Silhouettes of dancers strike poses against a pink background while a young girl watches, internalizing the “ideal” appearance and body of a dancer. Much of current Westernized dance culture relies on notions of pain being a harbinger of success, glorifying the intense physical toll that dancing can take on the body. (Graphic Illustration by Clara Lieberstein)

In 1978, sports philosopher David Best published “Philosophy and Human Movement” — a philosophical take on two different categories that he argued all sports fall into: aesthetic and purposive. He defined aesthetic sports as appearance-based, lacking the objective outcomes such as crossing a line or scoring a goal that drive purposive sports like football and basketball. Instead, athletes’ success in aesthetic sports, which often have performance aspects, is determined by the opinions of experts — despite judges’ expertise, they are subjective.

As movement and exercise are integral to body image, it’s imperative that we interrogate the role sports play in our society beyond the surface level. Best’s philosophy captures in words an often invisible distinction between types of sports, one that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. In particular, the benefits and costs of one of the most well-known aesthetic sports: dance.

I believe the underlying toxicity in the practice of dance is exemplified by an ironically good metaphor: the ballerinas’ bloody pointe shoes.

In short, classically trained ballet dancers are often taught that to dance en pointe, meaning on the very tips of their toes, they must persevere through extreme pain, often resulting in bloody and blistered feet. This mindset, one that puts pain on a pedestal as the sole gateway to betterment, has tangibly detrimental consequences on dancers’ mental and physical well-being. A study conducted in 2023 surveying adolescent female ballet dancers suggests that stronger identification as a ballet dancer correlates with stronger desire for smaller body sizes and more harmful eating habits. Dancers are three times more likely to suffer from disordered eating, excessive thinness and high rates of perfectionism. What is it about the culture of dance that seems to go hand-in-hand with such issues?

Of course, it’s crucial to acknowledge that toxicity in dance culture is a spectrum, with some studios and styles relying on it much more than others. The culture behind different dance styles also plays a large role — speaking from personal experience — my hip-hop classes were far more supportive, community-based and fun than the rigid atmosphere of my childhood ballet lessons. Before I discuss flaws in the fundamental institution of dance and condemn how an emphasis on uniformity and objectification of women’s bodies play a role in this culture, I must first recognize that these ideas apply primarily to a Westernized and white version of dance.

To confront dance culture’s often toxic standards and their misogynistic roots, let’s begin by analyzing the characteristics of dance that enable it to reinforce them. Dance is one of the only activities in which primarily young women spend hours in front of a mirror, manipulating their body to achieve a certain look that is compared against others. This leads up to a show in which it is acceptable for these efforts to be judged, and dancers are lucky if their feedback even pertains to their performance. In my ballet classes, I learned the hard way just how much weight the perfect slicked-back bun, elaborate makeup and tight costume hold, with the norm often being to spend far more time on physical appearance than actually dancing at performances. I don’t see how any of this emphasis on appearance is artful, and I fear the comparison-based standard for a modern-day dancer has nearly abandoned the ideals of creative expression from which dance stems.

In the world of competitive dance, the cutthroat atmosphere is exacerbated, with young women pitted against each other. However, I believe dance culture’s toxicity, which manifests itself in both the negative ways dancers can be perceived and how they perceive themselves, runs rampant in the undercurrents of dance studio culture, far beyond what is formally recognized as competition.

It’s not a coincidence that aesthetic sports are largely traditionally feminine, and research shows links to negative body image for female athletes in aesthetic sports. It’s not just dance — sports like rhythmic gymnastics, synchronized swimming and figure skating fall into the category as well. These sports all have a performative aspect to them, where primarily women are judged not by their ability to complete a specific objective, but by looking a certain way (often effortless, thin and like their fellow competitors) as they perform dives, leaps and flips the rest of us could never dream of.

This paradox between socially established feminine and masculine sports plays perfectly into gender stereotypes. The patriarchy dictates that women’s bodies exist not for functional purposes, but for satisfying the male gaze, and the sports women are expected to play solidify this objectification. Don’t get me wrong — dance, along with other aesthetic sports, is extremely difficult and demanding. But it’s the idea that somehow this pain should be hidden behind a smile and a spin that separates it from the explosions of masculine rage, hurt and frustration that echo across every football field.

This masking of pain through performance is also conveyed through costumes — while uniforms for purposive and traditionally male sports are typically based on functionality, I can’t say the same for the dresses I see female figure skaters on the freezing rink, as if they are judged not on the basis of their incredible execution, but rather their ability to perform.

As dance is a female-dominated space, we must also not reinforce stereotypes of catty, competitive women tearing each other apart when we discuss the toxicity ingrained in the culture of dance. Instead, we need to recognize that it’s the fundamental concept of comparison, one it seems dance cannot function without, that can contribute to such toxicity.

Admittedly, I must recognize my hypocrisy. I danced in ballet performances during my childhood, and though I no longer do, lately I’ve been attending a weekly dance class. I’m mostly doing it as a joke at this point (I am a full four beats behind in every routine), but I can’t deny how intoxicatingly good it feels when I do get it right.

Though this rare pride is flattering, it has prompted me to think more deeply about why I feel it. I’ve come to believe that positive reinforcement is part of the problem because it rewards conformity to a particular way of performing that is considered correct by dance teachers and students alike. In dance class, my body moves and expresses itself regardless of how my performance appears, but if my performance fails to meet the detailed standard of a particular dance move, it will still be deemed incorrect by the collective dance community. It sounds obvious, and is a reality most of us have accepted. However, when I really examine the theory of dance, I find myself asking why it rewards performing a move the same way as everyone else.

It’s this fundamental emphasis on uniformity that I take issue with. I believe that modern dance culture can strip young women of their individuality, forcing them into the same costumes, identities and tired moves every time. When dance acts as an opportunity for the male gaze to exert control over young women’s appearances in the name of performance judgment, it makes perfect sense that many powerful men in the field of dance would want to diminish female individuality.

At its worst, dance can reinforce notions that self-worth, capability and morality are tied to appearance, and that acceptability of appearance is determined only in comparison with others’. But at its best, dancing is a staggeringly powerful creative expression, a movement that builds physical strength and resilience and can be the thread tying a tight-knit community together. It should be allowed to stand on its own as both a sport and an art form, without the addition of patriarchal ideals that overemphasize physical appearance and negatively affect dancers’ body satisfaction.

Dance shouldn’t be a rubric for comparison; it should be a way to befriend our reflections and be empowered in our bodies. But when separating individual performance and creativity from how it’s perceived by outside forces becomes difficult, dancing begins to lose its power.

Appearance-based sports of all kinds, whether competitive or recreational, direly need more discussion surrounding these issues to empower their athletes and break misogynistic cycles that moralize physical capability and establish a hierarchy based on appearance. Together, we can build a world where we define our reflections.