Bellydance - the art of femininity?

For a while I have been trying to wrap my head around the issue of bellydance and femininity.

I know many teachers advertise their classes using this term. "Try this beautiful, feminine artform". "Discover your femininity". And it gets me wondering what this means. Or whether it means to me the same as it means to the teacher, or the women who see the ad. Or indeed the men - because to me, there is plenty of scope for dancers of all genders in our artform.

And then I start to wonder if bellydance *is* a feminine artform, and if so, how. And what does that even mean?

When I typed "feminine" into my usual stock photo source, it gave me this, which is kind of apt for where I'm going now....

When I was a little girl, my mum insisted I kept my hair cut in a fairly short bob style. She told me that while I needed her help to wash, dry and style it, I would have to have a style that made this easy for her.

I hated this and often begged my mum to let me grow my hair out. Because girls have long hair, obviously. I also recall refusing to wear trousers in case people thought I was a boy. Being a girl was an important part of my identity and how I perceived myself. While a child's gender might arguably be an unnecessary consideration for those around them (does it really make a difference if a child you glance at in the street is male or female?), it does often matter to the child. I wasn't really a pink and princessy type of girl, though I "understood" that these were the girl things that girls liked and I should probably aspire to because I was a girl. I knew my own gender identity and wanted to express this in the manner I had learned was appropriate.

I was about 10 when my mum finally relented and let me grow my hair. As I've grown up I've done all sorts of things with my hair. It's been everything from very long to pixie cropped, I've shaved bits off, put dreadlocks in it and dyed it all the colours. This isn't because my understanding of my gender has changed, it is because I have discovered that there are many ways to express femininity beyond the Disney princess stereotypes. Women, and indeed femininity in those who don't identify as women, are complex and multifaceted, there's a lot more to women than being doe-eyed and conventionally "pretty".

So back to dance.

I recall a dancer I know posting on her Facebook page to say that she was painting her nails bright pink and how she loved bellydance because it was a great excuse to "be girly". That's great if that's your bag. I know plenty of dancers who love the prettiness of the costumes, who are light, elegant, bubbly and dance with maybe just a touch of coy flirtation. It suits them, because that is how they connect with themselves as women. Personally manicure duty is my least favourite part of preparing to perform - although I appreciate the aesthetic of well groomed hands (not pink polish mind....)

I've often witnessed ATS and other group Tribal style performers refer to each other as sisters and present a rich earthy aesthetic while dancing in a powerful style with the joy of togetherness. Undoubtedly feminine, but totally different. While a "cabaret" style dancer usually caters to a commercially acceptable aesthetic, other styles often ignore or shun the male gaze, or media-endorsed ideas of beauty.

One of my favoutite  dance friends recently prepared for a performance saying "I'm not going to do fancy make up, I'm doing ugly today" while applying fierce warpaint. But her performance was beautiful and touching - it gave me goosebumps. In fact when I look around my circles of dancing friends, I see all kinds of people, expressing themselves beautifully in unique and diverse ways. It's wonderful, but it doesn't really help in my quest to find out what it is about bellydance that is feminine.

Is it wearing floaty chiffon skirts and rhinestones? Is it push up bras and layers of hipscarves? Is it being comfortable enough in your natural woman's body to shun convention and dance with unshaven underarms? Is it baring your soul in a tender and emotional dance? Or is it showing strength, pride or sass? Is it flirty? Is it, as Ava says "sexy by accident"? Or is it not at all because being a woman isn't about what men think of you? Is is smooth, soft, gooey hips? Is it elegant lines? Is it explosive locks and isolations?

I think it's probably any, all and anything else you can think of.

I don't believe the dance itself is inherently feminine. Dance is a route to self expression, each dancer gets to choose how they wish to express themselves. We tell our own stories. We can choose to present a character, who might be fun or liberating to play. Or we can be raw and authentic. And maybe the audience never really knows which is which.

