Author: gossipgirl

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The Privatization of Dance: Examining the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders

As we discussed sporting bodies, there is an overarching understanding of how factors like race and gender prescribe certain bodies to sports, in which industries and society deem who can and can’t participate. With this, something that continued to infiltrate my mind was the occurrence of the privatization of sports. This can be attributed to the dance industry, which determines who can and can’t participate through various factors such as race, class, sexuality, and gender. A noteworthy example of this could be considered within the Netflix docuseries, “America’s Sweethearts,” about the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, which displays how dance is privatized and systemically pushes certain people out while keeping others in. 

In my experience as a competitive dancer, the aspect of having money is one of the largest barriers to becoming a successful dancer. You have to be able to afford the costumes, the shoes, the uniforms, the makeup, and the classes. And if you want to get ahead, you have to be able to afford the private classes and the fees that come along with being on the competitive dance team. Consequently, the dance world is not the most diverse, and there is still a severe lack of effort in considering dancers who don’t fit the mold of able-bodied, white, thin, and wealthy. 

You even see it in “traditional” dance attire. You know those pink tights and pointe shoes that everyone correlates with ballet, even sometimes referencing the color as “ballet pink?” That color is intended to match a dancer’s skin tone, to make their legs appear longer on stage. The problem with this, however, is that not everyone has a pale skin tone. This alone is enough to understand why dance is so privatized—to keep certain people in and certain people out. 

Throughout the Netflix show, the viewers see how these women are expected to be classically trained to a high standard, have the most expensive costumes, have all the necessary equipment to upkeep their hair and makeup, and maintain particularly expensive diets, all for the sake of the chance of auditioning to make the team. Here, it becomes clear that there is an obvious class barrier to getting on the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, as all the mentioned aspects cost extensive amounts of money. Of course, this is only further complicated when we think about who is barred from gaining access to wealth. Additionally, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, in adhering to Eurocentric beauty standards, tend to prioritize thin-white women to upkeep their identity as “America’s Sweethearts.”

Thus, I find that the Netflix series about the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders provides a prime example of how dance is privatized. While you might not see it from outside of the dance world, the show gives some insight into how the dance industry has become dominated by wealthy white people. Ultimately, as made clear by this series and the industry as a whole, dance is privatized to avoid being accessible; only certain types of bodies are welcome, and only certain bodies can be seen as “professional” dancers.

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The Potential of Body Neutrality

Recently, I was listening to an episode of a podcast I regularly listen to. Within the first few minutes of the podcast, one of the hosts brings up the discussion about how the internet constantly perceives and talks about her body regardless of what it looks like. The host mentions that, as she has recently lost weight, people feel the need to say more with comments such as “you look so much happier” or “you look so healthy.” Yet, when she lived her life in a bigger body, she constantly got backhanded comments such as “you’re so brave.” Interestingly, her content has nothing to do with her body or her self-image. Therefore, in sharing this, she points out that no matter what her body looks like or how many boundaries she attempts to make, people will always feel as though they have the right to discuss and judge her body and not who she is as a person, especially with holding a presence on social media.

This reminded me of what we have discussed in class regarding how society prioritizes weight and what bodies look like. In our everyday lives, there is constant expectation of what our bodies are “supposed to be,” what type of body is deemed “healthy” or not, and what bodies are “moral” or “immoral.” Especially with social media, people’s bodies are only placed on a pedestal where hundreds and thousands of people look, judge, and comment. Over time, it becomes distressing because it can be extremely dehumanizing to constantly be aware of others’ entitlement to comment on your body and interpret it, whether those remarks are positive or negative. In this sense, as society focuses on weight and the body, you are left to feel as though you are no longer human with a personality, character, or morals, but rather just a body defined by weight.

With this, I can’t help but wonder: How can we change these expectations and concepts that invade how we view and think about weight and bodies?

I think of the body-neutrality movement that we touched upon in class discussions. Body neutrality embraces the practice of simply accepting your body for what it is rather than constantly trying to have a positive or loving mindset. There is no positivity or negativity tied to bodies, but rather just an acknowledgement of their existence as they are. I find that this has the potential to make a change in how the world views and thinks about bodies and weight, as recognizing and accepting bodies as they are disadvantages ideas of “good” and “bad.” While this cannot be done overnight, there needs to be a change in how we think about weight. Ultimately, there could be a great benefit in embracing movement such as body neutrality and understanding and accepting weight and bodies as they are, rather than attatching them to notions of positivity or negativity. 

