dance happens.

I remember getting dressed for dance class.  I would open up my overflowing drawer of tights and leotards, pull out my shimmery tan stirrup tights, grab that hot pink and gray leotard with high cut leg openings, rummage for my trash-bag shorts and get dressed.  Then, of course, I’d have to look for the matching scrunchie to wrap around my bun and spritz a little more Aqua Net on my feathered bangs before tossing my half soles and jazz boots in a bag to wait for my ride.  This was typical practice for years. I never thought anything was wrong with my “look” until I was told so.

My first visit to the Martha Graham Studios welcomed me with a sea of black.  Girls with slick hair and neat, unadorned wardrobe filled my classes and quickly I learned that fashion was not helping my practice.  Slowly, I began to tone down the neon- and sparkle-filled attire and settled on a uniform more subdued.  This simple wardrobe has stuck with me through college and into the present.  The standard set by me and my co-workers influences our students, who also suit up in in shades of black, gray and muted jewel tones.  We all look pretty boring, really. But we’re efficient.

This simple wardrobe allows the dancers and the instructors to asses placement and lines.  Cleaning choreography is (more of a) breeze when dancers are dressed uniformly.  The list goes on and on.

                             But fashion has a way of catching up with you.

A few weeks ago I went to a dance workshop.  I had no idea what types of classes I would be taking, so I did what my mom told me to do every day as a child as I prepared for school: dress in layers.  On went the tights, the leotard (both black).  Then I dug up some shorts, warmup pants, a tank top, a baggy tee and a hoodie.  In the bag I put ballet slippers, sneakers, tap shoes, socks, character heels etc. I felt prepared for the dance-pocalypse.

Steeping into the large hall where the day’s events would unfold, I quickly realized I was that girl in the Graham Studios all over again… and in reverse.  My minimalism was met with audacity. Girls in booty shorts and knee socks, one rocking a “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” tee. Boys in sweats and backward baseball caps, intending to wear the hat throughout class.  I thought, “ok, maybe hip hop is the first class” and I laced up my sneakers.  Then the instructor walked in.  Up first: ballet.

I took off the sneakers and dug up my ballet slippers. Off went my tee shirt and the warmup pants.  I prepared for ballet.  I was the only one.  Dancers took the floor in an array of clothing one would expect to see in a shopping mall.  Hair down, knee socks up, these ladies thought they were ready for ballet.  The instructor turned to face the class and wryly stated

“Wow, what colorful ballet slippers you all have”

People softly chuckled, seemingly oblivious to her annoyance and their blatant disrespect.

There has been a shift in dance fashion over the years, and I totally missed it. It feels like the dance basics I have come to know have all but disappeared.  It makes sense that in our individualized and personalized iWorld, people want to embrace their unique style and carry it into their art.  But how far is too far?  When is your style impinging upon the class and the lessons to be learned?

Isn’t it ironic that as pubic schools are adapting uniform programs for their students, dancers in private dance schools are becoming more and more less uniform, bucking the traditions of attire? There must be a compromise somewhere in here, where booty shorts and European pink tights can coexist, where the grinch tee and a wrap skirt can be friends.

Dance is founded in tradition but evolves through individual perspective.  A strong, well-educated dancer understands both the foundations and the potential futures of their art. And their wardrobe can do the same.  So I say rock that graffiti-print sweatshirt and neon socks.  Just have your leotard and tights on underneath.