I don't doubt for a minute that many women discover bellydance as a safe space to find and express their femininity. Whether that means dressing up, or learning to feel good moving their body. I came to dance after an acute illness that left me feeling broken and out of sync with my body. Bellydance is accessible to women of all ages, body shapes and sizes, and so many find self acceptance through the realisation that their bodies can do amazing and beautiful things. Women coming through traumatic life events often find their joy and learn to express it through dance. I've spoken to a few trans-women who have found bellydance helped them discover how to move in their female identity, and I am not sure whether that is purely an act of physical instruction, or whether dancing and being accepted in a community of women is the perfect confidence boost.

Learning about ourselves through dance is an ongoing process. I always feel immensely privileged to hold space for dancers who come to my class, for reasons they might not tell, dealing with issues I may never hear about, then slowly but surely bloom, as their true self begins to surface and shine.

If you are interested in exploring your own ideas of authentic self and what femininity means to you, do check out my Dancing with the Red Goddess immersion, taking place on the 6th August.

May is EDS awareness month, so this seems like a time to write a bit of a post about dancing in a less-than-perfectly-functional body. I wrote a post a while back, originally for Yahoo Lifestyle, limited by their requirements, so I'm welcoming an opportunity to return to the topic from another perspective.

EDS is an inherited disorder that affects the soft tissue. I have Hypermobility Type which is a milder version characterised by extreme flexibility and therefore instability in the joints. There are various effects on the nervous system, digestion, skin etc, but the most noticeable effect is joint pain, frequent dislocations and fatigue.

While my previous focus was working around physical limitations, and staying healthy while dancing, today I want to focus on the psychological side. It is well understood that dance can do wonders for our psychological well being, from body confidence, to warding off depression and mental health issues.

Living with chronic pain or physical restrictions can be a war of attrition against your self esteem. It's very easy to become hung up on the things you can't do, or the times when your body can't meet your aspirations. Of course this can happen to anyone, regardless of their state of health,  but the more often it happens, the more frustrated you become and the more averse to trying again.

I grew up unable to consistently participate in sport, in a culture where athletic prowess was social currency. I spent my teenage years taking painkillers and throwing myself into endurance sports, where grit and determination would get me through. It made me tenacious, but it also left me with a lot of sprains and subluxations, because that's not what I'm made for.

Discovering dance was another matter. The great thing about Raqs Sharqui is that the movements, when executed with good technique and mindful alignment, are not damaging or extreme. The core stability afforded by regular training helps me to stabilise my joints, so this dance is physically good for me. There are some aspects I struggle with, you'll rarely see me use very deep level changes for instance, but I don't need to, the beauty in the dance doesn't come from increasingly challenging physical feats but through connection and expression with the music.

Learning to dance gave me an opportunity to feel good in my skin, which is an incredible blessing when your body feels like an inconvenience the rest of the time. As part of Dancing with the Red Goddess, I encourage dancers to do an exercise/meditation in body positivity, where they come up with a list of things their body can do. Dance is something my body can do, and I do it every day,  to keep strong and healthy, but also to remind myself that I can.

It restores the balance. I can't do some things most people can do, but I can do this one thing, with my body (besides the hilarious party tricks involving joints that move in entirely the wrong direction) that most people can't. There is satisfaction in that. It reminds me that differently able does not mean lesser.

There is enormous freedom and triumph in dancing despite the pain and fatigue.There is enormous therapeutic effect in finding artistic expression, strength and beauty through a medium that should be my most restrictive. Every movement is a poke in the eye for a condition that still makes it hard to move off the sofa some days. Dancing has taught me to care for my body better, because I need to be on my best form, because it is worth taking care of.

I have met some amazing people in the dance community. People who remind me why I need to keep dancing, people who keep it fun, and people who show me how to enrich my life through dance, even when I am not dancing.

I teach dance to all kinds of people, with all kinds of ability levels. I teach general classes, but also classes and workshops for pregnant, elderly or disabled dancers (including chair based dance). I do this because I truly believe that the benefits of dance, physical and psychological are something that everyone deserves to access.

Breaking the myth of the hippo in the tutu

On grace and the larger dancer.

