Blog 2: Difference on Display

On Display: The Gaze in Dance Competitions

When I was a competitive dancer, I always felt like I was being watched. On stage, the judges and audience weren’t just paying attention to the routine. They were also looking at costumes, bodies, and how well we matched a certain “ideal” of what a dancer should be. That connects to what Rosemarie Garland-Thomson calls the “Beauty” category.

The hardest part for me was during overall awards. All of us would sit on stage while they called up who won. If your name wasn’t called, you just sat there, trying not to look upset. It was embarrassing to be on display like that, especially when the lights and the audience made it clear who was being celebrated and who wasn’t. In those moments, it didn’t matter how hard you worked, what mattered was whether you fit into what the judges thought was the “best.”

Sometimes the applause and high scores felt exciting, even validating. It was proof that the hours of practice and the pressure were worth it. But other times it felt like the whole setup was built to rank us, to sort us into winners and everyone else. It made those who didn’t “measure up” feel small, almost invisible. Our teachers would always remind us that it was “just one person’s opinion,” but it never felt that way when we went to competition after competition and saw the same teams winning every time.

Dance itself also carries its own culture of constant comparison, even before you step on stage. Social media pushes the “ballerina aesthetic,” with perfect lines, thin bodies, and endless discipline. In class, you’re always dancing in front of mirrors, staring at yourself and comparing yourself to the people next to you. The tight outfits make every detail visible, which adds even more pressure to look a certain way. By the time you get to competition, you’ve already been trained to judge yourself against everyone else.

Then, once you’re on stage, the judging becomes official. You’re competing not only in skill but in how your body, makeup, costumes, and props all come together to fit what someone else has decided is “the best.” You’re asked to pour everything into performing, but at the end of the day, your value gets boiled down to scores on a piece of paper and trophies handed to strangers on stage beside you.

That’s exactly what Garland-Thomson means by structured seeing. The culture of dance makes you feel like you’re always under a spotlight, whether it’s in the studio mirror, scrolling online, or sitting on stage waiting for awards. The whole environment is built around being watched, evaluated, and compared, turning dance into more of a spectacle than just an art form.

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