Sexism in the Dance Department

With as much as the arts brag about being on the cutting edge of weighty issues, I would assume a dance program to be the last place I would encounter something as primeval as sexism against women. An interesting point is that the dance world is mostly dominated by women, except for that men are still largely the ones in power. Here at our lovely college in the Western Hemisphere of Oregon, it is rampant. It takes an odd spin, however. The girls are most definitely not treated badly or disrespected. Five of our six faculty members are women and highly esteemed and respected. Sexism attacks in the form of overt favoritism shown to the one male dancer in the department. Apparently, he can do no wrong. While the rest of us, namely the women in the program, are required to work our tails off to get the smallest of compliments, everyone's favorite male can shit a brick, inducing everyone to moon and moan. I in no way resent working hard, recognizing that that is how it ought to be. There should be something required of us to succeed. I want to be challenged and pushed. But the requirement should be equal of all, male and female alike. I readily admit that it is a personal offense, but it also goes far beyond that. It is a sick picture of a blatant bigotry. Even though said male has no technique, and too big an ego to ever be able to gain that technique, he will succeed in this place of education because he will be verily revered from now until he graduates or decides to take himself elsewhere (which he won't, because elsewhere he would likely be required to work).

I have encountered the problem before. Perhaps it is an age old struggle, the problem being there will always be those people in your life who do nothing, give nothing of themselves, and are rewarded for their non-effort. While the rest of us give everything we have and more and never get credit, never hear anything but how we need to work harder and give more, these people are invariably worshiped. Put on a pedestal, they are incapable of fault or folly.

As I sit and rant in my frustration, I begin to see the true evil and tragedy of this sort of life. In a nut shell, there is no growth because their is no challenge. No roots will grow deep because there is no resistance of wind. While it looks like a disservice those of us required to work, the reality is that lifting someone up in this manner is only damaging. Either they will one day face adversity, totally unprepared for the challenge, perhaps to crumple and be destroyed or they will simply never grow, reaching the end of their lives as an incomplete person. Both are tragic. This is a good perspective to reach, realizing that although life is hard and uncomfortable, we will always be required to rise to one occasion or another and therefore have the opportunity to be the best we can be. Sadly, the male dancers in our lives will never have that opportunity, as it has already been taken away from them.

The point is that learning should always continue. No matter how far your potential has been pushed, there are always new horizons to be explored, there is still knowledge and experience to take place. For the majority of us this takes place everyday, in getting out of bed, in making it to class on time, in completing homework assignments. I never have to look for challenge, which is almost a luxury. I will always be challenged, as long as I am living life.

As much as a display of sexism pisses me off, there is perspective to be gained from the experience, just as with anything else. Because I'm a woman in a female dominated field, I will never become stagnant in my growth, except of my own choosing. Not only in technique and creativity, but more often in the people I am required to dance with everyday, I will always have a new adventure, pleasant or not, waiting for me around the next corner. Hopefully, I will learn to approach this with maturity rather than in bitterness, seeing the reality that it is simply a challenge to me and disservice to the dance gods around me.

Bubble Gum Wrapper

Taylor Swift has a new bubble gum pop song out called “Love Stories” that is enough to make me vomit. It is nauseating in its sentimental use of the word love and its gross desecration of Shakespearean art. I have been contemplating it for several days and finally realized that it is more than just the above stated problems that make this song grate so fully on my nerves; apart from a sappy repeating melody, it is full of blatant and disgusting lies. The very concept rings foully in my ears. It is drawn from the tragic Romeo and Juliet and takes pride in completely distorting this great work. Supposedly, this play is a great love story. However, this has not been my understanding and I believe it to be a cultural-wide misconception. Specifically, the play is an accurate representation of obsession and the selfish pursuit of a desire, without regard for the damage left in its wake. I am struck by the gall of Romeo in deliberately wanting a girl who is already forbidden because of family feuding. The fact is that a mature, thoughtful person would take care in heeding the consequences of stepping so far out of familial code. Whether it was carelessness or rebellion, Romeo's very first actions are dubious, in that they invite disaster upon him and his family. As thrilling as forbidden love seems, the basic concept is wrought with destruction. The root is our human desire for wanting what we can't have and selfishly carrying out that desire, without regard to the aftermath. It is this that makes me believe that Romeo and Juliet is not a great love story, but a picture of fixation and the egocentric fulfillment of that lust, based on a first and only contact. All in all, it is probably for the best that the young lovers died. Otherwise, they would have lived on in a miserable marriage, after the desire burned itself out, because it was based on nothing more.

