Pointes and Perspective #55 Dress The Part

Dress The Part

A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending the Mid-Atlantic Dance Educators Summit for the second time. Last year I was a speaker and this year I returned as an attendee. One of the people I was most looking forward to meeting was William Waldinger from the Joffrey Ballet.

It's funny how every now and then you meet someone for the first time, yet it feels as though you've been sharing the same conversation for years.

William and I had remarkably similar paths. Neither of us spent decades performing professionally, but both of us have devoted our lives to teaching. We shared many of the same influences, having both studied under teachers such as Madame Gabriela Darvash, Dorothy Lister, and Meredith Baylis, and share a deep appreciation for ballet's history and traditions. During the Summit, I joined Bill in a room full of dance educators discussing a question that seems simple on the surface, but really isn't.

How do we help students fall in love with ballet?

The conversation wandered through ballet's rich history, classroom etiquette, and the traditions that have been handed down for generations. One thing became very clear to all of us. Ballet has changed, and rightly so. It no longer belongs to one body type, one background, or one definition of beauty. Every dancer deserves to feel welcome in a ballet classroom, and I hope that inclusivity continues to shape the future of our art.

But there are some traditions I hope we never lose. Not because they're old-fashioned. Because they're meaningful.

The discipline of standing a little taller when you enter the studio. The respect shown when acknowledging your teacher. The language that connects dancers around the world. The quiet rituals that remind us ballet is more than movement, it is a culture, an art form, and a shared history.

Then one educator asked a question that changed the direction of the conversation.

She explained that many of her students didn't want to change into ballet clothes anymore. They complained that tights and leotards were uncomfortable, and she wondered if anyone had found a way to help students embrace the ballet uniform.

I raised my hand.

I asked everyone in the room, "If you were auditioning for a Bob Fosse production tomorrow, what would you wear?" Immediately, everyone smiled. Character heels. Leggings. Maybe a crop top. Hair styled just right.

"If you were going to a hip-hop audition?" Baggy pants. Sneakers. A hoodie.

"And if you were auditioning for ballet?" Without hesitation, everyone answered. A leotard. Tights. Ballet slippers. Hair secured neatly.

It made me wonder why we so naturally accept dressing the part for every other style of dance, yet sometimes hesitate to encourage the same excitement for ballet.

Maybe we're asking the wrong question. Maybe the goal isn't convincing students to wear a leotard. Maybe it's helping them understand what that uniform represents.

When I was a little girl, getting ready for ballet class was one of my favorite parts of the week. I remember wandering through the silk flower aisle at McCrory's Five & Dime, searching for just the right flower to tuck beside my bun. I would carefully choose the tiniest dangling earrings that made me feel elegant without getting in the way. I loved putting my hair up perfectly. I loved slipping on my tights and ballet slippers, and my pink wrap skirt.

When I looked in the mirror, I didn't just see a little girl. I saw a ballerina. And because I saw one, I carried myself differently. I stood a little taller. I moved a little more gracefully.

The clothing didn't make me a ballerina. But it invited me to become one.

As I drove home from the summit, I found myself thinking that perhaps we, as educators, can do a better job of creating that same excitement for today's students. Not by insisting on a dress code, but by sharing the story behind it. By helping students understand that every ribbon tied, every bun pinned, every skirt wrapped around the waist connects them to generations of artists who came before them.

Maybe we also have an opportunity to model that joy ourselves. No, we don't all need to teach dressed like the great ballerinas of another era. Comfort matters when you're teaching all day. But perhaps adding ballet slippers over our compression  socks, wearing a wrap skirt now and then, or taking a little extra care in how we present ourselves quietly communicates something to our students - That this matters. This art deserves our respect. And you belong here.

The funny thing about writing is that once an idea begins tugging at me, it seems to follow me everywhere.

This morning, I opened Facebook and the first post I saw was from John Clifford. He shared a wonderful story about the legendary Alexandra Danilova, affectionately known as "Choura," and how impeccably she dressed every time she taught at the School of American Ballet. Not a hair out of place. She once told him, "I must set example for my girls. How will they know how to be ballerina if they don't have example?"

I couldn't help but smile. Only days after sitting in a room full of educators asking how we inspire students to embrace ballet's traditions, one of ballet's great teachers had quietly answered the question decades ago. Not with rules. With inspiration.

Perhaps that's what our students need most. Not to be told they have to wear ballet clothes. But to discover why they might want to.

To understand that dressing the part isn't about perfection, conformity, or appearances. It's about stepping into a tradition, honoring an art form, and seeing in the mirror not just the dancer you are today, but the ballerina you're becoming.

As teachers, perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give our students is helping them fall in love with that feeling.

Because when a young dancer feels like a ballerina, she just might begin to dance like one.

And it all may start by simply inspiring them to…

…dress the part.