I took Claire’s class this afternoon, and I’m starting to feel like I’ve got my legs under me again. Which is good, because at the beginning of class, I wasn’t so sure. For some reason, I kept dégage-ing when I was supposed to tendu and vice-versa. D’oh.
Claire also gave me some hands-on mid-torso corrections, getting the pelvis tucked back under while bringing the sternum forward. I was once again over-correcting for my tendency to hollow my lower back, throwing my shoulders back and compensating in the mid-torso. The core work this month has made it a little easier to keep my torso pulled together when I remember to do it. Now I just need to remember.
The hard part is knowing that what feels like a straight torso isn’t, in the same way that I had to re-train my proprioception with regard to my wrists and arms. (This is an interesting side-effect of that benign joint hypermobility thing; it makes your arabesque awesome, but your proprioception kind of wonky.)
Anyway, in today’s class I realized that if I rein in the size of my movements, I can get prettier technique out of myself. I guess I should know that by now.
Also, I need to get back to having confidence in myself as a dancer and
not thinking so much. I kept reminding myself to just dance, that the combinations would come, and when I did that successfully, things came off rather nicely.
In other news, I found a Pilates class I can probably work into my schedule, so I’m hoping to give that a try some time soon. I don’t want to add too much to the rotation until I’m really on top of things, though.
So I bought a Eurotard unitard to go with the “Keep Calm and Rond de Jambe” shirt that Kelly gave me because I want to write a review of said uni.
Turns out is actually kind of hard to get good unitard pictures in my house, and that I’m kind of terrible at it anyway.
Take, for example, the following:
In my messy washroom. At least I had the sense to move the Catbox?
This was the best shot I got of my legs. Probably the best shot, period, because of course it is. Everyone loves pictures of someone else’s bathroom.
Oy vey. Love the placement of the J-trap and the, um, wild Bohemian hair moment I’m having?
So I tried again in the bedroom. I had to place pillows in front of the bedstead so my legs were visible, since that’s kind of the whole point.
I did not actually intend this to be a picture of my lower torso. Awkward.
(I might be able to crop it for use in my Amazon review. Maybe.)
So I tried a little passé.
Not my best moment.
You guys, it’s hard to passé whilst operating a phone, even by voice-command, even if you don’t take it to relèvé. This is The. Worst. Passé. (Case in point: turnout weak, working leg too low and overcrossed, and let’s not even talk about my swaybacked posture). If I’d tried relèvé, I wouldn’t be writing this, because I would have face-planted into a mirror and died.
Also, the camera angle makes my legs look like they’re two different lengths and circumferences and stuff. At least it’s a half-way decent picture of the unitard itself.
I figured I’d try just a plain old relaxed first position. Chopped off my own head. Maybe that’s for the best?
In the end, this is the only half-way decent shot I managed:
Whee. One whole leg.
So there you have it.
Exciting pictures of my unitard. Le sigh.
Clearly, I am going to have to get someone who knows what they’re doing to take review pictures for me.
My only consolation is that the pictures Denis took for me were even worse. I won’t saddle you with those.
Anyway, I tried a little aerobic dance workout in these. So far, so good. I don’t want to take them off, because they’re so comfy, so that’s a good sign.
I’m starting to feel human again this morning. Not quite ready for prime time, but awake and together enough to finish my homework, get some review done, pay some bills, and maybe do a little writing today. It’s good to feel like things are winding up and room is opening up for creative work. Also rather nice to be pretty convinced that this little thing I’ve nicknamed Thanksgiving Virus (which has snagged about half the people I know) is, in fact, just a little thing, and will go away on its own.
I’ve decided to repeat the math class I took this semester. I might finish this semester with a B; I might not. Regardless, I don’t feel like I’ve really mastered the material, so I’m going to repeat the class.
I’ve popped it in my schedule for Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 9:30. That won’t interfere with my plans to do class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings (ballet class: it’s funny how ballet takes over your life, and “math class” continues to be “math class,” while “ballet class” just turns into “class”).
__
In other news, if you haven’t seen the brilliant and moving documentary on Tanaquil LeClercq, Afternoon of a Faun, you can catch it on Netflix streaming, or you can rent it from Amazon‘s streaming service for $3.99 (it’s not Prime eligible, but it’s absolutely worth the $4 to see it or the $10 or so to buy streaming rights).
