll cheer.”

Every class starts the same way: hugs from old friends and introductions for new ones.

Vallone remembers that at her first class, “girls came up to me and were like, ‘Hey, I haven’t seen you here before,'” she says. “And then next week they were like, ‘Hey, like it’s good to see you,’ and then I ended up getting their numbers. And now these girls are my long-term friends.”

After introductions, the music comes on — Gonzales changes the playlist every week. Two lines form opposite one another, creating a dance floor in the middle. Two at a time, the women strut in their heels and get cheered on by the lines on both sides.

Soon they’re smiling and laughing, hooting and hollering. Some are doing splits. Some are doing cartwheels. Others begin to twerk. They roll around on the ground and shake and shout and before you know it, it feels like a nightclub.

“Whatever you need to get out of your system, this is the time,” Gonzales says.

Next up: the choreography. She teaches a one-minute routine over two or three classes, depending on the difficulty. She teaches slowly and simply, allowing a lot of room for error.

“I always jokingly say, ‘Luckily we’re not auditioning to go on tour with Beyonce tomorrow,’” she says. “Don’t take things too seriously.”

Pacheco danced on her college team at San Jose State, then danced professionally for the Disney Cruise Line and Great America. But dancing in high heels at Vibe has been a much different experience.

“Growing up as a studio dancer who competed, I’ve always been taught you need to go to the front, you need to do the best, and it’s competitive,” Pacheco says. “So often, the dance community can be judgmental. It’s tough. In Izzy’s class, I’ve never felt that. I do not see that. We’re celebrating each other. And she has built and protected this community. This is the most freeing thing I’ve ever felt, because no one is judging me.”

Some of the dancers are less experienced, but this class has felt like a safe place to experiment.

Vallone loved dancing in her kitchen, but rarely did in public. After just a few classes with Gonzales, Vallone says, “This is the most healing thing I’ve ever done.”

“As a kid I looked up to dancers so much, and I thought for so long that it’s just never something I’m going to be able to do,” she says. “But this class totally negates that story that you can’t learn things as an adult.”

The choreography can be silly and fun, or it can be challenging and confidence-building. Gonzales switches up the vibe every month or so, sometimes aiming to make the women feel sexy, other times looking to help them let loose.

“I don’t think like I’m a sexy person,” Pacheco says, “but in class, it helps me channel that energy and it’s a lot of fun. I stopped wearing heels during the pandemic, but I’ve started wearing heels again.”

While the choreography can take two or three classes to master, the women get so hyped up to perform the final versions that they’re often volunteering to do solo dances, adding their own flare to the routine and taking videos of each other to share.

Vallone has begun sending her videos to her parents and grandparents, realizing it’s never too late to be celebrated for something she dreamed of doing as a kid.

“I think if there’s something you wanted to do for your whole life, you should do it, at any age,” she says. “We have people as young as 16 in the class. We’ve had people 50, even older. We’ve had people of all genders. It’s never too late to do what you’ve wanted to do in life.”

The confidence she’s picked up in class has translated to every part of her life.

“It’s made me be able to walk into a room and not need to know someone in order to do what I want to do,” she says. “I can just go and do things now. It’s given me the confidence to progress in many areas of my life: work, relationships. So it really does translate.”

Two years ago, Gonzales lost her dad to brain cancer. She was afraid to step back into the studio for fear of breaking down.

“The first time I actually taught class after he passed, I hadn’t been there in maybe like a month and I was just so anxious about going back because I just knew I was going to feel him so much there because we literally built that space together,” she says. “Now, every time I go there, I feel him. I always tell the girls in my class that he would be so proud of the community that we have built here.”

Vallone, who went to high school with Gonzales but didn’t know her well until they began dancing together, says Gonzales is the strongest person she’s ever met.

“I look up to her because she was able to keep his legend alive and keep smiling every week, even though she has been through a ton,” Vallone says. “This is what he wanted for her. It’s just so full circle and beautiful.”