I am flaxen-haired. Well… at least I used to be (<-click). I spent years, and a shitload of moolah, making sure it remained some version of blonde. Blonde, blonder, BLONDEST; a condition that all dyed in the wool, flaxen-haired, card-carrying ‘almost blondies’ are afflicted with.
Furthermore, when my boobs kicked in at seventeen and remained obvious throughout my show biz years – it was a bit of a conundrum. Dolly Parton sized they were not, but in some circles (concert dance) might as well have been.
When it came to costumes – the concert dance world did not look favorably on those of us displaying ample-ish bazooms. In my case, wardrobe tended to be more of a camouflage situation. That spaghetti strap dress? Fuggedaboutit! That gorgeous backless leotard? Don’t even think about it. I needed support, and concert dance was not in the business of providing it.
What’s a girl (girls) to do?
The musical theatre world was different, as in, breasts were bolstered and appreciated. Hallelujah!
As a blonde-haired, happy, perkier-breasted performer, you are more often than not typecast. People make assumptions. And throughout my concert dance career, that proved to be true.
I was often made to feel like I couldn’t possibly be a true artist. Why the hell not? Was it because I was not filled with angst and self-loathing? Or simply because a dark cloud was not perpetually suspended above my head?
By the way – regarding that cloud reference – my head was not in the clouds, either.
At least not all the time.
If only those higher-ups were more interested in my passionate and compassionate qualities, my ambitious and intuitive depth. If only. I admit to being a happy human and oftentimes filled with joy. That’s a bad thing?
Could they have looked past the straw-colored strands and cleavage to see what I was capable of? To allow me to grow as an artist based on dedication and desire – not judgment and marginalization.
Should I have vocalized my aspirations? Demanded? Coerced? Advocated? Pretty, pretty pleased? How about… just ASKed?
At the time, I didn’t think I had any say in my trajectory. And to be honest, I probably didn’t.
Was I entertaining? I have heard. And, yes, I could be silly. C’mon, silly is highly underrated. But superficial? I was not. I am not. I have great depth of emotion to offer.
Just ask me.
Nevertheless, I’m quite aware that the so-called serious roles were not meant for me.
According to some.
There could have been someone who recognized the expanse of my ability, the richness of my movement and my inherent capacity to dig deep… whether delivering something challenging, clever, or thought-provoking. Where were they?
Helloooo…
Ergo, I continued to be the funny one. The comical dancer. The entertaining one. What choice did I have? But guess what? People tell me those charming and delightful bits were as captivating and thrilling and enduring as anything brooding someone else might have delivered.
Don’t get me wrong – I loved being those things. It’s just sometimes I yearned for a slight detour.
Or perhaps it’s just the idea that calling oneself an artist seemed to be reserved only for the esoteric, cerebral, bereft-of-décolletage types.
In the end, it was musical theatre that offered me the opportunity to dig deeper. Who woulda thunk?
When the rights to A Chorus Line became available in 1985, three Chicago-area productions were about to be staged. Based on prior experience, I figured they’d see me as a Judy – best described as scatterbrained. MOI? (those were the parts I usually got hired for). So, probably. Nevertheless, to the best of my ability, I manifested Cassie. Did I really believe in the possibility? Well… not according to my track record.
What do you know, I was called back for both Cassie and Sheila for two of the productions and on my way to embodying the potential with greater confidence for the third.
If third time’s the charm…
I stood on stage in my red leotard, mic pack secured, a circle of light cutting through the darkness, and sweat dripping down my back – I was exceedingly aware that I was the sole focus.
Talk about anxious determination.
I couldn’t quite see who all those eyeballs in the dark belonged to, but I certainly felt their presence.
Was I meant to feel immense pressure – or immense power?
Hmmmmm…
Mind you, this was not opening night; it was just my audition for Candlelight Dinner Playhouse.
I’ll back up a little and describe the process for this third audition. The search for a Cassie had been underway for a while, and although the choreographer, Rudy Hogenmiller, suggested me – the team was totally unconvinced. Could I sing it? Could I act it? They had their doubts. I beg your pardon.
I asked for the chance to prove myself. Rudy taught me the solo. I memorized my lines, prepped the song, and got my hands on a red leotard. I don’t remember having more than two rehearsals, but it was made quite clear that my performance needed to be opening night wizardry to secure the role.
I don’t know if it was ability, artistry or brilliant bewitchery, but with immense responsibility, and Advil, I slipped on that red skirt… eight shows a week for seven months.
Meanwhile…
… all you boobed blondies out there – I see you, I hear you, I support you and all you want to be. Also, advocate. No “pretty, pretty please with sugar on top”, no offering of “I’ll be your best friend forever”, and certainly no “I am begging you on my hands and knees”.
You might not get the answer you were hoping for, but no one is a mind reader… as much as we wish they were.
Just ask. You can ask.
Featured image via Pinterest
Bravo Karen!!! Jack and I just saw “A Chorus Line” in Aspen!!! It was stupendous! And I was trying to figure out which part you played. Kudos to you in the RED. The part with the most rare meat!! Fabulous!! And I am humbled…. Always a FAN