In 2007, Misty Copeland became one of the most recognizable figures in classical ballet when she earned a spot as the first black female soloist in two decades to perform with the American Ballet Theatre. Five years later, she continued to make history as the first African-American woman to assume the title role in Igor Stravinsky’s iconic ballet, The Firebird, for the classical ballet company. Not bad for a dancer from a single-parent household who put on her first pair of slippers at the overripe (for ballet) age of 13.
Earlier this month, Copeland released a memoir, Life in Motion: An Unlikely Ballerina, which details her childhood in San Pedro, California as an anxious perfectionist who went from living in a motel with her mother and five siblings to sharing a stage at the Met with the best dancers in the world. Since she did not have the “traditional” background of a ballerina, Copeland says she had to learn how to accept guidance from others on everything from healthy eating habits to living independently as a professional in New York City while still a teenager.
Like many dancers, she experienced puberty late in life, more or less having it induced at 19 years old, and abruptly had to weigh criticism of her mature, seemingly alien body against her rebellious instinct to eat and do whatever she wanted. Later on, since ailments like stress fractures are among the most common pitfalls (ending the careers of up to 43 percent of dancers in the United States, according to a report from The Advance Project), Copeland had to be mindful of her prospects after being sidelined by injury shortly after her debut as the Firebird. Now at a more secure place in her career and still pushing forward, Copeland spoke with me about the physical and psychological demands of being a top-tier ballerina.
What is your schedule like now in the midst of the current American Ballet Theatre tour season and your book tour?
Right now ABT is getting ready to tour in Abu Dhabi, so we’re in the studio from 10:15 a.m. to 7 p.m., five days a week, Tuesday through Saturday. That’s what I do every day, and it’s my first job. On my free days, which are Sundays and Mondays, I’m off doing book tour stuff. It’s been insane.
In your book, you talk a lot about the physical demands of being a professional dancer, especially after discovering the stress fracture in your lower back some years ago. In particular, you wrote, “An injury can be as psychologically painful as it is physically painful.” Can you talk a bit about the experience of being an injured dancer?
Ballet dancers are in such a niche art form. So few people have what it takes to get to this level at elite companies because you really have to have the physical attributes and strength, the capacity to become an artist onstage, and the mental strength as well. There are so many elements involved, but the psychological and emotional are just as much a part of it. I was 29 when my most recent injury happened. As a dancer that’s old, so you’re thinking, is this going to sidetrack me for two years? Am I going to be able to come back from this in time to go on and become a principal dancer? Could this be the end of my career? You’re constantly dealing with all of those things. I’ve experienced all of that, so I think it’s important for us to be surrounded by people who are going to keep us emotionally intact and on the right track.
In terms of staying on track, what is life like in the sort of pre- and post-pubescent worlds of dance? How does that inevitable physical change positively or negatively impact your work?
As a professional, that’s the scariest thing to experience—your body changing—because that’s your tool. That’s your instrument and when it becomes unfamiliar, you don’t know how to work with it. So it was extremely difficult to experience puberty and my body changing at such a late age, 19, when I was already a professional. It took me years of listening to other people’s words, and accepting advice about how to really treat it like the instrument that it is, to learn.
Where did your resistance to accepting the advice of others come from?
Just being a teenager and not understanding that you can’t do this on your own. That was it. You want to make those decisions for yourself and sometimes you just can’t. You can find great mentors and later on when you’re older, companies provide transitional programs, but as a professional, you’re really out there on your own; there’s no structured guidance from the company. That’s why I try to have a voice and express to our youth how to go about being a professional and diving into this world that’s so unfamiliar.
In some ways, this discussion reminds me of the saying, “youth is wasted on the young”—is dancing wasted on the young? Do you think there’s a peak moment when dancers are best able to handle these physical and psychological impacts? You have this immense physical ability when you’re younger, and yet the maturity to handle this work comes with age.