Afternoon of a Faun is not only a touching story about a brilliant ballerina struck down in her prime, but a keen reminder of what medicine has done for us; what we stand to lose in today’s anti-vaccination foment.
I’m not sure what further to say. LeClercq’s spirit and strength are inspiring, as are the stories told by her contemporaries and the vintage performance footage. If you haven’t seen it, watch it.
Denis has splotchy purple tights that he bought on clearance when one of our local K-Marts was closing. I think they’re Joe Boxer brand leggings, really.
I’ve never worn them before because, quite frankly, I figured they probably wouldn’t fit me. This morning, though, I didn’t feel like going down to the Costume Department (AKA the storage room in the basement) and digging out my foil leopard tights. I grabbed Denis’ purple splotchy tights instead.
Turns out that they fit rather beautifully. Better than my usual tights. So I wore them to class.
Denis, meanwhile, wore his sparkly, star-splashed multicolored tights — which, by the way, was why I didn’t want to wear plain old black tights. Denis (who usually does class in pre-pro regulation black tights and white t-shirt) wanted to kick it up a notch because it was Hallowe’en weekend, and I wasn’t about to miss out on an opportunity!
You might remember these from an earlier episode 😀
Claire was teaching Essentials today, and when she arrived she said, “Thank you for wearing those tights!”
Apparently, she really gets a kick out of people who bring a little color into the studio. Well, today, Denis and I brought the color (though I did wear my usual black t-shirt).
I was surprised to find that I really liked the way the purple tights looked. And I was also surprised how solidly everything came together at the barre and at center — including the chaines allllllllll the way across the studio, going both directions. I guess I don’t get to make excuses about sucking at chaines anymore.
Denis did some nice jumps today. Claire’s amazing corrections — which are forever making my life as a dancer easier — apparently work for Denis just as well as they work for me.
After, we did lunch at Whole Foods with B & N, and then sat and chatted for ever and ever and ever(1), which was great. Our plans to take over the world will soon be complete.
So there we go. It was an excellent day, all told.
Oh, and my strap updates seem to have sorted my Capezio Romeos well enough. They didn’t peel off in class even after I took my socks off.
Notes
Among other things, B and I discussed body size diversity in ballet. The more I talk about it with other dancers, the more it seems like we all really like the idea of getting a more diverse array of bodies into the studio. Something to think about!
I did intermediate class today. Survived but was a total mess at Barre. At center, I did alright on some nifty choreography, and then we did little jumps with beats, which I totally killed. It was nice to be able to do something at least!
My lungs protested, though. I am definitely feeling the lack of class. Incentive to get on top of my maths, I guess.
Interestingly, our class was a little more diverse in terms of body types today than it usually is. That was cool. I hope everyone who was here today will keep coming!
Speaking of diversity, it seems that I missed Brian teaching Monday morning class. I couldn’t have done Monday AM class in the first place, but I wish I could have. I would’ve enjoyed seeing how he teaches.
It occurs to me that I have never yet taken a ballet class with a male teacher. It would be dishonest to say that I don’t wonder if taking class with a male teacher would feel different somehow.
Gentle readers, what do you think? Does it feel different to take class with a teacher of the same sex than it does to take class with one of the opposite sex? Or does taking class with a male teacher feel weird somehow because there are fewer male ballet teachers currently teaching? Or is it just, you know, still ballet?
That is one of the things I love about ballet. Different schools and teachers bring different elements to the table, but in the end, ballet is ballet is ballet.
—
Ha, just realized I left out the frustration part. I am way frustrated by not getting to class as often. I feel like I’m losing ground. I’m trying not to ler it get to me, but you know how it is. You love what you love, and when you feel like you’re slipping at the thing you love doing… Yeah. Frustration.
You’re probably familiar with the concept of the three basic somatotypes — ectomorph, mesomorph, and endomorph — first proposed by William Sheldon in the 1950s.
Anyway, I’ve been reading a bit about the whole idea (in part because I’m not sure it’s really based on empirical evidence, and I’m trying to find out if it actually plays out as it’s supposed to), and I’ve run across an interesting hypothesis.
In a few places (here’s one that might be a useful resource for dancers in general), I’ve read that ectomorphs tend to be the most flexible, mesomorphs the least flexible, and endomorphs somewhere in between.
I was surprised by that.
