Inspired by my 20-minute writing exercise around “an embarrassment.”

After I finished my university years in Madison, Wisconsin, I relocated to the San Francisco Bay area to start my first job.  It was a time of firsts.  Of growing up and adventure – but also of loneliness and feeling untethered.  Developing independence is a necessary skill, but felt unnatural to me, having shared a bedroom with my college roommate for the last 3 years, and finding myself with very few moments alone. Ever.  Especially not an entire apartment alone; and thousands of miles between me and everyone that I loved.

One of those things I had always loved was live theatre, especially performing on stage.  After years of dance lessons and performances of The Nutcracker; high school plays, musicals, and band concerts, I developed a deep love of performance art.  During my college years, I worked as an intern for the Madison Repertory Theatre, helping inspire more college students to experience live theatre (and earning myself fee tickets to all the shows).  But competition on a college campus was steep and I only worked up the nerve to attend 1 audition, ultimately walking away without success.

As a working professional in a suburb east of Oakland, I learned about the Pleasanton Players, a community theatre troupe.  One of my colleagues was involved, and they were holding auditions for a spring production of Sondheim’s Follies.  Feeling a bit hungry for the stage and eager to connect with people, I decided to go for it.  I printed out sheet music for Don’t Cry for Me Argentina, pushed away my nerves and auditioned.  And they gave me a role!  I was a member of the company, who were featured heavily in this show – with lots of singing and dancing and costume changes. 

Rehearsals were fun – especially learning choreography again, like my high school and dance days.  It turned out, my colleague, Todd, was the dance leader.  And while he kept a pretty low profile at the office: quiet, trying to fit in and be on-trend (he was a buyer for a department store – so knowing fashion trends and style were literally his job), with the community theatre crew he was an open, joyful gay man – full of life, with a big personality.  As I got to know my fellow chorus members better, I learned that one of the other dancers had a bit more experience in the exotic style of dance.  With long, thin legs and perfect, full breasts, it wasn’t hard to imagine why she found success with that career choice.  Getting to know her and her mother, who was also a member of the cast, helped me to reexamine some of my biases.

Before we knew it, we were moving into the theatre for tech week and getting assigned costumes.  As is common with many similar productions, the costumes are often rented and any additions or alterations are tackled by a scrappy crew of local volunteers.  I felt pretty good about my command of the material and the dance steps.  I sang alto and seemed to pick out the right notes, at least most of the time.  And the dance portion was pretty natural, even after taking a hiatus from any organized dance for 4+ years. 

And then my confidence was shattered.  The costumes for one of our big dance numbers, “Live, Laugh, Love” were distributed and suddenly I realized I was expected to walk on stage, in front of hundreds of people, wearing essentially red, pleather lingerie.  While I was a beautiful, fit, young woman, the idea of going on stage in something that covered so little of my body felt too humiliating to stomach.  I had always carried weight around my thighs and butt, trying to hide cellulite since I was in high school.  The currently accepted beauty standard featured an anorexic-looking Kate Moss, and my genetics would never fit that mold.  I tried on the costume and joined my fellow company-mates, tears welling up in my eyes as I tried to push away the embarrassment.

While I was not comfortable, I guess the strength in numbers sort of took over.  This was an ensemble piece where roughly a dozen of us were dressed in the same costume and accessorized with sequined top hats and canes.  We were, after all, trying to transport the audience back to the Ziegfeld Follies, but in a dream-like state, where the representation is a bit more surreal and unhinged.  Under the stage lights, in a choreographed kick line, and with my heeled dancing shoes, I felt less naked and exposed.

My friend, the exotic dancer, recommended the perfect tights – like nude Spanx, before that company was on the map… these tights helped suck and smooth and cover all the right things and pushed me back into the confident zone.  I was playing a role in this collaborative, expressive, emotional production we had worked on together for months, and the costuming was that layer of presentation we all needed to help break down that 4^th wall and bring the audience into our little slice of magical storytelling.

We performed for several weeks, and my future husband, parents, and Californian best friend, (and future roommate), all supported me from the audience.  They joined me and my fellow actors for post-show drinks and cast parties, embracing this new community I had connected with.  I proved to myself that I could get back on that stage, even as an adult, and that I could make beautiful art with others, even if it required putting on red pleather lingerie.