By Abigail D’Souza
As she completed her 15th pirouette in a row, her younger sister Donna grew agitated.
“Oli! Sit still. Please,” Donna begged.
Di Prima laughed. “I couldn’t stop even if I tried. I’ve always got choreo in my head. I’m always dancing in my head.”
“Your lift is here!” Donna called.
She sat down in front of the film crew, rehearsing potential answers to questions about her 18-year journey through the dance industry. With bright lights, cameras and microphones surrounding her, Di Prima thought she’d be used to this. She’d been filmed for concept videos and choreography hundreds of times but somehow this felt new. Raw. She didn’t want to say the wrong things.
As the conversation delved into the topic of body image, Olivia Di Prima shared her thoughts and experiences with candid honesty. “I didn’t experience a lot of that sort of thing,” she admitted. “I know it does happen. I’ve definitely heard stories online, from people I know.”
The interviewer nodded, prompting the 21-year-old to continue. “But I think growing up, you’re going through your teenage years, you see everyone else in crop tops and shorts, and you’re like, ‘Why doesn’t my stomach look like that? Why don’t my arms look like that?'”
She paused for a moment, reflecting on her younger self. “I think that obviously has had a big impact on me. I wasn’t overweight, I wasn’t fat. But I was always looking at other people like, ‘Oh my God, I wish I had that body.’ There was nothing wrong with mine.”
Di Prima emphasized how the constant exposure to tight clothing and self-reflection amplified the pressure. “But I think it’s even worse because everyone’s wearing tight clothing most of the time. You’re always looking in the mirror to see how you look.”
Then her perspective began to shift. “Now that I’ve grown up, now that I’m in my early twenties, it’s a lot easier to be like, ‘Oh, I don’t have to look like that. I look fine.’ And the dance industry is becoming a lot more inclusive of everyone. No one actually cares. Before it was very much that you have to look a certain way. As you get older, no one actually cares what you look like. I think maybe in ballet …”
Her voice trailed off. Although she was hopeful for positive change, she knew the ballet industry still harbored strict expectations for women’s bodies.
“Let’s take 10,” announced her interviewer, Sydney Baranski, after sensing the frustration and resignation in Di Prima’s voice.
As the film crew adjusted their angles and touched up the interviewee’s hair and make-up, Sydney’s eyes glazed over. Memories of her own experiences in the competitive dance industry flickered through her mind.
Her assistant, noticing her vague stare, pulled Baranski aside to check in on her.
Reflecting on her own battles with body image, the interviewer scoffed. “Some of the more attractive qualities looked for in a ‘dancer body’ are things we have no control over like leg length, foot arch, small chest, all things like that. It’s so difficult because you’re standing next to each other every day- so it’s so easy to compare yourself to who’s right next to you.” It was moments like these that retired dancer found peace in her decision to leave the professional scene.
Wiping the biscuit crumbs from her mouth, Olivia paced from the snack table back to the set where the audio engineer was fiddling with some dials and switches.
“Wanna listen to how you sound so far?” He held out a pair of headphones.
Brushing her hair back, Di Prima put the headphones over her ears. The interview from earlier that morning began playing. She spoke about the hypersexualisation of young girls in the dance industry and, thankfully, the way it’s changing.
“Competitions, videos online, it’s even worse when it’s young kids because they don’t understand what they’re implying, they don’t understand what they’re doing,” the recording played.
“It’s bad, at comps, you see a lot of kids in skimpy outfits and it’s not okay. It’s definitely changed. A lot of people are more aware of it now.”
Olivia Di Prima knew that although she didn’t have to endure this vulgarity herself, other dancers, children, were exposed to it. That mere thought was enough to nauseate the dancer.
Appearing from behind, Sydney Baranski gently peeled back the headphones from Olivia’s head and listened to the same recording. With a look of concern, she turned to her interviewee.
“It’s better now, we’re all over 18, we’re all adults, we’re all comfortable,” Di Prima reassured Baranski. “For full time, we had an all-girl cast. So our whole thing was just women empowerment and feeling confident. All of the teachers were just really focused on feeling empowered and confident in yourself.”
“You’ve done everything. Jazz, tap, ballet, contemporary, hip hop, musical theatre, acrobatics, Latin fusion, heels. Quite a plethora there. Whew!” exhaled Baranski.
Di Prima reminisced on the heels classes she began taking as she grew older, which changed the way she felt about herself as she explored her femininity and sexuality.
“Getting older you start to do more dance in heels, it would be a bit more sensual, I guess. It was more feeling empowered, and strong and confident in ourselves. It was never anything ridiculous and we all felt comfortable. So I’m very glad I had a good experience with that.
“And even when like, this is stupid, but when guys try and chat you up, and they find out I’m a dancer. It just goes straight to being sexualized. It’s never recognized as hard work, dedication and this beautiful art.”
Baranski felt a wave of sadness, knowing that the hard work of dancers like Olivia Di Prima was essentially rubbished by people who didn’t understand. She herself used to practice for four hours after school almost every day as well as rehearse on weekends during competition seasons.
“I barely had time to be with friends outside of dance. But I kept with it because I decided it was worth it, I guess.”
Back at home, Di Prima recounted the interview she had that day to her dad. Although it felt good to have her dancing recognised, she sometimes wished that others in her personal life saw her as an artistic professional as well.
“I feel like every time I introduce myself to someone, and they ask ‘what are you doing?’, and I say, ‘I’m a dancer’, I felt like I always had to follow it up with, ‘oh, but I’m going to uni’, because I grew up hearing that it’s not a sustainable thing, it’s just a hobby. It’s not going to be forever, blah, blah, blah.”
Noticing that she was frustrated, he sat and listened.
“People don’t see how much training, how much effort goes into it, and how it is professional, just see it as an after-school activity. I always felt like if I didn’t say, I’m studying biomedical science, they would think I’m dumb. That I don’t put in much effort. I’m just chilling my way through life. Like, I’m going to struggle later on.”
Placing his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, her dad reassured her, believing that she had the ability, drive and determination to be successful despite what others might say.
Motivated by her father’s words, Di Prima knew that she needed to be honest with herself and the journey that lay ahead of her in dance.
Remembering what Baranski had told her – “Competitive dance requires time commitment, physical commitment, and emotional commitment” – the young dancer couldn’t imagine her life without the one thing that’d brought her joy from toddler to adulthood.
Feature image: A career in dance can be both gruelling and rewarding. Photo by Budgeron Bach/CC/Pexels