I fall somewhere between the mesomorph and ectomorph types — I’m inclined to call myself a mesomorph with ectomorphic tendencies(1), if I have to describe myself in those terms at all — but I definitely possess the classic mesomorphic traits of explosive power and relative ease in building muscle(2). However, I’ve historically been among the most flexible people I’ve known. Even now, with my lower-body flexibility relatively reduced by the effects of cycling, I’m still among the most flexible people in my ballet classes.
That said, I can’t speak to the flexibility of mesomorphs in general because, frankly, I haven’t known many, and those I have known I’ve known in contexts (hello, gymnastics) that both select for and develop high degrees of flexibility. Out of everyone I know, Brian (aka PDG the First) has the build most like my own, although he’s actually a classic mesomorph (heavier-boned and much more muscular in the upper body than I am) with an extremely low body fat percentage. He’s pretty flexible, but he’s also a professional dancer, which complicates things.
Meanwhile, true ectomorphs in my life have often been fairly inflexible. Denis, for example, is definitely an ectomorph, with the classic “stringy muscles and narrow shoulders” build, and he’s really quite inflexible. My second boyfriend was also an ectomorph, but was probably just about average in the flexibility department. My father was arguably an ectomorph, though one with mesomorphic tendencies (he had a broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped build like mine), and I don’t think he was any more flexible than the average man. Then again, how would I know? Dad kind of hated all sports and, while I think he enjoyed watching ballet, he wasn’t a dancer.
T, from ballet, is decidedly an ectomorph (and a beautiful one) and he’s really quite flexible, but like me he has a gymnastics background. Jim, the other ballet-class ectomorph, seems to be about average in the flexibility department, but he’s also probably in his 70s, and people tend to lose flexibility as they age. It seems like it might be impolite to buttonhole him and say, “Hey, when you were twenty, could you do splits?” There are a host of female ectomorphs in my ballet classes, meanwhile, and most of them seem to be about average in terms of flexibility.
The endomorphs I’ve known, meanwhile, have largely tracked with Sheldon’s theory — they’ve often been fairly flexible, and some of them have been very flexible,
I’m not actually contending, here, that mesomorphs are really the most flexible body type, and I’m not even contending that I’m a good example. I meet the criteria for benign hypermobility joint syndrome(3) and I’ve been involved with gymnastics and dance off and on since pre-school and first grade, respectively. Both of these conditions would probably behave as confounds if I were attempting to do some kind of scientific study, here.
But I’m not. I’m just curious.
What do you think? Where do you fit on Sheldon’s spectrum? Do you find that you adhere to his ideas about flexibility?
~
This whole thought process has also led me to think about ballet, and how dancers self-select. Louisville is a Midwestern city, prone to Midwestern girth lines (though non-scientific observation suggests that Louisvillians tend to be a bit leaner than is typical for the region). With a few brave exceptions, however, my fellow ballet students are overwhelmingly very much leaner than is typical of our region, and indeed leaner than is typical, period.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised by this if I was taking pre-pro track classes, since there are powerful selection pressures involved there, and I am less surprised that my fellow intermediate students tend to be leaner — again, we are subject to a degree of selection pressure, since, presumably, those of us who choose to advance to that level probably have performance-oriented aspirations(4).
What surprises me is that even the Ballet Essentials class tends towards a very lean physique. Given our location, I would expect new adult dancers to be significantly larger. I wonder, though, whether our overwhelmingly-lean class average scares off bigger dancers, or whether perhaps our affiliation with a professional company is intimidating somehow?
I haven’t looked at the adult classes in other local dance schools, for the most part, but I have seen pictures of a couple of the adult groups from other schools, and I would say that their average overall body size was larger.
This makes me wonder how classes already populated with very slim dancers can make bigger dancers feel more welcome. Any ideas? Obviously, just buttonholing people on the way out of class and saying, “Hi! Did you enjoy class? I hope we’ll see you next time!” might help, but are there other, proactive ways to make classes feel more welcoming to people of diverse body sizes?
~
Also, one more semi-related thing: is it just me, or is ballet seriously a harbor for small guys? I’ve noticed that, of the guys in class, most of us are on the small end of average. Some of us are even smaller than that. Even Brian is small (he’s about my height; maybe 5’8″). I want to say that PDG II is a little taller, but not by much. Our two exceptions are T (who isn’t super-tall) and N, who is pretty darned tall.
