As I sat in the bleachers watching six-year-olds swing their hips and audience members whoop in appreciation, I asked myself a question Nick would later echo: What are we teaching our daughters? I also thought as I sat that the competitive dance scene must be similar to the beauty pageant circuit: stage moms, girls in expensive costumes, painted faces, curled and heavily sprayed up-do’s. Not my scene.
When we signed up for the dance class in October, we weren’t aware that it was a competing team, and by the time we knew, daughter A wanted to continue. So, here we were, having woken early, driven two hours to a 90 minute practice followed by 2 hours for hair make-up (I kid not). I wasn’t thrilled that my 11-year-old daughter wore more make-up than I ever have in my life, but I realized that stage make-up shouldn’t bother me too much—after all, I wouldn’t mind if she wore full make-up to perform in a Shakespeare play. But what put us (N & I) over the edge was that the teacher insisted the girls apply fake-tan make-up, and removed my daughter’s glasses before she performed. Apparently looking a certain way is more important than seeing correctly.
In answer to my above question, then, we’re teaching our daughters that appearance is important. I’m not one to disagree. We constantly judge books by their covers, houses by curb appeal, people by appearance. And how we look, or our perception of how we look, affects the way we act and interact with others. In competitive dance it’s not about finding your perfect individual look, but about everyone achieving “the look.” One group of dancers all wore white boots, flashy green flapper dresses, and long blond wigs. Their look was uniform and striking.
Another small group—only six dancers—was striking in other ways. The first group of the afternoon, they set a high bar for subsequent dancers. Their moves were right on, they all did center splits and standing splits, they were all a similar height and shape (thin), and appeared to be about nine years old. They were so professional that I wondered, Where do they go from here? and How did they get to this point? As I looked around I could glimpse the answers to the questions—from here, they could have long careers competing and winning awards. These girls were on track to be professional dancers, teachers, and judges. And these girls may have started competing at three or four years old.
So, a second message we might be sending our daughters is to train hard and specialize from a young age. I resist the idea that young children should be specialists. I don’t like the idea of 8 year olds having to audition for a dance team. But then I think, why not? Our two oldest children attend schools they had to apply for. Some kids who applied didn’t get in. We’ve never done competitive sports because my kids didn’t want to and because no one ever encouraged them to try out. But some children from a young age show great talent and commitment for a particular sport—shouldn’t they have opportunities to go beyond community sports? I believe in academic gifted and talented programs—shouldn’t there also be gifted and talented programs for dancers?
I guess what bothers me is that it may not be the girls’ dream to be competitive dancers. I don’t like pushy parents and teachers, and I don’t like that we’re teaching our girls to compete. Even if dancers love it, dancing shouldn’t primarily be about competition. Dancing is meant to be seen, yes, but by appreciative audiences; competition is about doing what will please the judges. It’s not necessarily about having fun, developing talents, bringing joy to others, giving everyone equal opportunities to shine. The teachers are aware of what judges are looking for, so they make sure the group has a variety of formations and give solos to top dancers. For one of our group’s routines, the teacher had her young son perform a run of back-flips. The team took first place in their division, and most positive comments were about the boy. One judge commented that the teacher should put him in more, so for the next competition she will. Never mind that he’s not in the class.
Competition can also mean sacrificing oneself for the team. I remember being in a dance line competition in high school. I’d pulled my right hamstring at the competition, but for the final performance the choreographers and advisors suggested I do the splits anyway and heal later (instead, I faked it). Competitive dance certainly isn’t the only place where coaches advise children and teens to work through the pain—football, track, swimming, basketball, baseball, cycling—in every sport you can find coaches who give bad advice (and other coaches who care more about their players than about winning) and players who have suffered serious injury or become addicted to pain killers.
This entry is long and I haven’t even gotten into hip swaying. Frankly, I think it’s cute when my 3-year-old wiggles her hips, so I understand how an audience would think the same about 6-year-olds. Dance is about bodies in motion—dance is sensual. I’m not sure at what point shimmying becomes suggestive. The standing splits show strength and flexibility, as well as the girl’s crotch. I don’t recall any of the dances I saw being overtly sexual, but most were flirtatious. We’re teaching our daughters to pop their chests and wiggle their hips—to flirt with their audience—to what end?
I’m not sure about the answers to my questions. Competitive dance is not my scene, and I hope my daughters decide it’s not theirs. Why? I don’t love the emphasis on appearance, conformity, judging, and competition. On the other hand, I love to dance and think my daughters are good dancers. If they choose to compete, I hope that they can enjoy being part of a team and recognize that eye shadow need not be an everyday thing, life isn’t primarily about pleasing other people, sexy isn’t the same as beautiful, and flirtation should be selectively practiced.
