Body Shaming In Dance: It Needs To Stop
When my introverted self went to my first Jazz class at age four, I felt beautiful, confident, and free. There was a lightness to the way I moved, and a fearlessness that only a content child could truly possess. And for nine more years, dance continued to make me feel that tenacity. I was thirteen before the thought of quitting even crossed my mind.
It all changed in the summer holidays leading up to year nine; my dance teacher signed me up for an advanced dance workshop, where two professional choreographers would create an original contemporary routine. Three of the best dancers would receive a prize at the end of the workshop.
As a young and shy dancer, the nerves slowly ate away at me as I entered the large studio. I pulled at my stretchy harem pants and crop top to ensure my love handles weren’t apparent. I mingled with the other dancers and sucked my stomach in as hard as I could. I had been dancing for years, but all these other girls — most of them slimmer, with long, ‘elegant’ legs, protruding collar bones, and no love handles — had been dancing just as long. Why was I so different? What was wrong with me?
Here I was, thirteen and excited about being part of the best opportunity so far in my dance career, but also worried about how fat I looked. But I distracted myself from any worries and convinced myself I’d do well. After all, dance had been my life for years. The class went amazingly. My movements were fluid, vibrant, vivacious. I moved with attitude. At some point, one of the choreographers called my name. I froze.
“Move up to the front row,” she said, and I beamed. The front row was reserved for dancers. For the best dancers. “Now,” she said, “do the routine again. From the top.”
Later, in the changing room, one of the other dancers — Gabby — came up to me.
“You did so well,” she said, her smile wide. “You’ll definitely win a prize, I reckon.”
Gabby had been in the front row earlier, and she wasn’t a petite dancer by any means.
“Maybe…I don’t know. We both could,” was all I told her, but honestly, I was confident — I wasn’t sure if I would win a prize, but I definitely had a shot.
I was still beaming when I left the changing room and overheard the two professional choreographers talking in the hallway. I paused, leaning in to listen.
“Nina’s pretty good,” one of the choreographers said. “She could get third?”
“I don’t know, maybe. She’s good, but her size…”
“Yeah,” the other said. “Probably too heavy for a serious future in dance.”
I felt a dread bubbling up from my stomach.
“That other girl, Maya, should win a prize.”
“Really? She’s not even that good.”
“Yeah but she has potential,” the other said. “Plus, she has the body for it.”
Later, they called everyone for their prizes. It wasn’t much: a gift card and a trophy, some scattered applause. But instead of calling me up for third place, they called Maya, who stumbled forward and said something about how she really didn’t think she was good enough. Gabby glanced at me, her lips twisted downwards and her eyes rimmed with tears. I held myself together until I was in the car.
Mum picked me up and drove home through a summer rainstorm. She hadn’t noticed my red-rimmed eyes.
“I don’t think I want to dance anymore,” I said to her.
She glanced at me briefly.
“No?”
“I’m too clumsy,” I lied. “I’m not any good at this.”
She glanced at me after stopping at a pedestrian crossing.
“You’re a great dancer.”
“But I’m not good enough to be professional,” I said. “I’m not a natural.”
She turned back to the road.
“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
I never did tell my mum, or anyone else, what the choreographers had said. Eventually my shock turned into something else, the same knowing feeling that I’d felt coming into the space even before I heard what they said. After all, I’d been concerned about sucking my stomach in, about how my flesh spilled over the top of my harem pants.
I returned to dance recently, at twenty-three, and think about how much time I’ve lost. It took ten years to stop thinking and caring so much about what others thought about me. There were a whole lot of things that made me overcome this obstacle; it wasn’t just any one thing. Believe it or not, social media helped in many ways; I joined Twitter in 2015, a year where I constantly beat myself up for being ‘too fat.’ From there, I was exposed to users all around the world of all different shapes and sizes, who built each other up, regardless of race, gender, religion, sexuality or weight. Artists like Lizzo, who defies the mainstream image with her curves and plus-size positivity, were also huge encouragements for me.
The classes I go to now are less self-serious, full of girls like the one in the changing room who had the soul of a dancer, regardless of what her body looked like. These new classes are full of talented people who don’t necessarily look how they stereotypically should, and we’re all getting over the feeling of being sequestered: moved to the front of class but never allowed to win, robbed of our grace, our sophistication, our confidence and freedom. We are only just now learning to get these things back. Now, when I dance, I get compliments on my form and technique, not my body; I’ve discovered what the true prize is.