So, dancers out there — if there are guys in your classes, do they tend to be small? And if so, do you think it’s a selection-pressure thing, or maybe a deselection-pressure thing (since many other sports tend to favor taller guys, maybe smaller guys are more likely to be free to stumble into ballet)?
There’s definitely a selection pressure thing in favor of smaller guys in cycling, for what it’s worth. The same holds true for long-distance running. I would actually expect selection pressures in ballet to select for taller guys (and it does seem to do so at the highest professional levels), but ballet is subject to such complex selection pressures in the US that being tall might actually rather wash out. It’s more important, really, to be brave and confident in one’s own masculinity, and being small is good preparation for that sort of thing. But that, as they say, is “a whole ‘nother” post.
Notes
In case you’re wondering, I have the broad shoulders and relatively narrow hips of a mesomorph coupled with the fine bones of an ectomorph (especially up top; the bones in my legs definitely show the influence of a lifetime of high-impact activity). Some of my joints are the small, flat joins of an ectomorph; others are the whacking great knobs of a mesomorph (I’m looking at you, knees). My musculature falls somewhere in between as well; my legs fairly shout “mesomorph!” while my arms are squarely (or lithely, perhaps?) in the ectomorph camp. I somehow have rather defined pectoral muscles even though I don’t work on them at all at this juncture, and that’s a mesomorph trait; however, if I wrap my fingers around my wrists, the thumb and middle finger overlap — an ectomorph trait. So, there you have it. As always, I refuse to be one thing or the other. Nyah. 😛
Curiously, and contrary to what our culture might lead one to expect, I would contend that I inherited these traits from my Mom. Mom is definitely a mesomorph; she has a medium frame and builds muscle easily. She’s put together like a gymnast — small and strong. Her personality, meanwhile, is best explained in terms of the sport she played in high school: Mom’s 5’3″, but her chosen sport was basketball, and apparently she was pretty good! Mom is the kind of person who everyone thinks is taller until they see her in pictures (especially with my step-Dad, who is almost a foot taller than Mom). I’m guessing she probably just intimidated her way around the court with her towering willpower 😀
I’ve never bothered, before, to really sit down and think about where my parents fall on the continuum of somatotypes, but it’s interesting to do so. I find myself feeling really quite grateful for the genes I inherited. Both my Dad’s family and my Mom’s family tend to be healthy and long-lived (with the exception of those on Dad’s side who have succumbed to the deleterious effects of alcoholism), and I seem to have dodged the hypothyroidism bullet. I won’t claim that I dodged the “addictive personality” bullet, because I know for a fact that I didn’t, but I can say that I’ve grown up with enough awareness and guidance to prevent myself from developing dangerous addictions.
The weirdest and least useful effect of BHJS, for me, is that I have hypermobile joints in my pelvis. Evidently, there’s more laxity in my sacroiliac joints than is usual. As a physical therapist, Denis thinks this is fascinating. As someone whose pelvis does funky things at times, I’m glad Denis is a physical therapist and knows how to put it back where it belongs.
I should note that there’s one really powerful exception: the curviest girl I routinely see at ballet class dances at the advanced beginner/intermediate level, and she’s really very good — she has natural grace, makes beautiful lines, and her technique is excellent. I think her curvy, feminine physique actually lends something unique and special to her dancing, and I’m always concerned when I don’t see her for a few weeks that she’s dropped out because of the otherwise uniformly-ectomorphic body types of the other ladies in class. The girl in question is very probably someone who doctors would classify as “overweight,” which goes to show you that all those categorical labels are rather silly. I suspect she’s just made the way she’s made, and I hope nobody gives her grief about it, because she’s beautiful.
I got my most recent math exam grade on Sunday, and I’m sorry to say that I bombed it. Seriously, it comprised the second-worst grade I’ve earned in the whole of my university career: an actual, honest-to-G-d D. I think I did a little worse on one exam in another math class I took, but I also seem to recall that I had a horrible cold or something (and I earned an A- overall in that class).
Your humble Ballet Squid doesn’t do Ds (in fact, I don’t generally do Bs, even).
Last night, I had a long conversation with Denis about how to amend my schedule to allow for more time to work on math. I had been thinking about putting down either the Monday night or the Wednesday night ballet class for the time being, until either I’m really on top of my math class or the semester comes to a complete stop.
