Annetts also complains about male partners who take on a “jealous boyfriend” tack. “I’ve ‘tried out’ with partners who were scarily controlling and possessive,” she says. “One said he didn’t like my dresses and that boyfriends outside dancing were forbidden – one even said he would not dance with me if he heard that I had a boyfriend as he should be the only man in my life.” Just imagine if all your male co-workers suddenly imposed such standards. A few passive-aggressive comments around the copy machine—while annoying enough—could always be worse.
Given all the stiletto encounters, psycho partners, expensive upkeep of one’s dresses, and other drawbacks, why would someone ever pursue such a profession? One reason seems to be the time investment—Annetts has 14 years of spins and sequins under her belt. But another is that dancing can be addictive. “And to give it all up now—as I am within touching distance of becoming professional—would seem such a waste,” she writes.
Sounds like that old cliche about suffering for one’s art fits perfectly here. But when does suffering become self-torture? Annetts makes the ballroom life sound lonely, treacherous, and painful. Added to all the interpersonal pitfalls are the sacrifices she makes just to look good—for example, forgoing food on competition days. Hunger-related dizziness plus getting spun around and around? Sounds like hell.
When I was a kid, I loved to watch ballroom dancing competitions and wanted to become one of those pretty dancer ladies at some point in time. (I was very imaginative.) But if the culture’s truly as Annetts says it is, then I’m very glad to have stuck to writing and visual arts instead. At least nobody’s ever jabbed me with a colored pencil.
Backstabbing, bunions and sexism. Real ballroom dancing is NOTHING like Strictly [The Mail]
