Ballet dancer - Graphics by Sunny Wei ‘23
By Zora Lotton-Barker ’25
Staff Writer & Copy Editor
I have been dancing for as long as I can remember: since I started movement classes at the Lawrence Arts Center in my hometown at the age of two.
When I was around four or five, I was deemed ready to start ballet. By the time I was 14, I had been accepted into the Lawrence Ballet Theater, the pre-professional dance company at my studio. Throughout high school, I was a member of this company, adding more and more hours to my schedule to meet the demands of dancing at such an intense level. I went to the University of Kansas Dance Intensive every summer and participated in several productions a year, as well as worked with visiting choreographers who set pieces for the company.
I am very fortunate to have had the opportunity to dance seriously, but it was not always sunshine and rainbows.
For years, I have struggled with severe body dysmorphia because of the unattainable aesthetic of the white, slim, tall ballerina with long legs and hardly any fat or curves apart from lean muscle. The image of the perfect ballerina that I grew up with was a dainty size zero — and I was not that. Even at a size six, I was the biggest girl in my company — something that is very telling of the culture that has been cultivated by the ballet community.
Though I was never directly told to lose weight, the implication was always there. I was surrounded by mirrors, participating in an art that asked me to analyze my every movement for the sake of improvement.
Constant comparison to an unattainable ideal can be incredibly harmful, especially in your adolescent years, a time in which you start to build a relationship with your body. I am not alone in this struggle, it is a phenomenon felt by many dancers.
This trend was noted by Josh Spell, former mental health consultant and dancer for the Pacific Northwest Ballet in Seattle, in a 2020 interview with Dance Spirit.
“This standard of the thin body as a dance ideal has been passed down from generation to generation,” Spell said. “It’s definitely the Balanchine model, those long legs.”
The Balanchine model describes the ideal dancer, as envisioned by George Balanchine, an extremely influential choreographer and public figure in the dance world. He is even recognized for his own style of ballet, which is practiced widely around the world.
For Balanchine, the perfect ballerina was one that was “tall and slim to the extent of having no figure with long necks, long legs and short torsos,” according to Twirl, the Art and Science of Movement.
Sarah Lynette, a writer on Medium.com, observed the way ballet had impacted her relationship with her body.
“Before I was even 10 years old, a self-awareness of my own weight compared to that of my peers colored my perception of my placement in the world,”' Lynette said. “I soon recognized that, perhaps more so than the young dancers around me, I was expected to ‘earn my keep’ by compensating for my comparatively large proportions.”
One of the reasons that body dysmorphia is so common among dancers is because in some cases, our mentors fail to acknowledge body positivity and mental health. Dancers are often dismissed when they raise complaints related to a myriad of issues, including body image, injuries and mental health.
In my sophomore year of high school, I was on the verge of breaking down in a rehearsal, both because of my frustration with my movement quality and an undiagnosed mental illness. My director described my state as merely an “off day” and encouraged me to keep working.
The problem of body dysmorphia stems from a long cycle of silencing dancers in the name of art. Rather than acknowledging the harmful practice of companies and teachers pushing dancers to the brink, the dance industry continues to reinforce its problems by promoting unachievable standards.
I believe that if I had been given the opportunity to have open and honest conversations about mental health and body image with my fellow dancers from a young age, I would have a very different relationship with my body.
The only way the long lasting tradition of body dysmorphia in dancers will change is if major ballet companies commit to drastically changing their modus operandi, coupled with reformation of how ballet is taught to children and adolescents. Change is possible, but real improvement will not occur until the ballet world is willing to let go of the damaging aesthetic of the thin body.