In Conversation with Alice Robb

Alice Robb is the author of Don't Think, Dear: On Loving and Leaving Ballet (HarperCollins, 2023), which has been called “beautiful, difficult, and compelling” (Vanity Fair); “a nuanced, intimate mash-up of memoir, reportage and cultural criticism” (The Guardian); “enlightening, perceptive” (The Wall Street Journal); and “devastating” (New York Times). Her first book, Why We Dream (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2018), was translated into over a dozen foreign languages. As a journalist, she has written for places like Vogue, The Guardian, The Atlantic and The New Republic, where she began her career. She grew up in New York and now lives in London.

Your book Don’t Think, Dear covers your experiences as a young ballet student at the School of American Ballet (SAB), but also looks at the art form through a critical, feminist lens. How did the book come into being?

Alice Robb: The long answer is that I studied ballet growing up, stopped at 15, and tried not to think about ballet for about a decade. I went to college and wrote my first book, Why We Dream, which was on a completely different topic - the science of dreaming.

A few things happened in my mid-20s that brought me back to ballet: I started reading ballet memoirs randomly - the first one I read that got me back into the subject was Toni Bentley’s Winter Season. I remember reading it, loving it, and feeling ready to think about ballet again. I think it had been a kind of traumatic exit from ballet, so I had to suppress it for a while. Around the same time as I started reading about ballet again, an old friend and classmate of mine, who features in the book, reached out to me after seeing the publicity around my first book. We ended up reconnecting, and through that process, I realised that some of the things I had been suppressing were not unique to me - that I was not the only one thinking about them. 

Had you ever pictured yourself becoming a writer?

Alice: Yes, I always loved reading and writing little diaries and things like that. I always enjoyed English class. I kept diaries as a child, which ended up being very useful in the book for jogging my memory and quoting from them, which I’m sure my child self would have been thrilled about.

So obviously I always wanted to be a dancer, but I also loved reading and writing. These interests came to the fore after I stopped ballet.

We grew up with a single-minded idea that dancing is everything, but it’s okay for you to want change.

Were you able to further develop those writing skills when you went to college? 

Alice: I studied archaeology and anthropology at university in the UK, so I was mostly focused on those subjects. I did a term or two with the student newspaper but didn’t go that far with it. After graduating, I got an internship at a magazine in Washington, D.C., and I’ve been writing consistently ever since. So it’s been 11 years now.

The issue of identity comes up a few times in your book, as it does in my conversations with dancers about their career transitions. Why do you think dancers’ identities are so interwoven with the profession?

Alice: I think it’s a few things. Part of it is just the amount of time and dedication it takes to pursue ballet, and the sacrifices you make from such an early age. The dancer identity becomes compensation for missing out on “normal” activities. Through ballet, you get to have this other thing, be this other person. Also, the awareness that I had of my body when I was dancing was something that I really appreciated - it was with me when I woke up in the morning and when I was sitting at school. So that became part of this physical dancer identity, which was reinforced by some of the advice we got from teachers, such as to walk turned out. So ballet was more than the hours in the studio; it was an integral part of who I was.

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You refer to Balanchine as your “problematic fave”. How do you deal with the struggle of enjoying art made by problematic artists?

Alice: That’s a big question, and many smarter people have thought and written about it. Personally, as for Balanchine, I go through phases. After finishing the book, I went to see Jewels in London, one of my absolute favourite ballets - I love the music, I love the dancing, and it’s such a fun piece. I was so excited to see it, but I didn’t enjoy it, and I was really surprised by that. It was during the period immediately after Don’t Think, Dear came out, where I was receiving a lot of really emotional messages from readers, so I was really immersed in those. It felt like a real privilege to receive people’s stories, but some of them were really upsetting. Because of this, I felt I needed to take a break from seeing ballet performances. I didn’t feel I could patronise it as an audience member at that point. 

Currently, I know I will always appreciate Balanchine but am more interested in seeing contemporary work. So I guess this issue really depends on your relationship to an artist at a particular time. I think that relationship is something that evolves, and I’m sure I’ll come back to my old favourites at some point in my life. 

Ballet training emphasises obedience and submission. How do you think this groundwork affects dancers - especially women - later in life?

