Harvard University

The glue-hardened satin fought my toes. My arches lay limp on my pointe shoes’ gritty insoles. Try as I might, my eleven-year old feet would not bend those rigid blocks of pink sheen as I endeavored to roll up through the shoes to pointe for the very first time. Glancing in the mirror at the row of bunheads standing with me along the ballet barre, I saw fellow tongues protruding and lips curling in determination, frustration at the first day of pointe work. Then I saw arches. Beautifully curved, voluptuous arches, molded for ballet from birth. Except for the shoes sagging from my flat feet,…