I'm not sure how it happened, but apparently I am a "larger dancer". I'm not plus sized, but in a roomful of professional oriental dancers, I'll be tipping the scale a bit.

I'm finding peace in this. I have never been a delicate flower, even when I was "skinny" the bulk of muscle on my thighs wouldn't fit comfortably into my size 10 jeans. I am strong, powerful, curvy, and I'll never be slight or petite, I'm just not built that way.

There are stereotypes around bellydance that suggest we should look a certain way. They are all wrong.There is no "should" in the way anyone looks, and dancers, as artists, are human, and part of the beauty of art is seeing the humanity in the performer. The individuality in aesthetic should be celebrated as much as the individuality in musicality or costume design.

I love seeing how movement looks on different bodies, and I love seeing a dancer who has learned how to refine her movements so that her body and technique come together to produce something uniquely beautiful.

But what I want to talk about today is almost the opposite of that, because although it is true that we can take advantage of our shape and size to enhance our dance, it is really important not to build walls for ourselves, or assume that our body size excludes us from any aspect of our art. While today I am considering bigger dancers, the spirit of this can apply to any dancers, that bellydance is for every body, all of it. Not conforming to the stereotype for a particular style, shouldn't be a barrier to learning and performing.

Blueprints and assumptions

My first teacher was a lovely dancer, she was 6 foot tall, slim, blonde and graceful. When I, as a baby dancer, watched her dance I was mesmerised and I wanted to be able to be like her, but put us side by side and I clearly wasn't.

Her favoured style was Classic Orientale, elegant, graceful, it suited her willowy form and at the time, I mistakenly assumed that her grace came from her height and her long, lean limbs, and therefore was not something that I could ever achieve. She was always very encouraging, but I had it set in my mind, that wasn't the style for me.

Our cultural blueprint for grace in dance is strongly influenced by ballet. So perhaps it is reasonable to assume that to dance gracefully one must have the figure of a ballet dancer. In truth however, ballet schools restrict their intake to girls of a particular body type, not because that is the only figure that can accomplish grace, but because of a traditional aesthetic that has little to do with skill.

I decided to focus on earthier styles. I could put my juicy hipwork to good use in Baladi, and the costumes are more flattering, I love the style and I stayed comfortable in the assumption that I could never be graceful.

Facing the demons

It was when I was about 20 weeks pregnant with my first child, that I found myself facing the elephant in the room. I was going to Shona Hagan's monthly advanced class. It was brilliant, 4 hours worth of drills, performance skills and great feedback from Shona and the rest of the group. Every month we would prepare 1 minute of performance, for critique. This month, Shona had asked me to prepare something in the Orientale style, because she hadn't seen me dance it yet - for reasons explained above.

I prepared a dance, but I hated it. I was not only now a stocky dancer, I was a pregnant one. I imagined that when I danced I looked like the sterotypical hippo in a pink tutu. Half an hour before I was due to leave for class, my husband came in to find me sat on the floor in tears.

To be fair, the sitting on the floor crying stage is fairly vital in the creation of any decent performance of mine. If I haven't come to a point where I believe everything is awful and I should just give up dancing and go live in a cave, I'm not trying hard enough. This episode actually helped me become more mindful of this, and overcoming it, but that isn't the point here, so we move on.

So he gave me a hug, and told me that simply, if I didn't want to do it, I didn't have to. I could skip class, I could go and not perform, any of those things would be fine. However, now I knew that, why didn't I take a deep breath, and give it one more try, no pressure.

So I did just that. Then I realised it was actually OK and I decided to go to class, and you know what? It was OK. I got good feedback, I learned that maybe Oriental style wasn't off limits to me. Maybe the barrier was just something I imagined.

Why grace belongs to every dancer.

It's easy to assume that if you are bulkier, that you are going to have a harder time being graceful, but that's rubbish, let me tell you why.

Grace is not the result of a lack of bodyweight. It is not determined by height or dress size.