Alice: An argument I made throughout the book was that the values ballet prizes in girls and young women are an extreme version of what society, as a whole, teaches them. The focus on the body and aesthetics is one aspect. Silence is another; when I was growing up, you were not allowed to speak in ballet class. You could only communicate through smiles, curtseys, and taking corrections - all very passive ways of communicating. I actually wonder if that’s why I’ve gravitated to writing, which is a way of expressing myself, but it’s still a way of being “quiet”. It’s taken me some time to become comfortable with public speaking.

I think that was a theme with a lot of my classmates. We were not necessarily encouraged to find our own voices or to think of ourselves as individual artists. I understand the reasons behind that way of teaching, but I think that given teachers are not only preparing you for a dance career but also for life, we need to think deeply about how ballet is taught.

I’m encouraged by seeing my contemporaries coming into leadership positions, as I think they’re very conscious of not perpetuating the same cycle.

Similarly, the chapter “Brought Up to Turn Off” talks about ballet and sexuality, touch, and consent. How did your ballet training affect these areas of your life?

Alice: In one sense, I was a very girly girl and felt safe in an environment made up of mostly girls. That got more complicated around adolescence when there would be a few boys around. It always felt like they automatically got attention and were more valued. In fact, they were literally more valued: they didn’t have to pay tuition at certain places. When we started partnering in summer programs, for example, the girls would share boys - it would be around five girls per boy. I think this reinforced this idea that girls are more expendable and boys are more valuable. 

Regarding touch, there was this cognitive dissonance; I remember being excited to get to do partnering, but also, someone you’ve literally never spoken to is touching you. It was quite an intimate thing, but it was never really addressed. That was definitely a confusing message. 

Misogyny in the ballet world can be seen as a microcosm of the larger misogyny present in society. What are some steps you think could be taken to address gender inequality and misogyny in the industry?

Alice: I wish I had more answers, but I think there have been some encouraging signs and we are seeing a slow “redesign” of the ballet world. I think more female leadership in ballet companies would send a message, from the top, that women are truly valued. I also think just a bit more humanity in ballet training is also important, as that really affects students as people. Sometimes there’s a sort of hypocrisy around issues such as eating disorders - if you tell students that it's important to treat their body well, but then they go to watch a company and everyone is extremely thin, then the message isn’t going to land. I think there needs to be more tolerance for physical fluctuations and room for self-expression.

I’m encouraged by seeing my contemporaries coming into leadership positions, as I think they’re very conscious of not perpetuating the same cycle. Many have experienced difficult things themselves and have sought therapy, which will hopefully bring more awareness and humanity to the industry.

After all your reflection and research, what do you think of the dance industry and its associated training institutions today? 

Alice: When I was growing up, I was very focused on ballet and didn’t engage much with contemporary or jazz classes - I would basically just pretend I was in ballet class. I live in London now, and the last thing I saw was an incredible Hofesh Schechter piece at Sadler’s Wells. You could tell that what was valued was so different from what was valued in ballet - the focus was on movement, expression, and emotions. It showed me that ballet doesn’t have to be this life or death serious thing. There was joy in it, and it was irreverent and playful. My current experience with the professional dance industry is mainly as an audience member, but those are the kind of things that make me want to go and see dance right now.  

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Do you feel like those experiences are able to rekindle the joy you had for it when you were a child?  

Alice: It’s still complicated. I don’t know if I’ll ever watch a performance without somewhat wishing I was dancing. Physically, I crave it, but psychologically, it’s still complicated. I’m more likely to stretch in my room than put on ballet shoes and go to a studio now. But I’m sure that one day I’ll go see Jewels and love it again.

Finally, this platform strives to provide advice for dancers looking to transition into a different career. Based on your own experience, plus your research and conversations with others, is there any advice you would give to dancers unsure about this daunting next step?

Alice: I don't know how meaningful this will be coming from me, but I hope to help dancers not feel shame around doing something different. We grew up with a single-minded idea that dancing is everything, but it’s okay for you to want change. Even in my career as a writer, what I’ve wanted has changed so many times. I started off thinking I wanted to be a news reporter, then while working at a magazine I realised I would like to write longer pieces. Then I wrote one book, and realised I wanted to write a different kind of book. 

We’re not the same people we were when we were eight-year-olds at the barre, and the world is really big. It’s so important to allow yourself to change and evolve. 

^{Top image by Nina Subin}