Denis’ suggestion was more radical: since there are only about five weeks left in the semester (not counting Finals Week), he suggested that I step back from the evening ballet classes entirely until finals are done.
I resisted, of course: that wasn’t my plan. That wasn’t what I wanted. And, besides, I told him (and myself), my ballet training is important to my long-term career plans.
And then I thought about it a bit more and came to the following conclusion: ballet is, in fact, immensely important to me. It is also, in fact, important to my long-term career plans. However, my grad school application deadline — the thing for which I need to get my ballet really polished — won’t roll around until December, 2015. My graduation deadline at IUS, meanwhile, is May of 2015, and it would be nice to not have to repeat my math class. The prospect of somehow finding myself still whacking away at my undergrad work after this May because of one little math class is depressing beyond measure. Not gonna do it. Not gonna happen.
As it stands, I can still pull my math grade out of the fire, provided that I do well on the remaining hour exam and on the final exam (which accounts for 25% of my grade o.O). Doing so, however, is going to take some work: right now, I have a class average of 76, which is in serious WTF territory if you’re me, but which isn’t irretrievably bad.
This is entirely the result of the impact of the two exams we’ve had so far. Homework and class participation make up only a tiny fraction of the overall grade for this class, so the fact that my homework and in-class work averages are pretty good (high 90s and low 90s, respectively) doesn’t make any real difference.
I feel like a big part of the problem (besides the usual absolute nightmare where error-checking is concerned; you guys, I am the world’s worst error-checker when it comes to my own work, especially math) is that I just plain forget how to do stuff.
I think part of the reason for that is that my current approach to homework amounts to what People Who Know Things call Massed Practice: in short, I sit down and bang out an entire assignment at once, instead of doing a little each day. I’ve been doing this because assignments are due when they’re due and not getting home until 10 PM two nights a week made it hard to do anything else (and while I can write papers and stuff on the bus, I find it difficult to do math homework on the bus, since it requires juggling paper and pencil and calculator).
I know myself well enough to know that massed practice doesn’t work for me. I just somehow failed to grasp that that was exactly what I was doing.
Anyway, the upshot of all this is that I’m going to try Denis’ approach. He suggested that I take advantage of the Friday morning ballet class to try to keep things moving forward ballet-wise; I think that’s a reasonable goal (because of the bus timing, I also wind up losing a lot less time in transit that way).
I don’t think a more relaxed ballet schedule for a few weeks is going to impact my long-term goals. I am a bit more worried that it might, in fact, impact my mood stability. I’m planning to revert to using the bike for more of my homebound commute as a way of compensating (that makes the trip home quicker, anyway), unless my knee starts bothering me again. We’ll see how that goes. If things start to feel unstable, I’ll try adding one evening class back in and see if it sorts things.
So there you have it. As loathe as I am to admit it, I think that Denis has suggested the best plan for the time being. Here’s hoping it will get my math stuff sorted and I won’t have to repeat my math class (which would kind of hose up my plans for next semester, since I’d actually have to go to campus, which would entail commute time, etc.).
When I was packing our dance bag on Saturday, I noticed that the straps on my Sanshas are sewn in a different spot at the heel than the ones on my Capezio Romeos.
I’ve had issues with the Romeos (which are a touch on the wide side) rolling down at the back, so I decided to try re-sewing the straps. Snipped them just above the seam, then sewed them in again right behind the old spot (pictures to follow, but I’m too lazy to go get my phone right now).
I’m wearing them now, rubbing my heels against my therapy ball (because leather + vinyl = friction) to see if I can get them to peel off.
So far, so good.
I’m going to try them again in class tomorrow. I’m still not sure if I like the little sole pads on the Capezios as much as the ones on the Sanshas. If the adjustment to the heel attachment works as well as I’m hoping, I’ll probably adjust the anchor point at the front as well. Right now, it’s a bit too far forward, so the strongest support is just ahead of my arch. If I move the strap back, I think the Romeos will be even more comfortable.
In other news, Denis and I sat down to listen to the music for my choreography project today. He was having trouble finding the pulse in “The Poet Acts,” and since I’ll probably be working with at least a few non-dancers, we looked around for a piece with a more detectable pulse. We decided on “Escape!” instead, also from The Hours. We’re sorting choreography. He likes my ideas, which makes me feel like maybe they’re not crazy.
