Yes, it's cool to hang out with a ballerina

Meet Harriet.
Or Harriet the Spy as she calls herself.
She might be a spy, but she's also a ballerina.
For Reals.

***

I don't know about you girls (or boys) out there in blog land, but I'm betting that a good percentage of you had a brush with ballet. I certainly did. I had a book with lots of black and white photos that I studied with determination, memorizing every position, how to hold the hands and fingers, how to wear your hair in a tight bun and look serious.

My mom enrolled me in the Los Gatos Academy of Dance, which apparently has a very good reputation and is a classic (ie., drill sergeant type) traditional ballet school. I really couldn't tell you more about it because I only lasted for two classes.

First of all, I was under the impression that you were given toe shoes immediately upon entering class. (Hey, I was eight.) Plus, everyone had to wear the same regulation outfit: black leotard, pink tights and pink shoes. It was like the Army. No tutu. No glitter. No Swan Lake. No tiara. And that leotard was bloody hot. It was like wearing a sauna suit. And the tights itched. So all of that on top of the No Toe Shoes Until You Are 16 Rule really was a gigantic bummer.

Plus, we got yelled at. (Actually, I can't say for sure that we got yelled at. I'm looking at all of this again from a disappointed, toe shoe-less eight year old's perspective.) But I had the feeling that our teacher was mean. I think we got yelled at. It's all a blur.

So that was the end of my career in ballet. Perhaps you had some similar experience. I tried to give ballet another shot more recently, but I think I'm just too far gone for it now. I've decided that if I'm going to hurt myself doing some sort of exercise in the future (when I have discretionary income again), then it's going to be fencing because I already have the gear, and if/when I am covered in bruises, I can say I got all of those little dark spots in a sword fight.

***

Anyway, I met Harriet the Spy/Ballerina at Chipmonkey's New Year's Eve partay. (Chipmonkey, for those of you who don't memorize every detail of this blog, is my sweet flickr buddy and also the person who has had the best birthday party I can recall to date.)

So back to Harriet. I was awestruck slightly (must have been the 8-year old in me) to be in the presence of a living, breathing ballerina. Even though Harriet is super cool and just a totally normal girl, with a great sense of humor. I saw her again a few months later and asked her if she'd like to be part of i live here: SF and she said yes! I was so stoked.

But what to do with my urban ballerina?

We ended up having our photo shoot at Golden Gate Park. Harriet was such a good sport because it was freezing cold and very windy. I was secretly thrilled to help tote around her ballerina shoe duds and got a peek at all of the stuff you have to do/wear with toe shoes, and now I'm glad I didn't get toe shoes when I was eight. It's a lot of work.

But these shoes were so brand-y new and shiny and gorgeous that I did kind of want to steal them.

The only bad part about the shoot was that we got barraged by a gang of Japanese photography students who slightly scared Harriet (they were like camera wielding piranhas) and then we got kicked out of the de Young Museum for causing a commotion. But other than that, it was fun.

You can read Harriet's story and see her photo shoot here.