![]() Then, there were the microaggressions: compliments about “the Black girl’s” abilities after naming everyone else on the dance team. “Even though I’m grateful that we had dance instructors who always went to bat for her, a lot still fell on me … things the other moms didn’t even have to think about doing.” It meant trying out countless swatches to find makeup that would fit a costume requirement but still match her daughter’s deep golden-brown skin. ![]() It meant frequently straightening her girl’s waves and curls, which can cause heat damage. That meant hunting down “mocha” tights and spray painting her daughter’s shoes to match. While Wright has had the fortune of instructors who have made an effort to tweak the dress code to include her daughter, the work still fell on her. Let’s start with the standard dress code of a black unitard and tan or blush tights and blush ballet shoes, all meant to match “skin tone,” and makeup and hairstyle uniformity, which favor paler shades and straight hair. My sister, Tierra Wright, recalled some of the challenges she and her daughter have faced while navigating the dance world, where nonwhite kids can learn very quickly that they are different. However, the journey hasn’t always been easy. Her dogged determination and infinite family support have helped her aim for peak performance she puts in the long, hard hours, stretching her body and her will toward perfection, and she makes it look effortless. This year, she signed with a pre-professional Houston dance company. She has since placed in statewide, regional and national competitions. My 14-year-old niece has been dedicated to dance since she was 3, when her parents learned that tutus and tap shoes were not a phase. My own experience with the biases that fuel the dearth of racial and ethnic diversity also brought to mind recent successes, such as last weekend’s production of “Houston’s Urban Nutcracker,” the vision of dancer Traci Greene who founded the Culture Arts Initiative, a nonprofit focused on helping dancers of color with training expenses, opportunities and exposure.īut many of the same challenges I faced some 30 years ago still hit close to home. Sign up for the HouWeAre newsletter here. We want to foster conversation and highlight the intersection of race, identity and culture in one of America's most diverse cities. ![]() And the dance world still has a diversity problem. ![]() Misty Copeland is a household name and 21st century pioneer who in 2015 became the first Black woman to be promoted to principal dancer in American Ballet Theatre’s 82-year history.īut while the vision is long, the list remains disproportionately short for ballet dancers of color. Societal advancement has seen the likes of Lauren Anderson and Karina González, the Houston Ballet’s first Black and Latina principal dancers, respectively. I learned later that the “typical ballet physique” was some Eurocentric ideal, that the professional American dance industry is very white, and of course I am very … not. I didn’t attend another ballet class after that. Therefore, the “change” had to be because I am Black, I concluded. But then I took a good look around me and realized the crucial difference, that had frankly become so much a constant in my everyday youth I hadn’t considered it: I was the brown face in the studio. And while I could be a tad clumsy and trip-over-my-own-feet awkward when I was not dancing, I showed surprising grace and poetic ease when I was.īut - and their voices lowered - you know, their bodies always change, and when they do, they don’t fit the typical ballet physique.īetween demi-pliés and pirouettes, I mused - half-curious, half-horrified - about what deformity or handicap my petite, long-limbed body would acquire like the rest of them. I didn’t care about the plots or character development I was spellbound by the dancers’ marriage of movement and music.ĭuring one particular class, when I was around 11, I overheard my instructors talking about my progress during a break: I had a ton of potential and natural ability, body control and poise. When I’d hear the theme song from the “Fame” TV series, I would drop what I was doing and watch the screen, transfixed, waiting to see Lydia (played by Houston native and dance icon Debbie Allen) or Coco or Leroy glide across my screen, taut, yet pliant and majestic, like something only semi-bound to earth.
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