My prompt: How have media and popular culture (i.e. films, music, art, TV shows, etc.) affected the way you view and relate to yourself?
Long legs twirl and leap across the rubber floor. Leg warmers decorate semi-injured ankles and knees, and white tulle floats around the room. I watch, fascinated, as the rehearsing bodies keep in time with the music. My brain automatically names each step as it is performed. Chasse, relevé arabesque, susú, bourre; into the center of the studio and away goes a circle of dancers. As the music begins to close, I turn to face the giant mirror covering the studio’s front wall to get a broader view. The movement slows, and the dancers take up their final positions, poised to bow.
I go into class next, hair tucked in a bun and the rest of my dancing gear on. I take one peek in the mirror, and within seconds every flaw becomes painfully visible. Feet just a bit too small, legs long, but not lean enough, and that annoying little pocket of fat that resides in the lower tummy disrupts what could have been perfectly flat abs. Not good enough, and the frustration begins. These were my older days as a dancer. The daily self-criticism was a constant, and being midway through my teenage phase, not helpful in or out of the studio. This leads to some severe cases of what dancers call “Ballet Fever”.
Simply put, ballet fever is a sort of ballet high, specifically in focusing all of your energy to living like a dancer: rehearse for hours a day, eat yogurt to treat yourself, and do pilates and yoga in your free time. Going professional in the dance world means total dedication to the art, and often leaving your previously ‘human’ life. The year I turned sixteen was the year I went through some near-extreme cases of this ballet fever, and when I began paying attention to the media in the ballet world and the human world.
First and foremost: dancers are thin. The pros are pure, lean muscle. When you look at models shown in women’s magazines, they are all limber, with nothing extra on their bones. This automatically makes women set an unrealistic bar for what they themselves should look like. Like in ballet fever, women begin to obsess over what they eat, how they work out, and what they see in the mirror. Some say you can’t leave the dance world unscarred; I say you can’t leave the newsstand unscarred.
Of course, I was one of these misinformed women for a while. I read magazines for beauty tips (oh yeah, a blemish free face was a piece of work for a sixteen year old kid) and watched YouTube videos galore of dancers all over the world. I cried internally every time I watched a Russian perform; their technique is unmatched. I needed to be thinner. I needed to look like this image of beautiful given to me by popular media. I needed to be something I believed I was not.
I go into class next, hair tucked in a bun and the rest of my dancing gear on. I take one peek in the mirror, and within seconds every flaw becomes painfully visible. Feet just a bit too small, legs long, but not lean enough, and that annoying little pocket of fat that resides in the lower tummy disrupts what could have been perfectly flat abs. Not good enough, and the frustration begins. These were my older days as a dancer. The daily self-criticism was a constant, and being midway through my teenage phase, not helpful in or out of the studio. This leads to some severe cases of what dancers call “Ballet Fever”.
Simply put, ballet fever is a sort of ballet high, specifically in focusing all of your energy to living like a dancer: rehearse for hours a day, eat yogurt to treat yourself, and do pilates and yoga in your free time. Going professional in the dance world means total dedication to the art, and often leaving your previously ‘human’ life. The year I turned sixteen was the year I went through some near-extreme cases of this ballet fever, and when I began paying attention to the media in the ballet world and the human world.
First and foremost: dancers are thin. The pros are pure, lean muscle. When you look at models shown in women’s magazines, they are all limber, with nothing extra on their bones. This automatically makes women set an unrealistic bar for what they themselves should look like. Like in ballet fever, women begin to obsess over what they eat, how they work out, and what they see in the mirror. Some say you can’t leave the dance world unscarred; I say you can’t leave the newsstand unscarred.
Of course, I was one of these misinformed women for a while. I read magazines for beauty tips (oh yeah, a blemish free face was a piece of work for a sixteen year old kid) and watched YouTube videos galore of dancers all over the world. I cried internally every time I watched a Russian perform; their technique is unmatched. I needed to be thinner. I needed to look like this image of beautiful given to me by popular media. I needed to be something I believed I was not.
Ballet had always been a safe haven, until media twisted it, making it perverse. I have been a dancer for twelve years now, always dancing out of my love for it. Thoughts of a professional career with it never quite crossed my mind until I was twelve, but at that age, I hardly paid any attention to the media (I was too busy reading Harry Potter, duh). However, when I did begin to see these pictures of perfectly sculpted models, I was disheartened. Naturally, I saw what I did not have. I got so caught up in the vanity of it all, that for a long time, I forgot why I danced. It took eight months for me to learn to be happy with myself: a summer staycation and a semester abroad.
Instead of spending 200 hours of July in the dance studio, I became a teenager, and built something pretty novel to me at the time—a social life. I made more time for friends, all the time reveling in our love for all things nerdy. It was a really nice break, and I think a well-deserved one. Stepping away from the dance world not only eased my aching muscles, but also ripped away some of the expectations I had set for myself in what I should look like. The end of the summer brought about the beginning of a thrilling new adventure. As my friends began their junior year in high school, I was flying across the Atlantic to live with a host family in Spain.
Now, in Europe, a majority of the people are very much in shape. They have access to fresh foods, walk everywhere, and lead much less stressful lives than the average American. But what was considered ‘in shape’ was far more diverse than what you would find in the United States. You had really thin people (as it happens, I fit right into this category) and then average sized people. All were considered in shape, and something beautiful.
Instead of spending 200 hours of July in the dance studio, I became a teenager, and built something pretty novel to me at the time—a social life. I made more time for friends, all the time reveling in our love for all things nerdy. It was a really nice break, and I think a well-deserved one. Stepping away from the dance world not only eased my aching muscles, but also ripped away some of the expectations I had set for myself in what I should look like. The end of the summer brought about the beginning of a thrilling new adventure. As my friends began their junior year in high school, I was flying across the Atlantic to live with a host family in Spain.
Now, in Europe, a majority of the people are very much in shape. They have access to fresh foods, walk everywhere, and lead much less stressful lives than the average American. But what was considered ‘in shape’ was far more diverse than what you would find in the United States. You had really thin people (as it happens, I fit right into this category) and then average sized people. All were considered in shape, and something beautiful.
In short, living the Spanish life for a few months, relaxed and healthy, proved quite therapeutic. I was happier, and by the time I left, could look in the mirror and smile. We were not all built to be size two ballerinas; what makes the human race so great is the diversity of our genes. It’s time we embrace our diversity, and diversify what counts as beautiful. And, in the wise words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
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