You Don't Belong in the Front Row. How Coaches' Comments Shape Students' Futures

The names used throughout this article have been changed. The people who shared their stories with me asked to remain anonymous, and I completely understand and respect that.

It's been a long time since I last stood in a dance studio, yet I can still remember that feeling vividly. Looking back at all those years spent in training, I see so many wonderful memories. But also countless moments that still send chills down my spine.

As someone who has always been highly sensitive to the people and situations around me, I was never able to simply brush off the comments made by coaches. Many of them genuinely broke me. It wasn't until years later that I realized the problem wasn't just me.

The real issue lies within a system where two essential things have been missing from the dance community for years: proper pedagogical training for coaches and genuine respect for students' mental well-being.

Recently, as part of our discussion event Bauns Close Friends, we conducted a survey involving forty dancers. Some of the results were alarming:

• 63% of respondents had experienced a situation where a coach seriously crossed their personal boundaries.

• Almost 80% said that criticism from coaches had been demotivating, or even outright humiliating.

  
  

I don't see these numbers as a coincidence. To me, they point to a fundamental problem that can leave people with lifelong trauma or, at the very least, severely damaged self-confidence. It's time we stop ignoring the amount of power coaches hold. This stopped being just about dance a long time ago (if it ever was only about dance in the first place).

Dance, the Body... and Everything Beyond

Dance is a visual art form. We all want performances to look polished, clean, and visually striking - whether on stage or on camera. But in the pursuit of a flawless final result, coaches too often forget that they aren't working with tools or props. They're working with human beings.

In the pursuit of perfectly synchronized formations, dancers can gradually become little more than pieces on a chessboard - objects that help the coach achieve a desired visual outcome. The goal becomes making everyone move exactly the same way, with nobody standing out.

I've lost count of how many times the tallest dancers were automatically placed in the back row, regardless of how skilled they actually were. And honestly, I'm tired of seeing the one boy in the group automatically placed in the center of the formation simply because he's the boy. (Not to mention that he's often wearing a much more comfortable costume than the women around him.)

If you don't perfectly fit this artificial template, whether because of your height, weight, or body shape, the system starts treating you as an aesthetic problem. That internal pressure to achieve a supposedly perfect visual image eventually begins to show externally. At first, perhaps through subtle behaviour. Later, very often through words.

When coaches lack pedagogical training and empathy, they tend to deal with students' perceived imperfections in the easiest (and, in my opinion, most problematic) way possible: by publicly commenting on them in front of everyone else.

The truth is, commenting on someone's body or appearance should be an absolute no-go.

Just because (hopefully) very few coaches today still weigh their students or force them into extreme diets doesn't mean the problem has disappeared. The pressure has simply changed its form. Today, it hides behind subtle remarks, judgmental looks, or seemingly innocent comments made during something as simple as costume fittings.

Shapes and Sizes

Costumes deserve a chapter of their own.

Mainstream clothing brands may offer standard sizes, but the bodies standing in a dance studio don't fit neatly into size charts. And that's completely normal!

The fashion industry constantly sells us unrealistic ideas about what human bodies are supposed to look like. So when a costume doesn't fit someone (whether it's too small or keeps slipping off) that isn't the student's failure. It's an organisational failure.

Taking your frustration out on a student because costumes were ordered at the last minute and now everything feels rushed is, to me, a sign of weakness.

The only healthy way forward is to start calling things what they really are. Let's admit that mainstream fashion is often produced in unrealistic sizes and impractical cuts. The problem isn't students' bodies. The problem lies with the clothing itself.

If a coach designs a visual concept that simply doesn't work for the people wearing it, I believe the concept should change. I think we can all agree that being aware of how your dancers feel is one of the fundamental responsibilities of any coach.

Recently, my friend Magda told me how deeply hurt she felt that none of her coaches ever adjusted her costumes to actually fit her.

"We had two competition routines, and neither pair of pants was long enough for me. Everyone else's fit perfectly, while mine looked like capris. I still remember bursting into tears."

At the time, she was the tallest dancer in the junior group, yet she never experienced any real support from her coaches.

According to her, what would have helped most wasn't necessarily a perfect solution, it was simply knowing that someone cared.

"I understand I was the only one, but it still didn't feel fair. I think I deserved to feel just as comfortable in my costume as everyone else."

When she wrote those words to me, I couldn't agree more. Her experience breaks my heart. And I know she is far from the only one.

Personal Favourites vs. Professionalism

It would be naive to believe that coaches feel exactly the same about every student. We're human. We naturally click with some people more than others.

But the moment someone steps into the role of a coach, professionalism has to take priority.

No one deserves passive-aggressive remarks or silent exclusion simply because they didn't click with their coach on a personal level. When someone you admire (and someone your friends admire too) makes it obvious that they dislike you, you need incredibly thick skin to withstand it. Most young people don't have that.

The result is often that they leave dance altogether because the emotional cost simply becomes too high. Those who stay usually find other ways to cope. But very few people walk away from that kind of treatment without carrying something with them.

With her permission, I'd like to share another story, this time from my friend Sarah.

We were around thirteen years old, spending yet another Saturday in the dance studio, building a competition formation. We were trying to figure out a transition between two formations. Our coach was often in a bad mood, and that day was no exception.

She was warm and friendly towards her favourite students, but my friend, whose story this is, wasn't one of them. In the newly created formation, Sarah ended up in the front row. Under that particular coach, it felt like a small victory. But even that couldn't pass without a sarcastic remark.

"Oh my God... Sarah in the front row? Well, that'll be something."

Even twelve years later, we both remember that moment as one of the experiences that deeply damaged her confidence.

Where Does Change Begin?

Coaching built on fear, favouritism, and humiliation isn't a sign of high standards, discipline, or "preparing students for the real world."

It's a sign of pedagogical failure. And it says far more about the coach than it does about the student. Healthy environments are built through positive motivation.

That doesn't mean praising everyone all the time or inventing compliments that aren't genuine. It means that criticism should always be constructive - focused on movement, technique, or performance, never on a dancer's identity, worth, or appearance.

A coach should be the person who creates an environment where mistakes are treated as a natural part of growth, not as an excuse for public humiliation.

And finally, a message to everyone who walks into training with a knot in their stomach:

You don't have to put up with it.

Dance is something beautiful, and today there are more opportunities than ever to choose where (and from whom) you want to learn. If someone is taking away your joy of movement and attacking your sense of self-worth, the problem isn't that you're "too sensitive."

The problem is on the other side.

You have every right to walk away and find a place where you'll be treated like a human being, not like a high-performing prop in someone else's choreography.