privilege

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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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Understanding Privilege

As a cisgender woman, I’ve grown up aware that my body fits the societal norms laid out for me. From an early age, I was taught that my body should look and act a certain way, especially in sports. While I’ve had access to opportunities and acceptance in athletic spaces, I’ve come to understand that this isn’t the reality for everyone. Transgender athletes—especially transgender women—face barriers that often seem impossible to overcome.

Read more: Understanding Privilege

In the article, “Beyond Physiology: Embodied Experience, Embodied Advantage,” Torres et al. delve into the challenges transgender athletes face. They show how discussions about their participation in sports are often reduced to debates about physiology, particularly for transgender women. These athletes are often subjected to scrutiny about their bodies, which overshadows their identities. The article highlights not only the social and political hurdles they encounter but also the privilege cisgender athletes like myself often take for granted.

Reflecting on my own experience as a cisgender woman in athletics, I realize how much privilege I carry. My body is rarely questioned or scrutinized in sports; it is accepted without hesitation. I’ve been able to compete without worrying about being excluded or misgendered. In contrast, transgender women often have to fight for the right to compete—against opponents and, more often, against institutions that marginalize them.

This constant fight can take a toll, and creates mental and emotional barriers. It’s not a question of whether they can succeed in sports but whether they’ll even be allowed to try. Recognizing my privilege as someone whose body aligns with societal expectations reminds me of the need to advocate for more inclusive spaces in sports, where everyone has a chance to thrive without fear or discrimination.

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Who gets to talk about bodies?

 

(author’s note: I fully acknowledge the irony of writing this piece while being someone who identifies as male.)

Over the past two weeks, there have been two very different public showdowns over different parts of women’s bodies.  In the first, the Susan G. Komen Foundation found itself under fire for its decision to stop funding grants to Planned Parenthood because of a politically-motivated Congressional investigation into the federal funding the latter organization receives.  The second, more recent firestorm has arisen over a provision in the new federalhealth care regulations that would essentially require religious organizations that perform non-religious work to provide birth control coverage for their employees.

The real difference between these two events has been whose voices have been raised in anger, and who has garnered the media’s attention.  The Komen controversy began largely through social media channels, promulgated by well-known feminist activists as well as networks of those involved in the various breast cancer movements.  When the issue was brought to the attention of the mainstream media, the angry voices and stories of women both famous and not were splashed everywhere, supporting Planned Parenthood in a nearly unprecedented way.

Compare and contrast those scenes with what we have seen since the US Council of Catholic Bishops started to speak out against the administration’s birth control policy.  Not only have the public faces been overwhelmingly white and conservative, but they have also, almost universally, been men (with the exception of New Hampshire Senator Kelly Ayotte, best known for her previous encounter with Planned Parenthood). It doesn’t matter the network, you’re almost guaranteed that they have relied on a white conservative member of the clergy, politician, or talking head.  ThinkProgress tallied it up and published a report last week showing that over the course of three days, the cable networks relied on male voices more than two to one over women’s voices in the debate.

Given that the focus was on reproductive self-determination, shouldn’t the focus have been on the voices of women?  Surely, the Komen controversy showed us the value of women’s stories in understanding the impact of policy decisions?  The fundamental difference turns on the public role of men and male privilege in the areas of reproductive health versus their public roles relating to breast cancer.  When it comes to breast cancer, men and women have the shared goal of prevention.  For women, it is about the preservation of their health, while for men it is about the preservation of one of society’s most fetishized body parts.  Increasing access to breast cancer screening is thus a net win for both parties.

But birth control is a different story.  Men held an extreme advantage in sexual power relations prior to the mass marketing of hormonal birth control.  In a heterosexual relationship, it was only the male who was able to avoid the reproductive consequences of sex, by simply walking away.  But with the pill, women were suddenly able to control more accurately when, where, and with whom they would have a child.  Suddenly, there was a certain level of sexual equality.  The most misogynistic corners of our society, ably represented by the Catholic hierarchy and social conservative politicians, have yet to recover from this remarkable shift.  As a result, when the Obama administration presented them with this golden opportunity to limit access to birth control, they could not resist.  Throwing their privilege around, they were able to dominate media conversation, framing it as an issue of “religious liberty” instead of the attack on personal freedom it actually is.

Where the debate will end up has yet to be seen, but one can’t help but hope that women will actually be able to get a word in edgewise.