Margo Sullivan
Dream of Once Upon the
Dancesport
As
I walk into the Common Classic Ballroom Dance Competition, my senses are flooded
by an overwhelming aura. Glamorous
intrigue is everywhere: intense music, gorgeous gowns, tailed tuxedos,
shimmering rhinestones and enchanting movements.
The reason for its appeal seems apparent: It is challenging, terrifying,
thrilling and absolutely overwhelming. It seems to be a spectacular and
delightful version of the piano students’ recital. However, where there is
magic there is also myth. Competitive amateur ballroom dancing, also known as
dancesport, in the greater Portland area is a business, not a sport. After all the work, time, and money an
amateur dancer invests into his or her dancing, it is neither skill nor
presentation that determines placement and prize. Dance competitions are tools of business. Despite the monetary focus and
adjudicative pretence, the dancers do not reap any of the profits. If amateur
dancers can neither faithfully compare their success to their skill nor gain
some financial profit, then why do they compete, why do they continue to
compete, and why do they love it so? The
answer is in the sensation. The
competition world is a fantasy world, one in which the dancer can play with his
or her narcissistic needs. In more
familiar sports such as baseball or golf, business and legitimate scoring have
equal pull. Thus, competitors can
and do improve their standing through participation. In dancesport, the business consumes
legitimacy; because of this, amateur dancers are a unique community of athletes
that compete neither to win nor to make a profit, but rather to steep in
fantasy.
The
fantasy begins with the hour preceding the competition, the most enchanting hour
of all. An electric current of
anticipation lingers in the air like the static before a storm; the lights are
dim; workers are moving quickly to get ready, and dancers are trying the floor. Couples in matching Dance Sport jackets
and leg warmers over their costumes, dance to hushed silence, to the syncopated
rhythm in their minds. The women
have their hair slicked back into tight elegant buns, and their faces are
bewitchingly enhanced with all that glitters and sparkles. It is a striking sight. As the moment gets near, things
begin to bustle. The lights remain
dim but the music begins to play. Venders
set up shop, and more and more dancers flow into the ballroom. A flutter of preparation and last minute
adjustments fill the remaining moments. Will
you zip me up? Does this look okay? Let me fix your hair. Have
you seen my camera? When do I
dance? The excitement builds. Dancers
find their studio tables and their instructors; they begin to warm up. Each dancer takes a turn around the
floor with his or her professional instructor.
Certain fright and the pride to hide it can be seen on the face of every
dancer. Some hide their fright
better than others, an aloof confidence in their frame and movement. Others, letting their fears take hold,
fumble and fret. Finally, the
moment arrives. Dancers clear the floor; organizers make opening remarks; judges
are introduced; the dancing begins.
The
Competition itself is, for the spectator, as fleeting as a dream. The dancers are divided by age, level
Amateur
ballroom dance competitions are deceptive: They are not conducted for the
purpose of establishing an accurate hierarchy of dance skill, but rather for the
purpose of making money and inspiring the dance economy. The organizers of competitions charge an
entry fee for each dance (around twenty dollars). Thus, more students and more entries per student equates to
more profit. Cunningly, the
studios that contribute the most entries have a way of winning the most places. This gift of placement is done to ensure
that the studio contributing the most entries is rewarded with the top studio
award: a generous monetary prize determined by the number of entries and places
won. For, as Alexei Petrov
(name changed by request), a professional dancer in the Portland area, puts it,
“they (the organizers) know whose bread they eat” (Petrov). While favoritism
is often shown to dancers of the major contributing studio, it is also shown to
dancers of the local studio. This is a common trend, observed by professionals
and amateurs alike: students belonging to local studios tend to win the top
places (Eddy). Such favoritism is
done to encourage the local dance economy, which in turn supports the financial
future of the competition (Petrov). For
most sports, money is certainly an important aspect, however for most sports,
judging and scoring is a legitimately regulated process. Legitimacy allows athletes to use
competitions as assessments of skill. Dancesport
does not offer such assessment, and thus for those that compete, the motive is
the sensation not trophy.
Despite
the intriguing money flow, the amateurs are buyers not sellers. Indeed, one has
much to consider when addressing the cost: entry fees, costumes, private
lessons, travel expenses, and more. One
can easily spend thousands of dollars depending on how glamorous or plain one
wishes the experience to be—a large price to pay for an illegitimate
assessment, if assessment is what one seeks. Although monetary prizes are often
awarded to top places in certain heats, these winnings do not and cannot exceed
the dancers’ expenses. The USA
DanceSport a, “quasi-governing body” (Eddy) of the United States ballroom
community, states in its 2002-2003 rulebook that, “the total amount of
monetary prizes plus the total amount of scholarships accepted by an amateur in
any given calendar year must not exceed the total amount of allowable expenses
paid by the amateur during that same time period”(rulebook 26).
While
amateur dancers cannot gain financially from dancesport, they are also unable to
gain an accurate or noteworthy assessment of their skill, which further muddles
the motive to compete. The judges of dancesport are not tools for accurate and
legitimate representation, but rather they are tools through which organizers
and even studios direct monetary flow. “Like any entertainment sport such as football or baseball”
one devoted dancer states, “it’s all about the money. Ballroom, however, lacks a solid licensing and regulating
body, and is thus susceptible to subjectivity.”
One must recognize that a certain degree of subjectivity exists in
any sport that relies on adjudicative opinion.
Dancesport, however, puts subjectivity to financial use. “The competition world,” Eddy
states, “is very small. The informal information network - word of mouth, is so
powerful that it can color decisions that get made on the floor.” Thus, amateurs do not compete for
the assessment, for there is no real assessment being made. Each judgment is employed for financial
gain.
