Beyond the Edge: Why Every Dancer Shouldn’t Be Defined in the Same Way

What happens when one kind of excellence becomes the only kind we see?

Introduction

In my earlier post, I asked whether dancing had become too aggressive.

I was considering the tone we see on the floor today, and what’s being valued.

But in time, I found myself asking a deeper question:

Who defines that tone in the first place?

That’s what led me to write this new piece.

Because when overt intensity becomes the only thing we reward, we need to ask:

Who decided that?

And what are we asking female dancers, especially, to leave behind in order to meet that standard?

Something has shifted.

In the last few years, I’ve found myself quietly noticing a change in how female dancers move. Not just in their technique, but in the tone that surrounds them.

• The softness is less visible.

• The musical breath between phrases is rare.

• Everything is highly projected, precise, controlled, and designed for impact.

Excellence remains, of course. But the range feels narrower, and the qualities that once gave the feminine style its complexity seem to be fading from view.

Some might argue that what we’re witnessing isn’t the erasure of femininity in dance but its expansion. That projection, power, and precision no longer belong solely to the masculine domain, and that today’s female dancers are simply claiming the full spectrum of human expression.

In this view, the rise of more assertive movement isn’t suppression, it’s a way of taking ownership. Strength, after all, is not gendered.

And in a competitive arena where clarity and command are essential, perhaps it’s only natural that these traits have become more visible. I don’t dismiss this view. In fact, I find parts of it compelling. But what I keep returning to is this:

When one style, one tone, one aesthetic begins to dominate, we must ask what else is being quietly pushed aside.

If feminine-coded values like softness, musical sensitivity, and emotional subtlety are no longer rewarded or even recognised, we risk teaching a generation that visibility matters more than authenticity. And when many female dancers look and move with the same driven intensity, we should pause to ask:

Is this freedom? Or has the spectrum narrowed without us noticing?

What concerns me is not that strength has entered the room, but that softness seems to have been asked to leave.

The rise of dominant, masculine-coded traits in female dancers might look like empowerment on the surface. But beneath it, I see a growing conformity.

The expression is bold, yes, but so is the pressure to perform a particular kind of presence. One that is fierce, unwavering, and highly controlled. And while these qualities can be thrilling, they are not the only markers of excellence.

When we reward only what is easily measured, such as attack, energy, projection, we begin to neglect the deeper textures that make dance an artform, not just a sport.

The feminine, in its fullest sense, carries complexity: vulnerability, sensuality, stillness, grace.

If these are no longer visible on our most celebrated floors, the loss is not just aesthetic. It is cultural.

Perhaps the question isn’t only about femininity being displaced, but about what the competitive system now rewards.

Projection, control, and high-impact articulation may appear masculine-coded, but they are also the qualities that score well under pressure.

In many ways, they are not just gendered traits.

They are competitive-coded ones.

They’re easily seen from a distance.

They translate well on screen.

They offer clarity in crowded rounds and under time-limited judging conditions.

This makes them reliable indicators of “performance” in an environment where impact often matters more than interpretation.

But that doesn’t make them neutral.

A system that consistently favours visibility, power, and precision, however practical, will inevitably privilege a certain tone.

And when that tone becomes the default for success, other kinds of expression are quietly edged out.

Traits like softness, stillness, and emotional ambiguity become harder to recognise, harder to reward, and eventually, harder to value.

So while it may look like female dancers are simply evolving with the times, we must still ask:

Whose design are they adapting to?

And what deeper cost are we paying for this kind of clarity?

And perhaps this narrowing hasn’t happened by chance.

Across the early stages of a dancer’s journey, women are often the primary teachers. They guide foundational technique, musical understanding, and discipline with care and consistency. But as dancers progress into more advanced territory, when choreography becomes central, and when being seen, in competition and increasingly online, becomes part of what opens doors, the influences begin to shift.

When we look at who holds the most visible and shaping roles in our dance world, especially among choreographers, elite-level coaches, prominent adjudicators, and importantly, online content creators, a familiar pattern re-emerges.

Creative authority often leans male, particularly in the spaces most amplified.

This isn’t to diminish the extraordinary contribution of male figures in our field. Many have shaped generations of dancers with remarkable artistry and dedication.

But it’s worth asking:

What might be missing, not from lack of skill or passion, but from absence of lived perspective?

I’m not just speaking of softness. I’m speaking of the layered intelligence that comes from embodied experience.

• The nuances of how a female dancer feels rhythm in her centre.

• The way she interprets musical phrasing through emotion, not just action.

• And how her body differs from the male body.

If these qualities aren’t part of the choreographic or technical design from the start, we may see brilliance. But not always truth.

When more women contribute not only their presence but their perspective, as choreographers, innovators, and adjudicators, we open the door to wider artistic possibility. We gain more than balance. We gain depth.

This isn’t about reducing male influence. It’s about widening the frame.

This isn’t about returning to the past. Nor is it a rejection of strength in female dancers.

It’s a call to recognise that true artistry holds contrast, not just in choreography, but in character.

We need spaces where both projection and softness can be seen, valued, and developed. Where dancers are not shaped by what wins, but supported in discovering what is authentic.

We’ll be reminded that excellence has more than one voice.

And that sometimes, it speaks quietly.

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Thank you for reading.