![robyn dancing on my own name robyn dancing on my own name](https://api.time.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/robyn-crop.jpg)
![robyn dancing on my own name robyn dancing on my own name](https://i1.sndcdn.com/artworks-000187022325-p2yz0h-t500x500.jpg)
The album it appeared on was titled, fittingly, Body Talk. The comedian Taran Killam has performed a lovingly observed parody, and YouTube is cluttered with step-by-step homages and tutorials (“Robyn’s ‘Call Your Girlfriend’-Learn the dance!”) which is at once apt and entirely beside the point: The power of the choreography and the one-take video itself comes from how personal, singular, and idiosyncratic these moves feel, like a spontaneous overflowing of Robyn’s strange heart. As she sings, her accompanying movements are at turns aggressive, humorous, and unabashedly sensual-at one point, aided by her moon shoes, she does a fluid backward somersault that ends with her humping the ground and then, in the next moment, rolling across the ground like a playful child. She is dressed, in the video, like the world’s most stylish bird: fluffy cropped sweater, twiggy printed leggings, and platform sneakers that make her seem to hover a few inches above the ground. In the back of the bus, in the desolate corner of the dance floor, and-in “Call Your Girlfriend,” one of the best and most iconic music videos of the century so far-in a cavernous abandoned gymnasium, illuminated by pulsating light that changes colors according to her feelings like a giant mood ring worn on the heart.