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“I loved your music!” She said to me as I was making my way offstage. “I’ve tried to dance to emo music, but I just can’t do it.” I nodded along, trying to make sense of what she was saying, but all that came out from my lips was “Thanks, I’m a huge fan of that style of music”, as I was trying to catch my breath and give my brain a chance to process what I had just accomplished. The woman who complimented me was a regular for the Pole Sport Organization competitive mix, and I remembered her performance from May 2022. Remembering the event, she had done very well and placed very high. To receive a compliment from her was an absolute dream.

I’ve been pole dancing for a little over two years as both a fitness and performance hobby and participated in my first solo competition last month (December 2022). Although I felt wildly inexperienced and clumsy compared to the graces of the women who were performing before and after me, it was an exhilaration I soon won’t forget, and one that I know will become an addiction (sorta like getting more tattoos once you’ve gotten your first out of the way). 

I haven’t performed in any sort of way since high school; I had thought that those days and dreams were long gone and that I was okay at best in high school, so I kind of just stopped trying with performance art. When college came, extracurricular activities and passions kind of took a back seat. Instead, I was pushed into the real world as many young adults are at that age, and had to navigate the newfound toils of being an adult.

When I underwent a life-changing realization and allowed myself to be this crazy thing we call “human”, my world changed and I completely fell in love with performance art in a brand new fashion: pole dancing. 

When I first started pole dancing, I was easily discouraged, frightened, and a little awkward with my body movements. Now I’m more confident, persistent, and determined to keep going. Pole dancing has very much changed my whole perception of myself, especially toward myself as a performer. I thought I had lost my zeal and energy for performing, but I just hadn’t found the right outlet yet. 

When I walked to the backstage area for my first-ever performance in over 10 years (it’s really been that long since high school – eek!) the familiar feeling of “red curtain anxiety” fell over me. I was anxious, nervous, scared, excited, and I felt the adrenaline with every preparation warming-up stretch I worked through. I was never really a “butterfly” performer; my stomach was always fine. I’m more of the “inside-my-own-head” segment of anxiety. My head always clouds up with “what-ifs” and constant reminders of things I’ve been working through in my routine. 

Don’t forget to lean more into your inverts. Point your toes. Keep your hips high during inversions. Remember the push-pull relationship between your arms and the pole. 

In high school, my anxiety always went away the second My thoughts turned from constant reminders to the thoughts of my character. Cool. Collected. I always remembered my beats, and never missed an opportunity to remind myself that this was my moment.

However, 10 years later, stepping onstage alone with the spotlight glaring through my glasses, my anxieties were all too real. I wasn’t using my forearm enough during my show climb, so I couldn’t properly hold my legs out into a straddle. I was slippery and nervous, so my hand grip was all over the place. I was wheezing (I have asthma) more than I had anticipated. Among my biggest fears, my one biggest trick, my aerial invert with a slow descending slide down, didn’t hit. I was devastated. I had practiced perfectly the night before. 

I walked offstage, so nervous that I worked myself into an asthma attack. Calming myself down and changing into my street clothes, I felt a wave of normalcy wash over me. I had done it. I competed. I could now call myself a “competitive level dancer”. 

Whatever mixture of complicated feelings I felt at that time (relief, sadness, disappointment, pride) were immediately marred by the fact that absolutely no one cared about the things I executed poorly in my routine. Not a single soul. No one commented about the fact that my aerial invert didn’t hit. No one asked about my grip on the pole or my hip height. All of the audience members, other performers, and vendors complimented my spirit, my aesthetic, my courage, and my confidence in myself and my persona. I was remembered as “the emo girl”, and ya know what, I’m pretty damn happy with that. 

We all live through accomplished goals and failed ones, but as I’m remembering my experience, I’m considering this an absolute win. As the old adage goes, people will never remember what you said, but they’ll remember how you made them feel. Similarly, the audience members won’t remember what exact combos or tricks you performed, the technicality of your performance, or the scores of the winners on the page, but they will remember your pride, showmanship, and high-energy onstage persona.

If all I have to do is keep being so unapologetically me, consider me devoted to performing. I’ll keep trying, and if that means I fail, it means I fail. But as long as I can glean some sort of progress from my failure, well then it isn’t a failure at all. 

Keep on rocking 

#SLAYYYMO 

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Edit to add: In hindsight, I’m honestly so glad I went the first timer championship category route, instead of entertainment or dramatic. I’m so happy I got my first competition just out of the way! I’m relieved and relaxed, already planning for May 2023. 🙂 I am definitely an entertainment type dancer, and not a technical dancer; I learned that about myself this time around. I cannot wait to showcase my varied creative ideas. Let’s do this!​