It's 2012, and I'm twenty-seven years old, high on iced coffee and coconut macaroons. I'm standing in the lobby of a building in the Flatiron district of New York City, reading over the email from my agent again. I can't remember details in moments like these.
"Head to the second floor, follow the signs for 'SoBe Adrenaline Rush.' Your slot is at 3:15 pm. Be ON TIME."
In the elevator, I breathe to calm my churning guts.
I'm about to audition for a commercial that is specifically looking for someone to dance with a pole-- and I'm the only person I know of with a commercial dance agent and high-level pole dance skills.
I could be wrong. But even if there are others, I'm planning to blow some casting directors' minds.
I step off the elevator into a particularly drab waiting area. Low panel ceiling. Fluorescent lights. Brown carpet matted down over thirty years of people pacing, hoping to get the job.
As I approach the sign-in desk, I assess the other women warming up. They're dancers for sure, but their arms tell me it's unlikely they pole dance. Plus, they wear things that someone who plans to throw tricks would never wear—jangly jewelry, leggings, LOTION.
I feel my heartbeat in my fingertips as I pick up the pen to sign in. I think, "You Got This," as if it's my name.
I settle into a corner to stretch and remind myself of what to show them: the double knee hold, a jade split, the no-handed back Ayesha–my signature move.
Usually, I don’t think, 'This job is mine". In New York City, it's not uncommon to spend years auditioning and never book a star commercial role. In this world, you have to get used to rejection, often without ever knowing why. But this time, I'm trying on a different level of confidence only because, in pole, I've won American and International championships. Plus, castings notoriously call in all the wrong people and I know I will stand out.
"Marlo?" The casting assistant calls out from the audition room.
I pop up from my squat and empty my mind. It's time.
As I enter the room where commercial dreams are made or crushed, my neck tenses. I see two people, a camera set-up, an excess of long brown folding tables, and that's it.
"Oh. There's… no pole?" I say.
"Yea, just use that." the casting director replies, gesturing with a nod.
There at the front of the room, I see what they're referring to.
It's a chest-high mic stand.
……Silence.
My mind was reeling. "A mic stand. A MIC STAND? This has to be a joke."
I force a smile on top of my wide-eyed surprise.
They may as well have asked me to dance with a broom. Even a slight pull will tip it over. Anyone auditioning can prance around it. In this situation, not knowing how to pole dance is actually the advantage.
I feel my whole body tighten. I only have a few seconds to decide whether I'm going to let this ruin my chances or not. But as a lifelong performer, doing my best is the only real option.
"You don't need a pole. Make them understand what you are capable of," I think.
I put down my tote bag and strut to the carpeted wall. I show my back to them, settle into my legs, and cock my right hip out to the side, ready to work a bass-driven slow song.
I'm Breathing.
I'm Waiting.
Ready to absorb the sound into my spine.
Instead, a screeching soulless electric guitar song fills the room.
grrraakakwwrorororowwwowowowootstststroowowowo
I hold back a laugh and think, "Oh, this is how you want it?"
I use the ridiculousness of it all as fuel. I go HARD.
This isn't an audition anymore. This is a game.
I dance on the wall, the tables, and the floor. Hair flying, legs splitting. EYES.
I transition into a thoughtless space and let my body eat up the whole room.
Usually silent witnesses, the casting directors begin reacting audibly. It encourages me to get wilder.
After 60 seconds that felt like only one, they fade the song.
With happy and astonished looks on their faces, the casting people thank me as If I'd made them forget they are in a windowless fluorescent-lit room.
Out of breath and tingling, I say, "No, thank you!".
No matter the outcome, I just had one of the funnest minutes of my life.
I scoop up my bag and make my way home.
Over the next few days, I keep thinking about the audition. “I never even touched the stupid mic stand; maybe I should have…”
I think of all the moves I could have done but didn't.
I rationalize: perhaps they were after a different body type— like fewer muscles or blonde hair. The commercial will air in Russia, after all.
Industry pros say that every audition is an accelerated learning opportunity. In those moments, you learn to push yourself in ways you normally never do. Each 'No' is a step closer to a 'Yes.'
Then, the phone rings. It's my agent.
"You're booked for SoBe. It shoots next week."
I become electric.
"Oh, wow. Thank You. But... will there be a pole this time?"
"I assume so. Congratulations."
I hang up and release myself onto the floor.
That’s me looking very golden projected onto the side of a building in the commercial.
Leading up to that audition, I'd lost confidence as a dancer without the word ‘pole’ in front of it.
You see, in the commercial world, if you call yourself a ‘professional dancer’, and you aren’t dedicating your life to the hustle of getting booked--and regularly getting jobs--you are fooling yourself. You are a hobbyist.
With more rejection than inclusion, more competition than community, and an endless stream of incredible young talent, the commercial world is known to chip away at dancer’s passion and joy.
As I stared at the ceiling from the floor of my apartment, I felt my body pulse in a way it hadn’t for some time.
I asked myself to remember:
“What you resourced in that audition room is always there, within you. You ARE a dancer, no matter what.”
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If you made it this far, thank you.
One of the online courses I took this summer was called Story Skills with Bernadette Jiwa, and this was one of the end results. I signed up because I felt both story-deficient and like I didn’t know much of anything about story craft. I’m a baby story teller– but I feel a great sense of fulfillment with the progress I made. Thank you for being my first readers.
P.S: If you’re a pole dancer and you’d like to tap into some “You’ve got this” energy of your own, the next edition of Invert Ready is happening Sep-Oct and we are NOW TAKING NAMES for the waitlist.