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I’m a “Real” Dancer?

I have done adult ballet for 20 years now. I did belly dance for an extended period following an injury; and would still be taking classes if I could find one relatively local that fits my schedule. A couple of years ago, I took up jazz.

I only dance a few hours a week, so I don’t wear out my ballet slippers very quickly. My daughter said you weren’t a real dancer until you had bled into your shoes. That kind of misery and lost toenails are not for me. I never intend to dance en pointe, so I am perfectly content to call myself a dancer despite only wearing through the toes on my slippers.

I wore ballet shoes while doing belly dance as I wasn’t keen on bare feet at the local community centre. The same ballet shoes served me well for two years of jazz, but I confess to looking enviously at the jazz shoes others were wearing.

Dance classes are finally starting this week, so I indulged myself in a pair of jazz shoes. It doesn’t matter that I have only one one-hour jazz class each week. I now own two pairs of shoes for two different disciplines.

My new black jazz shoes alongside my pink ballet slippers. I’m secretly excited that my ballet slippers are showing enough wear that I may to replace them some time this year.

I know I’m a dancer even though I don’t fit the stereotype of skinny teenager with big dreams and a tutu. I usually wear leggings and a T-shirt instead of a leotard and tights. I sewed a character skirt more for my own amusement than for actual classes. But different shoes for different kinds of dance? That makes me feel like a “real” dancer.

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