It is at this point in your reading when you will assume me to be dyslexic in my thinking, when I unashamedly state that the greatest love story in all of Shakespeare's writing is The Taming of the Shrew, another play commonly misinterpreted by pop culture and ironically considered to be a comedy, a fact which proves to be refreshing. In dealing with the icky stickies of love, it is fortifying to find something to laugh about, to be able to look at the mishaps and confusions with a sense of humor, regardless of how painful things are apt to become. Our introduction here is to a frustrated young woman, who is “acting out,” if you will, vexed by her manipulative younger sister, Juliet... I mean, Bianca and a foolish father. (Just for clarifications sake, in the original play, there is no abuse taking place. Petruchio is not a wife beater, but simply shows Kate the consequences of her actions by treating her the way she treats others.) Petruchio's wooing of Kate is anything but gentle, but it is authentic. Our hero is challenged to man up and work hard to win The Shrew's love, changing flaws in himself while pointing out her own, in a markedly unconventional way. (The way in which Petruchio romances Kate, with a completely original approach, is particularly appealing.) He goes in pursuit of a legendary shrew, finds a hurt woman, and immediately rises to the occasion. It is a picture of God's love and discipline for us, but also a romance that I see happening around me. There is a certain softening that takes place simply by being cherished, but more than that there is a need to be challenged in action, simply to know what requires work. Who wants to be left floundering in confusion of what needs improvement? The desire is for someone to care enough to gently point out flaws. This is exactly what I admire in Petruchio, a man who will not allow the woman he loves' flaws be disregarded. Petruchio is ever patient, but not blind to our heroine's failings, just as she is not blind to his. She is in the end esteemed by her decisions, lifted up by her own choice, cherished by her husband. It isn't perfect, it isn't simple, but it is real and infinitely more beautiful, because we are not shielded from the nails on the chalkboard. The wooing is dangerous and violent, but it is genuine and gives hope to the rest of us, who can't manage a Romeo and Juliet love story, who want something more than a winsome infatuation.

There is a quote from the movie “Take the Lead” about the leader and follower in partner dancing. When told that it is the man's job to lead, a young woman asks, “What, so he can think he's boss?” Antonio Banderas responds with, “But he's not. He proposes the step. It is your choice to follow.” This is a beautiful metaphor of relationships, where it is always the woman's choice to accept leadership from a man, just as Kate finally accepts Petruchio's leadership, taking the pressure off of her to be anything but herself, to act stronger than she actually is, finally allowing her to truly find her independence and selfhood.

In contrast, we see Luctretio's obsession with Bianca, Kate's little sister, and Romeo's fixation on Juliet. (An aside, the whole fixation thing is really very creepy. Its what leads to stalker behavior and movies like Twilight.) Neither can find fault with their ladies, and so have no understanding of what is happening in the relationship, content to simply have a prize to hang on their arms. This is the most dangerous part of obsession, the inability to see flaw (this is true for the man and woman). There is nothing solid or real about the contact, it is all surface level and will wear off alarmingly quickly, as aforesaid, when lust wanes. Also, there is nothing required of the man in wooing or maintenance and so he is likely to get bored or resentful. Unfortunately, we do not see where Romeo's and Juliet's marriage would have taken them, but we do see Bianca's and Lucretio's relationship defects, Bianca's manipulative lording over her husband in a manner somehow akin to a female dog.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am a feminist; I have considered myself as such for years. I am about women's rights. But the way in which I exercise and wisely use my rights looks different now than it has previously. It is more subtle and counter intuitive, where my right is exercised in choosing to follow. No one can make me do that, it is something I do of my own accord. By choosing to do so, I give power to and strengthen a relationship.

This is why Taylor Swift's song irritates me so fully. It has nothing to do with the realities of love or relationship, the ugliness of working through problems, the agony of being in partnership with another flawed human. Love is not always pretty, just as Kate's and Petruchio's romance is gritty and complicated, and not something that would successfully sell a bubble gum pop song.

Thoughts for a Rainy Day

Supposedly, Oregonians don't use umbrellas. I think that this is both ridiculous and untrue. I have been a resident of Oregon for the whole course of my natural life, so far, and I will at times resort to the use of an umbrella, preferring to use a tool that allows me to arrive at my destination dry and comfortable rather than acting like I think I'm hardcore and arriving wet and shaking and angry at the population of Oregon for 'not using umbrellas.' My personal umbrella is blue, a very comforting color when you are trying to avoid rainfall and water in general, and it has a rain flap on the top, just like you would find with a tent, only its on my umbrella and if it didn't have it, there would be a hole in the top. As ingenious as this design may be... I have a small problem with the general structure of these rain guards. While placing the handle in the middle is wonderfully symmetrical and satisfies our eye, it makes zero sense. How many times have you tried to hide under an umbrella (assuming you are not an Oregonian, because Oregonians don't use umbrellas), and been snubbed by the handle that jumps in your way? It would make eons more sense if the handle was off to one side and the actual umbrella part shot out and away from the handle so that you could seek cover under it without getting into a closely proximated argument with the handle. Also, all umbrellas should look like a Dr. Seuss creation, jagged edges and all, to help with our fashion sense as we hide from the rain. Perhaps if they did look like a Dr. Seuss illustration, Oregonians would start using them...