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Misdiagnosed

My mom has an understanding that her medical concerns may not be taken seriously as a woman of color. At the time of this event, my mom had just recently gotten her U.S. citizenship, which only made it more important for her to find a doctor for her three young daughters who would simply listen. So, she made sure to find a Latino pediatrician who would care for her concerns.

It was nearing the end of my kindergarten year when I started to express pain in my lower abdomen to my mom, and with worry and concern, she decided to take me to the doctor to get an answer. But something was different. This time the doctor who saw me was a white man, training under my actual pediatrician, who diagnosed me with a UTI and prescribed over-the-counter medication for the pain.

However, my pain continued to get worse; I constantly stayed home from school, I was constantly vomiting, and it eventually got to a point where it was difficult to walk and my dad had to carry me around everywhere. As my pain continued, my mom continued to look for answers from this doctor, which he brushed off as “exaggerated” and was even hesitant to give my mom any sort of medication for my pain. He had somehow concluded that my mom was just seeking a way to gain access to drugs, completely overlooking the five-year-old girl in agonizing pain and her mother, who was concerned for her health. 

Eventually, because of my incorrect diagnosis, I had gone untreated for several days. My parents had no other choice but to take me to a hospital in hopes that they would provide an answer. At this point, my appendix had already burst; the woman at the front desk knew exactly what was happening without even asking further questions. Luckily, I was properly diagnosed with appendicitis and given treatment on time; if we had waited any longer, I would have likely not survived. Yet, I can’t help but wonder how this experience could have been different if I had been white or if I was a boy. Would the doctor even think of a UTI as a possibility? Would he have cared more about my mom’s concerns? Could have this near-fatal experience been avoided entirely?

As I reflect on this experience and our class discussion surrounding healthcare and the medical system, it becomes even more clear how gender and race shape not only the experience of pregnancy and birth but various levels of health issues and medical complications. While my experience does not surround labor and pregnancy, it does point out how gender and race impact the medical attention that women of color receive. Evidently, medical professionals frequently overlook women of color, particularly Black women, due to preconceived notions about race and gender. Consequently, they are neglected and placed in situations that could be avoided, and tragically, the situations are often deadly.

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“I Shouldn’t Have Slapped Him.”

In “Throwing Like a Girl,” Young conceptualizes the idea of “inhibited intentionality,” in which the capability and movement of bodies are limited based on gendered ideations. In other words, gendered notions teach us about how we are to move our bodies, with girls being told to not move so freely and boys being told the opposite. With this, I am reminded of a story from my mom’s childhood.

As she recalls this story, my mom once slapped one of her younger brothers in the face due to him making her overwhelmingly upset. Based on other stories that she has told, I figured that this was a common occurrence. My mom is the oldest of five, with two younger brothers and two younger sisters. She always laughed as she remembered the instances in which she got into physical fights with her younger sisters; yet, for some reason, this story with her brother was not as funny. 

“I felt bad because I had felt like I made him feel like less of a man.” 

“He was only a teenager, and I felt like I attacked his masculinity.”

As she recalls this instance, she expresses remorse and regret. She had no problem fighting her younger sisters, but when she physically slapped her brother, she thought she had crossed a line as a woman. Not because she was in the wrong, but because she felt she had taken up too much space. She moved in a way that should have been restricted because she now had committed the “crime” of stepping beyond the restraint of gendered movement. 

As Young states, “feminine bodily existence is an inhibited intentionality, which simultaneously reaches toward a projected end with an “I can” and withholds its full bodily commitment to that end in a self-imposed “I cannot.” In the case of my mom, she had stepped outside on these ideations and realized that she “could.” Yet, because of the expectations set for women and their bodies, my mom felt the self-inflicted reaction that she “shouldn’t.” In other words, once she realized that she “could,” her first thought afterward was that she “shouldn’t have.” And ever since, she still feels the same way. Instead of withholding her movement, resulting in a self-imposed “I can’t,” my mom fully committed and resulted in a self-imposed “I shouldn’t have.” In this sense, it becomes clear the ways in which we are socialized to not only police other bodies but also our own. Once we learn what we “can” or “can’t,” we try our best to maintain those limits. However, if we go beyond them, we do our best to compensate by replacing the ”I can’t” with an “I shouldn’t have.”