Alexandra Waterbury’s nightmare would be mine: photos
of me, vulnerable, naked, taken without my knowledge or permission.
For some time, I’ve wondered why anyone would permit nude
photos in the first place--but these were not permitted. Why hand ammunition to someone of whom you may, at the least, tire? Not
to mention dislike? Hate, even? I’m often met with a blank stare when I mention
nude photos to persons younger than myself. They feel that any old photo,
including or especially nude ones, is just a regular part of a relationship.
They’re de rigueur.
These photos, taken on the sly, stole Waterbury's trust, her
peace of mind, her sense of security. Taking a woman’s photo without consent
exploits the woman. The obvious needs to be stated. I can well imagine Ms.
Waterbury’s shock, sadness, disappointment—I can imagine the moment when she
realized she had trusted a man whose desire to score overpowered any sense of
judgement he may have had. If allegations that he trashed a Washington D.C.
hotel room, encouraged friends to treat girls like “farm animals” and “sluts”
are true, he was a bad choice for a boyfriend.
Mr. Finlay comes across on videos as a highly talented
dancer from a wealthy background. He is devoted to his craft. Born and raised
in Fairfield, CT, he loves to golf with his father. Every inch the privileged
preppy, he remains a familiar type. A generation ago, male dancers often felt
they had to prove they were straight by treating women like sex objects. Is
that still the case? Or is the exuberant Mr. Finlay just getting away with his
bad behavior because the NYCB did not think to curb it?
What did his parents teach him? How I wish I’d been a
fly on a golf club, listening to the conversation of father and son. Or perched
on the perfectly polished glass coffee table, taking in the family atmosphere.
If there is one.
Because nice boys just don’t do what he did. Take
advantage of a girl who was naïve, and probably dazzled by his fancy
background.
But such exploitation is not new at the City Ballet. I
am old enough to remember the stories of Balanchine bribing female dancers with
household appliances if they let him cop a feel. Telling girls with agonized
ligaments to just have a glass of red wine. Handing Gelsey Kirkland
amphetamines to force her through a performance.
Drugs and anorexia seem to have faded from dance
education, but the sexual balance of power continues to be a problem. I applaud
Ms. Waterbury’s courage; it’s not easy to sue a big ballet company, to get
stuck in a limelight much less glamorous than the stage at Lincoln Center.
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