Imitation is the Highest Form of Flattery

And also the mature way of handling envy

Green is the new black

So, there’s a dancer in one of my classes and I kind of don’t really like her much. (We shall call her The Nose, for which will become apparent soon.) There are two reasons for my dislike: one that’s possibly understandable and the other that most decidedly is not.

Reason one: the Nose has a tendency of looking like something or someone in her vicinity smells. Her lips are often pressed together in distaste and her nostrils flare as if she’s sniffing out the offensive thing, ready to douse it in Febreze, but it’s possible that everyone and everything smells and there’s no escape and not enough air freshener left in the tin.

Logic says she’s probably quite shy. I too have a similar habit of walking around glaring at the world (a kind, sympathetic friend calls it Resting Bitch Face) and it stems from shyness. So when I’m feeling more charitable, I remind myself of this.

When she flares her nostrils in my direction, I feel somewhat less charitable.

Reason two: the Nose can DANCE. (If you’re anything like me, there’s an image of a giant nose prancing around in your head and you’re giggling like a child.)

But seriously, not only does she pick up the choreography quickly (inhales it in an instant through her giant, flaring nostrils), she adds her own touch to it and throws herself into leaps and turns. Often a single pirouette in the choreography becomes a triple in her version and she moves as if the music is telling her what to do.

In the very truest sense of the word, she dances.

You may have giggled at the dancing ‘snot-box’, as it is delightfully known in my family, but I have no doubts she throws shapes like this regularly:

Not so funny now, is it?

Yes, dear reader, the true reason for my dislike is pure, ugly envy. I wish I could dance like that. But because I can’t, I stand at the back of the studio, a green eyed monster. And I glare.

Now I am hoping that one day soon I will get over myself and remember an important lesson from not that long ago.

To imitate is to learn

Quite soon after I had started Lyn’s classes, I noticed she often called on one of the other students to demonstrate a step whilst she explained the mechanics behind it. Catherine (not her real name as she would hack me into tiny pieces if I used it) was an unassuming lady who would often innocently slip down the studio and stand at the back: she wanted to dance and not worry about being watched. Unfortunately for her, Lyn knew that if she needed someone to demonstrate cleanly, Catherine was the lady for the job. She is one of these dancers who has years of experience and a natural grace. I clearly remember Lyn commenting on Catherine’s natural épaulement—no matter what the movement or variation, her head was always held in the right place.

Everyone in this photo from a show looks fantastic, but you will spot one dancer holding her head absolutely right. That is Catherine:

Anyway, it was around that time I was introduced to the humble, but beautiful, balancé. Admittedly, it did take my pea-sized brain some time to grasp the three count rhythm, but when I finally found the courage to stop staring at my feet, I realised that there was the problem of the what the arms and head were doing too. The idea of a balancé, I found, was to glide with gently wafting arms and a gently tilted head.

Brain Could Not Compute.

Thankfully that day Catherine was in the row in front of me and, in a very uncommon moment of genius, I decided to copy her.

It’s funny how brains work. Often they think about the problem too much and short circuit:

“Okay, legs, you’re doing this; arms, whilst going left, you’re doing that and whilst going right, you need to do this; and head tilt, but not too much. And smile. SMILE!”

But, whilst essentially the same thing, the very simple instruction from brain to entire body of “Look at her and do what she’s doing” often works out better.

The next thing I knew, Lyn had stopped the class and said “Let’s watch Catherine [not her real name] and Frances doing balancés down the studio.”

I made sure I was standing a little bit behind Catherine because, heaven knows, I still needed to follow her. And to this day, when balancés are in a class, I think of how Catherine holds and moves her arms.

So the moral of the story is I need to apply the Catherine Principle to the Nose. She may look severely disappointed with her fellow dancers, but putting that aside, if I could learn from her I might find I am able to do some of the amazing things she does. I am very aware that I will never reach her level of skill, but I may well learn something by observing rather than glaring.

And perhaps if she realised that others in the class were looking to her example, she might find we smelt a bit less...