Okay, so I’m totally being held hostage by math right now. I am skipping YET ANOTHER ballet class so I can try to actually make a solid grade on my math exam — I want to go in knowing I am 100% on top of this material. This is First World Problems to the max: I have really never had to study before. So, yeah. I apologize to my best friend, Robert, for all those times I was like, “Who needs to study? Screw that! Let’s go run around outside until three in the morning!”
Exam is Wednesday, so on Wednesday night I will be back on the marley dipping (rather than shaking) my tailfeathers like it ain’t no thang. Probably also mixing my metaphors like a grand champion on fire, or whatevs.
Anyway: I am forever reading about ballet (who woulda thunk?!). And I am forever running across articles that read like this:
ZOMG Everyone is afraid that ballet dudes are gay and feminine and stuff! But don’t worry! We are the manliest.
Okay, so they’re usually at least a bit more reasoned than that. But, to be honest, it still ruffles my (tail?) feathers just a little.
Here’s why: sure, a lot of ballet dudes aren’t gay. (Apparently, about half of us? Has anyone done an actual scientific study, here?) On the other hand, a lot of us are gay. (Again, about half of us? Has anyone done an actual scientific study, here?)
And instead of saying, “Yeah, half of us are gay. So?”, we’re terrified of Looking Gay to the Not-Gay Universe. We hold up straight male dancers as shining examples and tuck gay male dancers back into the shadows.
For the record, I will straight-up concur (you know, assuming a gay ballet dude even can straight-up concur?) with the notion that manly ballet dudes are, in fact, the manliest. Seriously. I have done one sport that offered an equivalent degree of physical intensity, and that was Muay freaking Thai, people. You know, pretty much like ballet, only you get to kick people in the face. With your shins (they mostly discourage that in ballet; it puts runs in your tights, which seriously ticks off the costume department and/or whoever pays for your ballet kit).
Ballet dudes are hardmen (so are ballet chicks: if I had to choose between a back-alley brawl with a footballer and a back-alley brawl with a ballet lady, I’d go with the footballer). In fact, ballet dancers are so freaking hard that people have to pretty much chain us to things to make us stop dancing when we’re injured (so we won’t permanently damage ourselves) or ill (so, presumably, we won’t A) go all Closing Scene From Black Swan halfway through class or B) infect the entire ballet universe).
In short, the only thing as determined as an injured ballet dancer is an angry rhino(1).
Seriously, don’t mess with injured dancers.
Even those of us who are little androgynous gay dudes, like me (or, to be fair, tall androgynous gay dudes, like David Freaking Hallberg, Prince of the Universe), are pretty freaking manly even within the bounds of the limited, Western-culture specific definition of the term. We may not sport hulking muscles, but we are freaking strong (and unlike some dudes with hulking muscles, we can generally put our arms down and go through doors without turning sideways).
Like, we push through all kinds of pain on a regular basis — oh, and we have to do it while looking relaxed, or even smiling, and while tossing around full-growned wimmins like they don’t weigh a thing(2). We know how to fail, and fail, and fail, and keep on comin’. And also we have thighs like steel-belted radials. Seriously.
Like, we have the confidence and je ne sais quois to step into our dance belts(3), step out in our tights, look out at the world, and say, “How you like them apples?”
If courage is the yardstick by which manliness is measured, every male ballet dancer in the world (even those of us who aren’t professionals) pretty much wins right there. Sometimes, perhaps counter-intuitively, true manliness means being willing to step outside the “rules” by which men are bound in our culture. It means having the fortitude to say, “Who cares? Imma do me.”
However, at the end of the day, the whole matter of manliness strikes me as a distraction (an important one, I guess, but a distraction, nonetheless). The question I keep hoping to hear someone ask is: “So, yeah, ballet is one of the traditional bastions of the gay male universe. So what? Who cares?”
The thing is, every time we harp on about how manly ballet is, and how it’s a perfectly acceptable occupation or hobby for straight dudes, and how dancing isn’t “feminizing” at all, we’re sort of overlooking a problematical cultural assumption. We’re overlooking the fact that what we’re doing is reinforcing the idea that there’s only one acceptable way to be masculine; that feminine guys are not okay; that women (and other feminine beings) are lesser people.
