Ballet class is an odd phenomenon. It is many things to many people. For some it’s just exercise that is not death-defyingly dull, like running, or doing stuff on a machine that goes nowhere, and where the scenery never changes.
Then there are professional and aspiring professional dancers, who are in class to train seriously, stay in fighting shape, and/or warm up before rehearsal.
Alongside them are the ex-dancers, in various stages of decrepitude. Most of us should no longer be on stage and know better than to try. We do okay in class, though, and know when to get out of the way of the young studs with their triple pirouettes en dedans and all that kind of business. Still we worry, rightly, that we won’t know when enough is enough.
Which brings me to: the totally delusional. There is one in every single open ballet class ever held anywhere on earth. Ex-dancers most fear becoming a version of the following:
Pointe Shoe Lady: shoves feet as inflexible as balsa wood boats into pointe shoes, hoists herself onto her pointe shoes by lifting her shoulders really really high, and careens around, putting all around her in mortal danger. Thinks she is preparing for a career with the Royal Swedish Ballet, despite the fact that she’s 50 years old and can’t straighten her leg.
Plastic Surgery Woman: appears at least once a month with an enhanced body part. Two new sets of breasts, silicone-injected lips, liposuction. She too wears pointe shoes, expensive, heavy-looking jewelry, and carefully coordinated outfits. The major point of her being there is to look into the mirror and sigh with satisfaction at her balletness – her shoes, and arabesque, which she hoists behind her without regard to who might be back there ducking frantically to avoid a foot in the gut. She is the most unmusical person you have ever seen and you can't help thinking this whole ballet fantasy figures pretty seriously in the life she has with her very rich husband.
Guy Who Can Only Turn: can’t cover space, can’t jump, can’t dance at all, but boy can he turn. So that’s all he does, stands there in the middle of the room, turning, while admiring himself in the mirror.
The Professionally Skinny: nothing matters to this type but her skinniness. She is only in class to stay skinny and to be able to spend a full hour and a half looking at her skinniness in the mirror and comparing herself to other Not Skinny people. She can hardly lift her arm because she has eaten only half a carrot and a piece of bubble gum since the beginning of the week, and wanders around in a state of wan skinniness.
Don’t get me wrong. I love people who can’t dance and who relish the many ways in which they can't. I love the near-sighted 60-year-old woman in a figure skating skirt with her underwear showing. Or the schizophrenic in the sari who keeps going over to the corner and standing on her head. As long as they stay out of the way, I don’t care who comes to class. But the truly delusional are always in the way.
So if I every become one of them – if I am ever spotted in the middle of the room admiring my fine epaulement while someone is trying to do grande allegro around me, please, please point me in the direction of the nearest happy hour.
Great character descriptions. Don't worry, we'll keep you true.
Posted by: Amy Kweskin | February 12, 2009 at 09:01 AM
Phew. Any sign of a pointe shoe and you should lock me in the garage.
Posted by: Lisa Okuhn | February 12, 2009 at 06:48 PM
this made me crack up laughing. very acute.
Posted by: sdn | February 23, 2009 at 01:57 AM
I seriously have deals with SEVERAL people: DO NOT LET ME BECOME CRAZY OLD BALLET LADY in the back of the room.
Please.
Your descriptions are perfect....
Posted by: Nancy | February 26, 2009 at 02:37 PM
If I see you changing your flowered chiffon skirt more than once during the course of one barre I will take you DOWN!
Posted by: Lisa Okuhn | February 27, 2009 at 01:36 PM