The dance world is a completely foreign and bizarre place, unlike any other. A collection of seemingly endless styles, all completely unique and with their own sets of rules. I can safely say that I have been immersed in quite a few of them from an early age. To name a few; jazz, musical, contemporary, modern, ballet, hip-hop and competitive Irish Dance. There are so many tell-tale signs that you were/are a dancer. Here are a few that might just get your jazz hands going.
You Are A Makeup Master.
Smokey eye? Perfect red lip? Glitter face contouring? Intricate face painting of a black swan wing that still looks fierce AF? Yeah, you do that in your sleep. (Literally, because who every heard of doing show makeup after dawn?)
But you have no idea what to do with your hair.
Look, the only ‘hair things’ I know are hairspray, gel, tight buns, wigs, and enough bobby pins to build a house.
Anywhere can become your stage.
The cereal isle at the grocery store is my personal favorite. Move over Captain Crunch, I am about to bust a move.
Or when your jam comes on in the hallway.
Remember the days when you cared if people stared? Me neither.
You started drinking coffee way too early in life.
Because why wouldn’t your competition start at 5:30 a.m. with a 4:30 call time? Pixie Sticks were also a great dance day kick starter.
Looking back, your dance parent was behind you for every step, leap, and bound.
Eternal gratitude to that person who took you to practice, sacrificed everything, worried over you, stretched your feet, brought you band-aids and ice, traveled to the ends of the earth, glued your rhinestones, put your wig on, believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself, and for everything else we dancers had no clue was happening. You deserve that final bow.
Waterproof Mascara.
Sadly, you did not place at every competition and you did not nail every performance. Although you tried to stay strong, as any dancer is taught, sometimes you just needed to cry it out. We get it, you left your heart and soul out there. Get a good cry in, put on some lipstick, and do it better next time.
And for the times you surprised yourself.
I Quit!
That threat you made bi-monthly, but let’s face it, you are an addict.
The Stage High.
Why would anyone ever do drugs when there are spotlights, glitter, costumes, and audiences to impress?
Dance Boys!
To the boys who danced, the girls adored you. I mean, you already know this, but we really thought you hung the moon. You were our first crush, and our first letdown when you came out. And to the straight boy dancers, you know we didn’t just want to practice the choreography.
You put every boyfriend/girlfriend you have ever had through a dance test.
Do not lie, you wanted to make sure they could spin-and-dip. Or else there was no future there.
You choreograph every song you hear.
Step 2, 3: Leap: Cross-Boom-Boom: Shimmy 7, 8: Final Pose! (Insert roaring applause here.)
Sports Bras and Spandex.
You (or the ladies surrounding you) wear sports bras more than normal bras. Also, your dance drawer looks like you raided a spandex store.
Your dance friends are your best friends.
Training for competition, show season, or in Irish dance, the Oireachtas, is no joke. You lean on each other for support about things on and off the stage.
Your body is constantly sore.
No pain, no gain, right? I was not sure that the human body could bend that way, but apparently it can. And it hurts!
No matter how in-shape you think you are, that one dance will always have you gasping for air.
Oxygen…OXYGEN! Where did the air go? WHERE DID MY STAMINA GO?!
Depending on the style of dance you are training in, certain parts of your body are way more toned than others.
“What are arm muscles?” said the Irish dancer.
“What are calves?” said the hip-hop dancer.
The Injuries.
Two sprains, two broken feet, two shin splints, one demolished hip flexor, three bruised bones. I love dance, I swear.
WE ARE ATHLETES!
We train, live, eat, and passionately participate for our sport. We just look better doing it! Don’t believe me? Would a high kick to the face or Grand Jete to the groin help convince you?
The Costumes!
The anticipation of what you will be wearing. The dread of it not being everything you envisioned. The glitter. The rhinestones. There will always be rhinestones.
The amazing moment when you become the big kid you wanted to be.
It is a humbling, and almost unworthy moment when you realize you are no longer six and staring wide-eyed at the “big girls." You are the big girl now. You are teaching young dancers' parents how to do their dancers' hair and makeup and telling them it will all be alright. Soak in all the seniority, and for goodness's sake, set a good example for the tiny tutus.
The Final Bow.
Maybe you know when this will be, maybe it will happen without you knowing it is the last, maybe you have already experienced it. The Final Bow means so much more than all the other finales. This is the final curtain call. In one, gentle movement, your career as the dancer you once were is tied together and sealed.
Hopefully you will never completely hang up the point shoes, hard shoes, foot pads, ect. Once a dancer, always a dancer. Smile, darling, and go inspire the next generation of crazy, insane, and always improving dancers.
