There is no point to samba if it doesn't make you smile.

The words of Alma Guillermoprieto move like rhythm through the soul: “There is no point to samba if it doesn’t make you smile.” At first glance, it is a simple truth about music and dance. Yet within it lies a universal law: that art is not merely form or technique, but joy—and without joy, the motion is hollow, the rhythm empty, the body only a shell. The smile is proof that samba has fulfilled its sacred task: to awaken the spirit and remind us of life’s sweetness, even in the midst of struggle.

The meaning of this saying is profound. Samba, born of the Afro-Brazilian heart, was not created as an exercise in perfection, nor as a polished performance for silent spectators. It was born in the streets, in the gatherings of the people, in the mingling of drumbeats and voices. Its purpose has always been to uplift, to unite, to make people laugh, dance, and rejoice. Thus Guillermoprieto teaches: if the dance does not bring a smile, it has lost its soul. For the essence of samba—and of all art—is not mastery, but shared delight.

The ancients too knew this law. In the rites of Dionysus, the god of wine and ecstasy, men and women shed their burdens in music and movement. They did not dance for applause or perfection; they danced to release their chains, to touch the divine through joy. Without laughter and exaltation, the rites were considered dead, stripped of meaning. In this way, samba stands as a modern echo of those ancient rites: the dance is sacred because it creates community through smiles, and because it reminds us of freedom.

History gives us clear examples of this truth. In the dark years of Brazilian poverty, when the poor were crushed by hardship, samba still rose from the favelas. People danced barefoot on the cobblestones, their drums patched with scraps, their costumes made of color and imagination. Yet when the rhythm began, smiles spread across faces, and the people remembered they were more than their struggles. Samba was not a luxury—it was survival. Its power was not in elegance, but in the way it brought laughter to the lips of the weary.

The origin of Guillermoprieto’s wisdom lies in her own life as a dancer and journalist. She knew samba not as a distant observer, but as one who lived in its pulse, who felt the heat of the drums in her own body. Her insight reflects the truth that performance without spirit is vanity, while performance with joy becomes communion. The smile is the bridge between dancer and audience, between one heart and another. Without it, samba is reduced to motion; with it, samba becomes life.

The lesson for us is clear: in all things, seek the joy that gives them meaning. Dance not only with your feet, but with your spirit. Work not only with your hands, but with your heart. If what you do leaves you joyless, then it has lost its purpose. In practice, this means choosing to live in such a way that delight accompanies your effort—whether in art, in labor, or in the simplest daily tasks. The smile is not trivial; it is a sign of life lived rightly.

So let Alma Guillermoprieto’s words be remembered as more than a statement about samba. They are a command for all who live: let joy be the measure of your path. If your song does not make you smile, change the tune. If your work does not bring some light, change the way you labor. For the true purpose of art, of dance, of life itself, is not to impress, but to awaken laughter, to kindle joy, and to spread light.

Thus, children of tomorrow, remember this: the world may teach you to dance for approval, to live for perfection, to labor without laughter. Resist this. Dance as the samba teaches you—dance until you smile. For in that smile is the proof that your spirit is free, and where the spirit is free, life is worth living.