Back in 1976, style of costuming was a hot issue among American belly dancers. Very few teachers of Oriental
dance
and even fewer students had been to the Middle East, so there was precious little first-hand information available.
I had recently received my master’s degree in library science and initially thought I would be able to to some
research and tap the University libraries. Alas, not much was available on Middle-Eastern dancing at all, except
for some occasional articles in National Geographic or random comments by traveling literary writers of long ago.
There were, at least in California, troups combining costume parts from far-flung parts of the Middle-East with
their interpretations of the National Geographic photos. Never mind that they wore two male circumcision caps made
into a bra! It was a great time, because it did not have to be accurate--only colorful and exotic. I would have
to admit that I liked it very much as it greatly widened the field of the sometimes widened and wizened Americans
who chose to study dancing of a foreign nature.
I, as many other fringe-of-the-scene flower children, was greatly put off by Sula’s bugle beaded costumes, until
I met a friend of Bert’s named Khadija Rabanne (who later became the ultimate tatooed bellydancer--but that’s another
story). I was greatly in awe of Khadija because she had been to Beyrouth, danced there briefly, and returned with
tales of dancing in high-heeled shoes, beads, chiffon with beautifully orchestrated musical arrangements--not just
an oud, kanoon, and drum. I was entranced with the idea that I could evolve into an ethnic dancer like the dancers
the Lebanese people in the U.S. had told me about. Until then, I had put together what I imagined a "gypsy"
dancer might have worn, so that I would not have to wear tribal tatoos on my face, a half-ton of Afghanni jewelry,
and black cotton gelabias. I had fashioned myself after "dancing girls" I had seen in art books while
I was studying art history in my undergraduate years.
The first time I danced in high-heels, sequins, and beads
I really caught flack from my students and much of the local dance community! It seemed that to be authentic (which
was a goal much prized) one also had to have an "ethnic" look and we were quite un-aware of what exactly
that might be because only
a few, as I mentioned before, had been priviledge to travel to find out. Only with the emergence of the video tape
players for the home was this information readily available to great numbers of dancers. The first time I presented
an Egyptian cane routine I was told, in no uncertain terms, that the Hollywood dancing had to go!
Fully five years after I started teaching dance I went to Morocco with Bert and two other dancers and began to
understand.
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