It’s been over a year since we last took class at a barre and accepted the new normal of taking class virtually, using the kitchen counter or a chair back for balance. And while it was simple back then to vow to take advantage of the new found time we all suddenly had and promise ourselves to get into the best shape we’ve ever been in, to learn a new skill, or perfect the art of the sourdough, it became more and more difficult to maintain that vow the longer the lockdown lasted.

We took barre as best we could in our tiled kitchens, cramped bedrooms, poorly lit basements, even concrete-covered balconies; we took class after class to support local dance businesses and to keep ourselves “in-shape” and maybe even just to keep our spirits high — give us something to look forward to. But the classes died down, businesses had to lay off staff, and artists grew fatigued. Many I know had to move home because they could no longer afford their rent without the pay from gigs or classes to teach; some had to take jobs in administration or other fields to keep up with bills and keep themselves busy. Many — myself included — lost the motivation or even the desire to dance.

And this hit us all hard, not only because it was a loss we felt in our expression as artists and creative movers, but further because it felt like we were mourning who we knew we once were and who we were becoming because of the pandemic: languished, fatigued, and lonely. We began mourning and noticing our muscles stiffening, our joints creaking, our energy waning. And this feeling of listlessness was only worsened by our now dissociation of ourselves. If we were no longer the slim, energetic, turned-out, arched-footed, flexible dancer we once were, who were we anymore?

A year later, I still don’t really know the answer, but I think it’s someone different. Maybe better.

While the promise of vaccinations and safe returns to dance on the horizon is encouraging, if a bit intimidating, it’s still worrisome that my worth as a dancer, as an individual, will be measured by my weight, my lines, my abilities, my strength, my flexibility. But largely speaking, we’re all in the same proverbial boat, and maybe this will change things.

Gia Kourlas writes in “What Is a Ballet Body” that the standards post-COVID may actually be changing because of a shift in aesthetics and standards for diversity. In an interview with Lauren Lovette, a renowned ballet dancer, Kourlas recognizes a shift in expectations for ballet dancers, namely in their weight, shape, and aesthetics — one that recognizes that bodies are diverse and unique and ought to be watched for movement quality, musicality, personality, rather than lines and uniformly skinny bodies.

I think it goes further. I think that this is offering us a chance to examine movement with perhaps a fresh slate to examine movement from a new, healthier perspective that is not reliant on unachievable and inequitable standards. And we must do so by ensuring that when we return to dance, that this is not what we’re defined by.

I know I’ll be anxious to start again, still feeling largely disconnected with my body, having lost a lot of my turn-out, flexibility, cardio endurance, and strength. I know I’ll have to work hard to bring myself back to the body I used to use in my regular practice, and will have to get used to training regularly again mentally and physically. But I also know that this feeling of dissociation I feel with my body is informed by a lot of lies we’ve been fed as dancers, as human beings in a pandemic. And now is the time to be expunging them from our muscle memories.

For one, it is not important or even reasonable to be more or less “productive” during a global pandemic. There is a lot of uncertainty, a lot of pain, and a lot of mourning that has happened in the past year, and that should not be ignored or smoothed over by a certain level of productivity. What’s more, your productivity should not define your worth as a person, worker, or dancer.

For another, it is not inherently bad to have gained weight. Whether in a pandemic or not, the age-old narrative that has been forced upon dancers is dangerous and fat-phobic and not truthful or fair in any way. And while we joke about gaining COVID weight to poke fun at ourselves or try to reason with why our bodies look the way they do today in comparison to how they used to look however long ago, it’s unfair to perpetuate the idea that this is a negative result of the past year — as much as we laugh and shrug it off.

It’s important to remember that — even for those who mostly find training good for their mental health — it’s okay to take time away from dancing, exercising, and stretching for a while. That does not make you any less of a dancer. Neither does your weight — whether you have or will continue to gain, lose, or fluctuate in your weight in the years to come, especially in times of uncertainty and distress — nor the rolls on your stomach, nor the loss of strength in your biceps, nor the loss of external rotation in your legs, nor the loss of your foot, hip, or back flexibility. Nor does your ability or desire to be part of a performance or an online or in-person class. Nor does your ability to be financially supported solely by your art.

These lies that have been forced upon us as dancers, as humans, have consumed us enough as it is, and I think we owe it to ourselves to no longer allow these to overwhelm us any further.

In a pandemic or not, your value is not determined by your weight. It is not determined by your strength and endurance. It is not determined by the shape of your body or the fit of your clothes. It isn’t, and you deserve to remind yourself that it isn’t.

References:

The ballet body: what it is and what it isn't