Grace is the result of strong and controlled muscle movement. Graceful arms come from correctly engaging your strong upper back muscles, freeing your shoulders and arms to move as if your arms are actually weightless. Graceful footwork comes from balance, which comes from core strength and fine control.

So you don't have to be light to tread lightly. In fact I would be more inclined to suggest that grace is the product of good technique and a high power to weight ratio. If a slight person can be clumsy, then a stocky person can be graceful.

If you are fit and heavy then you are already strong. You can move your bodyweight,you train for this all the time, so you are not disadvantaged merely because your bodyweight might be greater than the next dancer.

So let's lose that barrier, and remind ourselves that like anything else in dance, grace comes with practice and training. There are no absolutes, allow your limits to be defined by your own ability and drive, not a stereotype.

I'm not willowy, but I am strong, powerful, I have gooey hips, explosive shimmies and yes, I have grace.

Dancing your way to a healthier new you.

In August 2014, the Yahoo Contributor Network was shut down. All the copyrights to articles thereon were returned to their authors, so I decided to publish certain articles of mine, originally written for Yahoo UK on my own blogs. This is one of them.

I am going to make a confession here, so please be kind… I was once a terrible couch potato.

Actually I was more of a desk potato. Most of my free time was spent in my study, on my computer, gaming, chatting, writing. Despite having been fairly active in my teens and through my university life, once I was working I didn't seem to have the energy left at the end of the day to do anything active.

I know this is a common affliction. Finding time to fit in a workout can be a struggle for many of us. It's tough to get motivated, particularly in the winter months when it is cold and dark and all the best entertainment options involve being curled up under a blanket.

For me this changed very suddenly one September.

I rode my motorbike home from work, and noticed that my leather trousers were causing a really uncomfortable pressure on my right hand side. Over the weekend the pain worsened, and on the Monday, I was admitted to hospital with appendicitis. I left 5 days later following major surgery, as the infection had gone beyond the realms of keyhole surgery.

In less than a week I had gone from being capable, mobile and apparently healthy, to walking in an excruciating shuffle - via nearly dying from rotten insides. In my convalescence I reflected upon how fragile our health really is, and vowed that when I returned to full health, I would no longer take it for granted.

A couple of years previously I had taken bellydance classes. I didn't really get on with the class, despite being quite keen to dance, it wasn't the right teacher for me, or perhaps the right time, and as other commitments became more urgent, I stopped going.

This time I decided I was going to do better. I did some research and found a really great teacher. I bought a small library of practice DVDs.

I fell in love with the dance. So much that soon I was attending 2 or 3 classes a week. When I came home from work I no longer went straight to my computer. I would put on some music and practice my moves.

I was loving my new hobby so much, I barely noticed how it was challenging my body. I became stronger and fitter whilst having fun, getting out of the house and making friends.

As I improved my teacher asked me to join her performance troupe - so that was another class to attend! Tougher dance moves meant I had to raise my game, and soon I was putting in some intense yoga and pilates practice as well.

In less than a year my whole life had changed . I was out of the house more, I was more active, I was travelling all over the country to perform and train. Most of all I was healthier, happier and more confident.

Now I teach yoga and Arabic dance. I have come to see that mine is just one of so many similar stories. Dance is transformational. To anyone considering bringing more activity into their lifestyle, I would say, go for it. You will never regret giving it a try, and you could find a whole new lease of life.


ETA: When this was first published, the vast majority of comments on the article were regarding weight loss. For clarity I would like to add the following.

The focus of this article is health and fitness. Sometimes this equates to weight loss, or maintaining a slim figure, however this is not automatically the case. I am actually around 5kg heavier than I was before I started dancing, and a dress size larger. This is partly due to the 2 babies I have had, but the point is this: I have better cardiovascular fitness than before. My heart is stronger and healthier. My lungs are stronger and my asthma is better. My bum is undoubtably bigger, but it is made of solid muscle (that's where the sharp hip accents come from). My joints are less painful as they are stabilised and supported by dance muscle.

