Ballet is an art form that thrives on discipline, elegance, and precision. From the outside, it looks effortless—floating across the stage, balancing on the tips of toes, bodies moving in perfect harmony with the music. But behind the beauty, there’s a deeply ingrained and toxic expectation: the idea that a ballerina must look a certain way to succeed. It’s a stereotype so widely accepted that it’s often joked about, dismissed as “just part of the culture,” or worse, considered a necessary sacrifice for greatness.
But why? Why is it so normalized that dancers must struggle with food, body image, and extreme dieting just to be deemed worthy of their art? Why is it that when a dancer doesn’t fit the mold of the “ideal ballet body,” they’re told to change how they look instead of simply being given the tools to improve their technique?
The stereotype of the ultra-thin, borderline fragile ballerina has existed for decades. The image of a dancer with long limbs, delicate features, and a body that seems almost weightless is deeply ingrained in both the ballet world and popular culture. Many people assume that all professional dancers are naturally thin, that they don’t have to try to maintain a certain look. But the truth is, behind those lean physiques often lies an immense pressure—one that encourages extreme dieting, over-exercising, and disordered eating habits.
It’s not just a stereotype—it’s an expectation. From a young age, dancers are taught that their bodies are just as much a part of their success as their skill. The phrase “ballet body” isn’t just descriptive; it’s a goal that dancers are pushed toward, often at the expense of their physical and mental well-being.
One of the most disturbing aspects of ballet culture is how disordered eating is often treated as normal—even humorous. It’s not uncommon to hear dancers joking about skipping meals, eating cotton balls dipped in juice, or surviving on coffee and a handful of almonds. These comments, often passed around lightheartedly in dressing rooms and rehearsals, mask the very real suffering that many dancers experience.
Worse still, outside of ballet, society tends to reinforce these harmful ideas. There’s a casual acceptance that dancers simply “don’t eat much,” as if it’s an expected and necessary part of the job. Movies, books, and television portray ballerinas as delicate, ethereal beings who glide through life on empty stomachs, further embedding this harmful stereotype into the public’s perception.
But this isn’t just a joke. It’s a crisis. The normalization of these behaviors leads countless dancers—especially young ones—down the dangerous path of eating disorders. And because it’s treated as “just the way things are,” many suffer in silence, believing that their struggles with food are an unavoidable part of being a dancer.
One of the most frustrating aspects of ballet’s body standards is how dancers who don’t naturally fit the mold are treated. Instead of being given more training, more opportunities to refine their skills, and more encouragement to improve as artists, they are often told, bluntly and cruelly, that their bodies are the problem.
A dancer who doesn’t have the “ideal” look isn’t usually told, “Here’s what you can work on to strengthen your technique.” Instead, they’re told, “Lose weight.” It doesn’t matter if they have perfect musicality, a stunning stage presence, or impeccable technique—if they don’t fit the image, they are often overlooked, held back, or pressured to change themselves in ways that can be damaging.
Imagine if the same logic were applied to any other discipline. If a painter’s work wasn’t strong enough, would they be told to change their appearance instead of improving their technique? If a musician played out of tune, would they be told to look more like a classical performer rather than refine their skill? Ballet is one of the only art forms where external appearance is prioritized so blatantly over ability.
This relentless focus on aesthetics over talent creates an environment where dancers internalize the idea that their worth is defined not by their skill, but by their size. It fosters a toxic cycle where dancers push themselves beyond healthy limits, believing that if they can just look the part, they will finally be good enough. But the truth is, for many, the goalpost is constantly moving.
The reality is that even if a dancer loses weight, it’s often never “enough.” The industry keeps pushing, the expectations keep shifting, and the damage to both body and mind continues to grow. Instead of developing artists, ballet often creates individuals who are locked in an endless battle with themselves—obsessing over every calorie, every mirror reflection, every whispered comment from an instructor.
What makes this even more heartbreaking is that some of the greatest dancers in history didn’t fit the traditional mold, yet their talent was undeniable. Ballet is meant to be an expression of art and movement, not a rigid, outdated beauty standard. If an art form is built on storytelling, passion, and athleticism, why should it be limited to one specific body type?
The industry needs to change, but so does the way society views ballet. It’s time to stop laughing off eating disorders as just “part of the culture.” It’s time to stop accepting that dancers must suffer for their art. And it’s time to challenge the idea that appearance is more important than ability.
Instead of telling young dancers to shrink themselves, we should be telling them to grow—grow in their technique, in their artistry, and in their confidence. We should be fostering an environment where dancers of all body types can thrive, where talent is the deciding factor, and where the joy of movement isn’t overshadowed by the fear of not fitting in.
Ballet can be beautiful without being brutal. But that change starts with breaking the silence, rejecting the harmful norms, and demanding a future where no dancer has to choose between their passion and their well-being.