NDEO鈥檚 Guest Blog Series features posts written by our members about their experiences in the fields of dance and dance education. We continue this series with a post by Eva Ren, Student at Northfield Mount Hermon School.聽 Guest posts reflect the experiences, opinions, and viewpoints of the author and are printed here with their permission. NDEO does not endorse any business, product, or service mentioned in guest blog posts. If you are interested in learning more about the guest blogger program or submitting an article for consideration, please click here.听听听听
Between Preservation and Progress: Reapproaching Ballet鈥檚 Physical Ideals
Ballet is an art form built on discipline, precision, and beauty. For centuries, it has followed a set of unspoken rules that often go unquestioned in the name of tradition. But every time I take my place at the barre in the quiet before class begins, I see a body shaped by years of trying to fit into the expectations that ballet quietly demands. I wonder whether these physical standards are essential to its identity, or are they exclusions masked as elegance. This tension matters because, as dancers and educators, we have the power to determine which questions are being asked and challenged.
Originally, when ballet first emerged in the royal courts of France and Italy in the 16th century, it was celebrated for its refined, controlled movement, rather than the shape of a dancer鈥檚 body. Then, during the Romantic era in the 1800s, the importance of anatomical lines emerged when long, straight limbs and delicate frames began to be linked with weightlessness and ethereal beauty. Later, this shift deepened with the rise of Imperial Russian ballet and the emergence of the classical pancake tutu, which started to expose a dancer鈥檚 legs fully. Because of this, straight knees came to represent technical precision, while bent knees were seen as careless or unrefined.
In the twentieth century, American choreographer George Balanchine sought dancers with long legs, narrow hips, and hypermobile joints. His choreography, with its emphasis on elongated lines and hyperextension, not only marginalized dancers who didn鈥檛 naturally fit into this mold but also drove bodies past their safe limits. Meanwhile, in Russia, ballet schools like the Vaganova Academy and the Moscow State Academy of Choreography also reinforced these standards by filtering young dancers through their rigorous entrance exams. That often included physical inspections that checked for traits like limb length and foot arch.
Challenging the physical standards is not easy. They have been embedded for centuries, reinforced by choreographers, companies, and now social media, so trying to shift them can feel like disrupting the art form itself. The legacy still lingers today in how teachers, dancers, and directors approach training and evaluation. This is why I believe the most powerful place to challenge these standards is within the dance studio, the very space where they first emerged and were reinforced. Today, current educators can shape how new generations learn to see their own bodies in relation to tradition. Their role is crucial because they can either uphold narrow ideals or invite students to imagine a broader vision of what artistry in ballet can truly look like.
While the aesthetics of ballet, which rely on uniform lines and shapes, make it so magical and captivating to audiences, is it possible to expand the gateway of ballet to include a wider range of anatomical standards, especially when some of these traits are beyond our control? For children and hobbyists especially, ballet could be about strength, expression, and connections, not about whether their bodies meet certain measurements. We can demonstrate how the same movements can look different on different body types, and learn how to adapt steps to their own anatomy. In my own dance journey, I wish I had been taught to shape ballet around my body, rather than reshaping my body to fit ballet鈥檚 rigid standards.
Like many dancers, I was led to believe that the body should be 鈥渇ixed鈥� with effort, a message reinforced not only in studios but also by the growing market of so-called corrective tools promoted in dance culture and advertisements. I once used foot stretchers in hopes of gaining a higher arch like my classmates, even though arch shape is mostly an inherent trait. Looking back now, I realize that these tools are not simply individual choices but a reflection of the standards of fixed criteria within ballet. Marketed on social media as shortcuts to the 鈥減erfect ballet body鈥�, they blur the line between healthy training and self-harm, especially for young dancers who lack basic anatomical understanding.
An important part of a dance educator鈥檚 role is recognizing that dancers have different needs, goals, and limits, and that training should respond to those differences. A child dancing for joy does not require the same physical demands as a pre-professional student, and blurring that distinction can collapse care into conformity. While at the professional level, these standards cannot be entirely avoided, moments of clarity from educators can help students to separate healthy discipline from harmful ideals. Teaching anatomy in meaningful ways can help students understand their training, recognize harmful practices, and move beyond chasing temporary perfection. Beginning this education early can allow dancers to grow with both awareness and safety without losing sight of artistry. Even within professional constraints at a higher level of training, educators still hold the power to make space for honest conversation about why certain traditions persist and whether they are still worth the cost.
These small acts of awareness in the studio point to a large truth: the standards we set for training ultimately shape what we believe ballet itself should be. For centuries, physical standards have shaped the discipline, lines, and beauty that audiences have come to admire. I don鈥檛 think the answer is to dismiss those standards entirely or to suggest that ballet has no boundaries at all, because part of its essence does come from its rigor and high demands. To me, it lies in finding a balance: honoring the history and discipline of the art while also allowing it to grow beyond ideals that no longer serve us. Progress doesn鈥檛 have to come from erasing tradition, but rather from expanding it to make space for more dancers to feel safe and comfortable. The artistry and discipline we admire can coexist with a wider appreciation for different bodies, and students can be taught not only how to meet ballet鈥檚 demands but also how to respect the limits and possibilities of their own anatomy.
Eva Ren is a high school junior at the Northfield Mount Hermon School. Having grown up in Shanghai, China, and now living in Massachusetts, she approaches dance through both cultural and technical perspectives. At the age of five, she began her training in classical ballet and traditional Chinese dance, before later expanding to contemporary and jazz. She has trained at the Massachusetts Academy of Ballet, Walnut Hill School of Performing Arts, and Boston Ballet鈥檚 summer program. Currently, Eva is a year-long member of her high school鈥檚 dance company, and has been a part of over 10 school dance performances. Drawing inspiration from her multicultural identity and her journey through navigating mental health challenges, she has choreographed five original works. Additionally, she represented her school at the National High School Dance Festival in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, by attending and performing in a Student Gala. Her passion for dance extends beyond performance into choreography, education, and critical reflection on dance within broader cultural contexts.
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