Instead of saying, “Yeah, there’s room in ballet for masculine guys and not-so-masculine guys, and that’s fine,” we’re forever trying to sweep the association between gayness and ballet-ness under the rug.
I’m sure there are a lot of folks out there who would argue that, right now, that’s kind of what it takes to get straight guys to consider trying ballet (which everyone wants, because everyone wants more guys of any orientation; no argument with that part, here).
I would argue that kowtowing to that paradigm isn’t going to make meaningful change. Yeah, we’ll see a few more straight guys in the studio if we work to convince people that ballet as Acceptably Manly — but I think what’s really going to raise the numbers is the burgeoning acceptance that there’s more than one way to be manly; that you can’t catch The Gay in the locker room; and that even if you could (and you can’t!!! And we don’t want you to!!!), nobody would care.
So there you have it. Generally, ballet asks us to be pretty freaking masculine on stage (in fact, I sometimes find myself mystified by the weird cultural disconnect between American society, which totally fails to grasp that classical ballet dudes can be masculine, and the gender roles in classical ballet, which are about as rigid as they come) — but what’s so wrong with guys who aren’t?
Nothing. That’s what.
One last bit: if you’re a straight guy, and you’re considering taking up ballet, but you’re afraid you’ll be the only straight dude in your class, or your school, or whatever, remember this: regardless of ridiculous pr0n tropes, most gay dudes have no interest in trying to convert you.
Especially not in ballet class, during which nobody has time to think about anything but ballet in the first place. Seriously, if you can think about anything else during class, you’re either some kind of Zen-Master Level Dancer or you or your teacher are doin’ it wrong (or, you know, taking an easy day, I guess).
Meanwhile, the ballet studio is full of intelligent, super-fit women who (if they’re anything like the women in the cycling world) would love to be able to share their passion with the man in their life (assuming, you know, they’re even into men). And some of them are even single.
Okay, and one more last thing: I do appreciate the efforts of people who point out that ballet isn’t emasculate, or whatever, and that ballet dudes are manly. I do appreciate those efforts. I just think we’ve reached a point, as a culture, at which we can start expanding the conversation a bit.
Anyway, one of these days, I’ll get around to writing a serious, well-reasoned, well-researched article about all this stuff. For now, this is just a catch-all for some thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a while. So that’s it.
G’night, everybody. Back to the maths.
Notes
So, um? You guys? If you Google Angry Rhino, it turns out that apparently it means things, um, other than just “furious quadruped.” I had no freaking idea; there were definitely no questionable subtexts intended here. Sorry 😦
Okay, so I haven’t reached the level yet where they let you toss the girls around. BUT I WILL.
Or, you know, alligator-wrestle our way into them, which totally NEVER happens to me. Or at least the dance belt never wins. Man, that elastic is freaking STRONG.
This weekend, we caught Louisville Ballet’s “Studio Connections” performance. It was super cool for many reasons (not least that we got to sit with Claire and T :D). The whole idea was pretty cool: the performance took place in the big studio downtown (the one where company classes and rehearsals are held, as well as the advanced class that I aspire, someday, to join).
Padded bleachers were set up to give the audience somewhere to sit, and we got to watch the dancers “up close and personal.” (It was comforting to know that I’m not alone in sounding like a freight train when I dance while congested). For those of us in the audience who dance, this provided a really great opportunity to observe technique.
I was watching one of the guys when the solution to my waltz balancé problem suddenly materialized in a flash of light (or possibly a glint off a rhinestone; there were definitely some sparkly costumes).
It’s the same problem that was afflicting my arabesques, promenades, and penché — I’ve been dropping my chest for some reason.
When we got home, I tried a more vertically-oriented balancé, and — what do you know — it worked quite nicely (even strung together a little combo — balancé, balancé, pas de bourree, fifth; plie, turn (en de hors); plie, turn (en de hors). The second turn was impeded by the door to the dishwasher, which I’d forgotten to close. Such is Practice At Home.
Anyway, there you have it. I remember noting that Brian’s balancé looked rather different (and, of course, better) than what I was doing, and now I’ve figured out how and why. That feels pretty cool.
So watching ballet is most enjoyable, but it also makes us better dancers.
So, there you go: another excuse to cram all the ballet you can into your eyeballs. You can thank me later 😉
danseur ignoble 