Being a bellydancer is about being strong and healthy and feeling good in your skin, not about how stretched your knicker elastic is (and if it is, just buy new knickers, it's just a number and you'll be comfier).

Bellydance and body image

A study came out recently that demonstrated what those of us in the bellydance community have known for some time: Bellydance is great for body image and self esteem.

Body positivity and body acceptance is often born out of an appreciation for the function of the body. A mother may come to terms with her postnatal body by considering the amazing function it has performed. A bellydance student learns to love her body because she knows that when she dances, it can do beautiful things, or she appreciates the joy that moving her body in dance can bring her.

I am ceaselessly amazed at how those who come to this dance blossom, over time as they grow in confidence, poise and grace; in the moment as the music starts and they transform from their everyday self, into the dancer, into a vision of the music itself.

One of the things I love about this dance is its inclusiveness. Bellydance is available to people of all genders, races, ages, shapes and sizes. None of these is a barrier to learning, or performing, everyone has the opportunity to express themselves, and to share their dance in the safe, accepting environment of the dance studio or halfa. Bellydance, is for every body.

When news of the above research came to light, there was a murmer in the background. Some experienced dancers were asking “what about the professional performers?”

For while it is true that a student or hobbyist is surrounded by encouraging peers and supportive audiences, the same cannot be said for those who choose to become entertainers for the general public, where employers and audiences, unaware of our more accepting (and dare I say, realistic) aesthetic demand and expect a dancer who fits within a narrow, “conventionally attractive” image.

When I was a fledgeling dancer, in a student troupe, our teacher related to us an enquiry she had had for a party booking. The organiser had specifically asked that she sent only the “young, slim” dancers. Our troupe was made up of dancers between the ages of roughly 18 and 60, dress sizes 8-20. Our teacher politely declined, and explained that this request was contrary to her dance ethos, and the spirit of the troupe itself.

I was reminded of this recently, when Shira reshared an old article from her site. It was based around a question from a dancer whose teacher had asked her to cover her stretchmarks for a performance.

The reaction to this was incredibly powerful. A few dancers agreed with the teacher, citing professionalism, client/audience expectations etc. Some moderate responses stated that the teacher was correct, but only to spare the dancer from the judgement of the audience. An overwhelming response, from dancers and dance teachers, was in support of the student, stating that it should be the individual dancer’s choice what to cover and what to reveal (within the bounds of culturally appropriate costuming).

My stance on this, was that as a teacher or mentor, I would avoid exposing students to a toxic environment where they might be judged according to their appearance rather than their dancing in favour of a safe opportunity to express themselves as they choose. As a performer I know that a critical audience can have a horribly negative impact, even on those who do “fit the mould”, because none of us will ever be “perfect” in the eyes of every observer. Striving for that perfection is not a route to happiness, but perhaps self-acceptance and appreciation of our reality might be.

I am left considering how this goes forward. In our insular community we have happy, well adjusted dancers. People who step out of their everyday lives to be together, to appreciate each other and learn to appreciate themselves. These people leave the studio and take that attitude with them, they walk taller, dress more adventurously. They model self-acceptance to their children and their peers. Little ripples. Can we make waves?

What happens when an older dancer, or a plus sized dancer goes out to perform professionally? What happens if the public audience doesn’t see the “young, slim, pretty” dancer they were expecting? Do they fall in love with the performance and broaden their perspective on beauty, or is the dancer ridiculed as an oddity. Sadly the latter is all too common and sadly this means that the less thick-skinned dancers find themselves having to cherry-pick their performance opportunities. If I had a pound for every time I heard the “oh she has the belly for bellydance” comment (and I am sure you can imagine my geektastic rebuttal regarding the misnomer, you don’t need a belly, just hips, bone ones or titanium ones, or not even, I’ve seen some lovely chair dancing too)

But if we could get out there, just a little more. Share our art and show people the power, grace, joy and beauty in out dance. Maybe we could inspire more people to be a little more comfortable in their skin.

Finding the bellydance joy - Kash performing with Doum Tekka on darbuka, photo credit: Jenny Balkam