OK, so here’s a little bit of personal information about me: I bellydance. I’ve been dancing for over four years now, and I love it. When I’m not hunched over my keyboard making smut I’m practising my shimmies, flutters and tucks. I’ve had to learn to sew and I’ve now got a thing for glitzy fabric and sequins.
Indeed, bellydancing is like being a drag queen, but for girls. Especially for me. Where else do you get to put on velvet or satin, complete with excessive beading and ridiculously sparkly Wonder-Woman armbands? Where else do you get to pretend you’re a sex-goddess, Queen of the Desert, mysterious she-seductress of power (or something like that)?
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I’m completely unfashionable in my day-to-day life, but put me into a spangled bra and belt and I’m a different person. I turn into an extrovert who shimmies her boobs at complete strangers. Every now and then a performance comes up and I have these occasional bursts of extremely glamourous femininity before retiring back to my sensible shoes.
I do it because bellydancing makes me feel good about myself. I feel pretty and sexy and outrageous and powerful. And it makes other women feel the same way. Everyday women with three kids and stretch marks and flabby bits here and there; I’ve seen the transformation in their lives. They go from feeling shy and defensive about their bodies to embracing themselves and their flaws. They get up to dance and show the world what wonderful, sexual, fabulous human beings they are.
I’ve been prompted to write about this by a wonderful post about body acceptance and bellydance at Myths and Metawhores.
Magdelena writes: “This is one of the reasons I adore Middle Eastern Dance so much; it celebrates curves and the wisdom of the body. Middle Eastern Dance also honours maturity, understanding that feminity matures in the body through each phase of the sacred cycle, fostering a choice between wisdom and woe.”
If you haven’t tried bellydancing, I recommend it. Goodness knows it’s a hell of a lot easier than pole dancing! (I went to a pole dancing class for a For The Girls article. Believe me, throwing yourself around a steel pole while wearing high heels is murder on your arms.)