You've Heard of Ballet Pink. It's Time to Embrace Ballet Brown

Since as far back as I could remember at school, likely starting in my first year of school, something strange would happen when my classmates and I were coloring. Kids would ask, “Can you pass me the skin-color crayon?” when they meant the “peach” color. Everybody did it. By the time I reached third grade, I was still hearing that language, and I was puzzled by it. I told my mom what I’d noticed and that I wanted to do something about it. She suggested that, the next time a classmate asked for the “skin-color” crayon, I give them a brown one—my skin color. But that didn’t feel right either. My point was that we should be able to put ourselves in other people’s shoes. So I decided I would simply ask them to clarify which color they wanted, given the many beautiful possibilities. My idea caught on. My teacher picked up my language and my classmates started doing the same thing. Soon the whole school had started asking, “Which skin color do you mean?” When I heard that echo, I knew I could make a difference in my community—and maybe even beyond. And I did.

As a curious kid, I also wanted to dig deeper into this pattern, to understand the history behind the language we use. I did a lot of research and learned that many years ago, the peach-colored crayon from Crayola was actually named “flesh.” So of course people used this language—it was built into the product’s history. I wanted to start new and build a history that stood for understanding and inclusion with a range of options to represent different, equally beautiful, young people. And I wanted to make this kind of representation accessible for kids everywhere. I launched my company, More than Peach, and began developing both traditional and inclusive skin-color crayons when I was 8 years old.

My interactions in the classroom taught me a few important lessons, including how to be attuned to deficits in other spaces. I believe we should constantly question the status quo and push for things to be better—for everyone, not just one specific group. And one especially meaningful goal of mine is this: next, I want to change the visual and verbal language of color in the world of ballet.

I spend many of my after-school hours dancing. Ballet has also been a passion of mine since I was 2 years old. But soon after starting dance, I started to question why everything in ballet is so pink. Pink is a beautiful color, one of my favorites, and at the start of it all, I just accepted that wearing pink leotards, tights, and shoes was a suitable rule for any ballet studio—it was certainly the expectation in every one I’d been a part of. But like I did with crayons at school, I started to wonder why, and I questioned why pink felt so limiting. I realized that “ballet pink” is just another version of the “skin color” crayon—a single term created only for some but packaged as if it was intended for everyone. When my white teammates wear pink, the visual of their bodies and clothes and shoes all flows together—it’s all part of the point, part of the elegance of ballet. But when I wear pink, I don’t get to experience the same effect. The color that makes me feel most prepared when I dance is brown, so I decided to wear brown. But I also decided to give it its own distinct name: Ballet Brown.

For years, I would be the only one wearing brown because studios simply didn’t do enough to invite and welcome it. But I did anyway—even as a very little girl. And my parents and I had conversation after conversation with studio owners and made hard choices. Now, more of the dancers I see day-to-day are choosing to wear tights and shoes that match their own skin tones. Dancers I know who don’t identify as Black or brown are understanding why. And the dress codes and policies we’ve asked to be updated are being rewritten.

There’s so much that still needs to change for dancers. Finding tights, shoes, ribbon, and thread in complementing colors can be difficult, and that’s just the start. When I ordered my first pair of brown pointe shoes just two years ago, they were so scarce that they took ages to arrive—and by the time they finally did, my feet had already grown into a new size. My mom recently tried to buy new tights for me during a big event online, and she could only find “nude” and “ballet pink” (there are those words again, and of course the tights described were a pale peach color and the soft pink we’ve been taught to associate with ballet). My work has always been about letting kids be kids and giving them their best options. We need more, better-suited options for all dancers. On top of that, we need our studios to be intentional about updating their dress codes and connecting with young dancers’ families about the reasoning behind the colors we wear.

“Ballet brown” as a term means a lot to me—it’s the title of my next book. It stands for a range of colors, not a single shade, and it speaks to the richness of dance. Like ballet pink, it’s a term that we can all consider and use in the most positive ways. It represents awareness and a growth mindset. It can stand on its own or right beside ballet pink. Ballet brown fills a void with self-acceptance and joy, and it’s a call to action to celebrate all dancers, valuing all of our natural beauty, exactly as we are. Seriously: If you’re brown, would you prefer to color yourself with a peach crayon? If not, when it comes to day-to-day dance attire, why wear pink tights and shoes?

Just as there’s no one way a ballet dancer needs to look in order to be great, there’s also no one way to think about creating change. I’m proud of the difference I made as a “crayon activist”—and I’m excited to keep growing and setting new goals. All of my experiences and willingness to take risks have broadened my story and my idea about what I want to do in the years to come. And I’m only 13! Right now, I want to be a teacher, a lawyer, or perhaps President someday, but no matter what path I end up taking, I know I’ll be using my voice. More than anything else, I want to be a voice for an inclusive generation, someone who sees and celebrates all people for who they are and who has the humility to learn from others.

It shouldn’t be a surprise anyone can come up with a great idea that can make the world a better place. You deserve to be able to live your best life while doing it.

Bellen Woodard is the CEO and founder of More than Peach.

—As told to Lucy Feldman

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