Adjudicative
manipulation is not unique to the Portland community. In Ballroom Dance chains across the country, such as the
Arthur Murry schools, judges often “know who will win before the dancers set
foot on the dance floor” (Petrov). A studio will often have “strategic students” (Petrov) who contribute greatly to
the studio’s purse. Such
students, in order to ensure their continued investments, are often given first
place whether their skill warrants such placement or not. If a strategic student is obviously of
lesser skill, a separate heat is often created for that student alone to ensure
a first place (Petrov). Even
professional dancers must pay for private lessons with top judges in order to
secure a first place (Petrov). It
was the
In
most sports, amateur athletes cannot acquire great wealth by competing. Like
amateur dancers, their
In
the attempt to understand what motivates amateur dancers to compete, I felt that
the most efficient way
While
many speak of competition as a tool for self-critique and motivation, the core
drive to compete is the fantasy it offers. Amateur dancers want to be swept
away. The ballroom is a secure place to manifest
Competitive
dancing is much like theatre. One is given the permission to explore the
repressed aspects of
Part
of the fantasy that manifests on the dance floor is a kind of sensual extreme.
Many dancers describe the sensation as an irreplaceable adrenaline rush. Petrov describes his moments on the
dance floor as being the most memorable moments of his life. The dance
adrenaline he feels, “far surpasses that of professional skiing”(Petrov). Another dancer describes the sensation
as “a roller coaster” (Kirillova) and, “indescribable” (Kirillova). This aspect is the hardest piece for a
spectator to grasp. From the seats,
the glamour is apparent, but why one needs to compete to feel such glamour is
not. In fact, it was not until I
competed for the first time that I began to understand the addictive force of
dancesport and why actually being on the dance floor was so critical to the
sensation. Walking onto the dance floor is like stepping into a movie screen. It
is like falling through the sky and hitting the point of free fall. The moment
is surreal and breathtaking. Once the music begins, time stops and a sort of
dream-time takes over. The
intensity and the magic awake a subliminal place that cannot be ordinarily
tapped. Like a skydiver, or a boxer, the pressure and sensory
overload throws you into a zone, a zone in which your body begins to accomplish
awesome things, and in which your fantasy becomes somehow tangible. This feeling is why amateurs compete
despite the burdensome costs and lack of reward.
This feeling is the addiction. The
terror it elicits is strangely therapeutic, and magic it creates is
unforgettable. This experience or
this “repositioning” (Rosaldo) is what has allowed me to understand (to a
fuller degree) the motive to compete. For
the amateur dancer, competition is much more than a “big girls dress up party”(Petrov). It is more than a test of endurance; it
is fantasy come to life.
Fantasy
is notably an elusive and personal thing. We all come from different realities.
One could argue that dancesport offers no insight into universal narcissistic
needs, only into my needs, or the needs of “the dancer”. Dancesport has changed me, and I have
certainly changed it. I love
dancing and love the sensation of competing.
Marina Eddy states in her interview that she competes and will continue
to compete because “(she is) a dancer.”
So, perhaps those who compete, myself included, do so because they are
inherently dancers, not because they need to manifest some unfulfilled fantasy. In her essay, “Yup Lives And How We
See Them,” Ann Fienup-Riordan acknowledges that an observer will often see, to
some degree, what he or she wants to see (202).
Like a child trying to catch a bubble, once caught, the bubble pops. However, the bubble does not disappear,
rather it simply is reshaped. Both
soap and space exist; it is only their relationship that has changed. While I have altered dancesport both by
being a dancer and by attempting to catch it, its core holds true. Our needs may not be the same, but we
all share the need to manifest our repressed qualities. We are all “other peoples with other temperaments and other
conventions” (Geertz 445). Whether one dives off a plane thousands of feet in
the air, joins the local community theatre, or participates in the world of
dancesport, the core motive is the same: We all need to be taken to the limit
and swept away. In the day to day social constructs we create, certain aspects
are elicited and others are repressed. It
is human nature to balance itself by constructing additional structures in which
it is allowed to manifest the repressed aspects craving expression. Dancesport
is one such structure; providing no benefits that have meaning in the “real”
world, the ballroom exists only as a kind of fantasy playground.
The
world of dancesport is a fantasy world.
Its structure offers neither financial Profit nor accurate assessment,
yet curiously, amateurs continue to invest thousands of dollars in this
illegitimate activity. Naturally,
there are many various motives for amateurs to compete, however, the most common
and the most powerful motive is this need to be swept away. It is our nature to seek outlets for our
repressed inner needs. The fairy
world of ballroom is one such outlet. Indeed such outlets take many forms: the
movies, the theatre, skydiving, gambling, fighting etc. For the dancer, dancesport is a way to
manifest
Bagala. Cinzia.
Personal interview. 27 Nov. 2002
Charles. Barbara.
Personal interview. 27 Nov.
2002.
Eddy. Marina.
Personal interview. 29 Nov. 2002
Fienup-Riordan,
Ann. “Lives and How We See Them,” Literacies. Eds. Terence Brunk, Suzanne Diamond,
Priscilla Perkins, Ken Smith. New
York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2000.
201-232.
Geertz,
Clifford. “Notes on the Balinese
Cockfight. ”The Interpretation of Cultures. Perseus Books Group., 1973. 413-453.
Petrov. Alexei.
Personal interview. 28 Nov. 2002
Shoykhet. Mark.
Personal interview. 25 Nov. 2002
USA
DanceSport. USA DanceSport
Rulebook. PA: USABDA. 2002.
Sullivan. Harold.
Personal interview. 07 Dec. 2002