I was 17 years old, wearing nothing but a black leotard, nude tights and an intolerable pair of 2-inch heeled Capezio character shoes as a camera crew followed my anxiety-ridden peers and me in the rehearsal hall of Radio City Music Hall.
How did I end up here? Considering it was my — and my mother’s — dream to be a Radio City Rockette, I signed up to audition for “The Rockette Summer Intensive” almost 15 years ago. It was a demanding, weeklong, boot camp-like program where eager young women danced their hearts out, praying they would stand out enough to possibly be offered the opportunity of a lifetime — a coveted spot on the world-famous kickline.
The same year I signed up to audition for the intensive with hundreds of other girls — which has since been replaced by two other summer programs and operates differently — MSG Network was piloting a cable reality TV-type show featuring 10 slightly naive, aspiring Rockettes.
To be considered for the show, I submitted a janky video of myself performing with my New Jersey high school dance team, and much to my surprise, I was selected for what would become a life-changing experience — but not for the reason you’d expect.
The crew followed me and the nine other local tri-state area girls around, “Real Housewives”-style, as we performed what felt like 1,000 kicks to film the opening credits of the show at an empty Radio City in the wee morning hours.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but watching it now, the magic of reality-produced drama was apparent. They honed in on one girl’s injury, which resulted in her terribly messing up her audition.
Another castmate revealed to the cameras that she irresponsibly went to a concert the night before the audition and was running on empty fumes — which led viewers to believe she was going to blow her chances of nailing her audition.
And of course, when it came to me, the cameras made sure to zoom in on my panicked face in that audition room — fortunately for the crew, I looked genuinely petrified the entire time.
I was pulled aside to do green-screen confessionals, all while trying to get through the audition process without crying — or throwing up — from both exhaustion and nerves.
I didn’t actually throw up, but I was close to it.
I remember being a ball of nerves and anxiety, wondering how I got myself into this situation.
When it was time to open my acceptance — or rejection — email to the program, it was in front of a film crew in my parents’ kitchen. My camera-averse mom was so nervous for me that she sneakily filled up a glass of wine to chug in our laundry room at 3 p.m. on a Wednesday.
She admitted it to me after the fact, and my family still laughs about it to this day.
I got accepted and I was relieved, excited and apprehensive knowing that this journey had just begun.
The day of auditions was only a small glimpse into what the weeklong program was going to entail — and that was a bit terrifying. I knew I was a good dancer, but never considered myself to be amazing, like some of the other girls who had the same dreams as me.
Looking back now, I may have been typecast as the “rookie with potential” — but at the time, I was just relieved that I didn’t have to read a rejection email to a camera.
Every day was an exhausting six-hour day of training — something real Rockettes are accustomed to — full of intense warm-ups followed by drilling Christmas routines dozens of times and, of course, hundreds of kicks.
Afterward at home, more drilling. I was so anxious that I wouldn’t remember the routines. I’d wake up every morning limping around, trying to get my tights on.
This program was one of the hardest things I ever did, both mentally and physically — maybe still to this day, but especially at 17. The scariest part of all of this was that everything was documented for TV, at a time when Facebook was barely a thing and no one was utilizing their camera phones to their full potential.
Admittedly, every day that week, I tried brainstorming an injury I could fake to excuse myself from the program early. Not because I wasn’t enjoying it or that it wasn’t worthwhile — but because I was an insecure teen who doubted herself.
It didn’t help when the pros leading the intensive revealed on camera my biggest insecurities about my technique as a dancer for the world to see — that’s enough to traumatize a teen. I remember them saying that some of my moves weren’t sharp enough or that I had to work on my skills.
We were a group of high school girls desperately trying to get noticed by both the cameras and the program’s director — a recipe for cattiness, as one could imagine. I remember asking one of the girls a question about a routine we were learning and she only talked to me when the cameras were rolling. This gave me a taste of both reality TV and the world of dance — and I didn’t care for either.
I was in a room among so many incredibly talented dancers who would give their left kidney to be a Rockette — yet I was more fascinated with the operations of the TV show than anything else. I loved the workings of the cameras and being on-screen — all of the pre- and postproduction work excited me.
The show was an incredible experience for many reasons, but mainly because it helped me decide what I wanted to do with my life — and what I wanted to leave behind.
At the time, I thought I would chase the dream of becoming a Rockette or professional dancer throughout my adulthood, but this experience helped me realize that I wanted to work in media — something I would’ve never known if it wasn’t for that TV exposure as a teen.
While I didn’t become a Rockette, rather than fall down in life like the Parade of the Wooden Soldiers dance, I kicked my way to my own Spectacular.
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