The Royal Ballet, World Ballet Day 2017 - photograph by Charlotte MacMillan
Schlumping? Have you been Schlumping in Style in 2023.
"But, I can't be slumping, it's impossible with my hard-earned perfect posture" I hear you cry.
No, not Slumping.....Schlumping.
Still a bit baffled, me too, I'll do my best to explain. It describes a fashion movement that is eclectic, haphazard, seemingly thrown together and a little bit messy. Threadbare chic, with a 'I don't care' nonchalance.
"But I've turning up in the studio for years in my singular striped leg warmer, a slightly moth eaten inside out T-shirt and a look of detached brilliance"
Congratulations, you've nailed it #primastyle
Why do dancers love Junk (an American term that refers to the layers of clothing worn by dancers in the studio)?
Obviously it has a practical application, to keep muscles warm and prevent injury, layers can be discarded and reapplied as necessary, but it has a sartorial side too.
Dancer's live's are disciplined and regimented, whilst studying, the school and/or syllabus dictates the uniform worn in class and exams.
Costumes for the stage are created by the designer and the wardrobe department, the corps de ballet move in unison, looking identical, swans, shades and sylphs.
However, once in a professional company, class and rehearsal are the areas of freedom for self expression when it comes to clothing.
In my days in the company, uniform was, most definitely, not the look we were aiming for. In fact, we managed to achieve it, with fashions such as long T-shirts, fleece babygrows, machine-knitted woollen shorts and the like spreading as fast in the studio as trends catch on in the playground. But, below the surface, it was all about individuality: necklines hacked for maximum flattery; leggings cropped to just the right length to emphasise good points and disguise the bad; printed slogans, scarves and wispy chiffon skirts. We were (just) the children of the Thatcher years, brought up to see individualism as our birth-right and determined to proclaim it - even while we were all dancing the same steps.
In truth, these seemingly random outfits were often carefully selected security blankets. Christine Woodward, a senior corps de ballet member when I joined the company - memorable for her faultless professionalism and razor-sharp wit - once quipped that this must be how dancers spent their rare days off; stationed in front of a mirror, scissors poised, choosing and then marking exactly the angle at which a cropped T-shirt had maximum effect, or where legwarmers crossed the line from emphasising a shapely ankle to highlighting a bulky calf. I always suspected there was some truth in this, that the absent-minded chic of a dancer's wardrobe was the result of anything but chance.
Some of us were better than others at achieving the right look and I never seemed to arrive at an individual style, the way Alessandra Ferri did, with her spider's-web-thin woollen shawls draped casually around her gamine hips, or Jonathan Cope, with his vaguely Masonic one-legged tracksuit pants. (I did spend quite a lot of time trying a variety of guises to pass off my English pear shape as something more Continental. It was only when I finally gave up the struggle that I realised no one else minded it quite as much I did.)
The Everyday Dancer by Deborah Bull (Former Principal Dancer with The Royal Ballet)
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