On working out...

Some people may be surprised to know that I work out.  After all, I don't exactly look like a shining example of physical fitness.

Not me.

Nor am I one of those people who posts on facebook and twitter every time I go for a run.  Nevertheless, I do make exercise a priority in my life.  Ideally, I try to do something physical every day.  If I can't manage every day, I aim for 2 or 3 times a week.  Even if it's just 10 minutes of yoga here or there, I always try to fit something in.

Why do I think exercising is important?  I have many reasons.  Mainly, I think it's an important part of my work.  I think that exercising makes me a better singer.

I'm not talking about how exercise affects my physical appearance.  Yes, exercising can make you slimmer and more toned, and (sadly) this can increase your chances of landing a job.  But that shouldn't be the reason you exercise.

Soprano Heidi Melton recently gave a fantastic interview about what it's like to be an opera singer.  And what she said about fitness really resonated with me:

"I just want girls to be healthy. I want everyone to be healthy! To me, opera is first and foremost about voices. It is about incredible voices that have taken a lifetime of devotion, sweat and tears to train. It is about voices and bodies being able to communicate with the audience. Trust me, I have seen and heard plenty of horrible skinny opera singers. I’ve also seen a lot of fantastic ones. All humans are capable of portraying, expressing and communicating. There is the argument that we have to modernize and make opera more believable and relatable and appealing to the masses. First of all, I wasn’t aware that only thin people fall in love or have interesting stories to tell. This is news to me. As a woman who is not categorized by the rest of society as “thin,” I can tell you that men have fallen in love with me, and that I have fallen in love with men. The fact that I have some wobbly bits hasn’t made that experience less real or less important to me or to them. In addition, I think talent is HOT. Really hot. Sexy comes in all sorts of different packages and what is sexy to me, may not be sexy to you and that’s the way it should be. That makes things interesting and dynamic and HUMAN. I think our boundaries need to be expanded. I don’t think we need to conform to what we are supposed to think sexy is or isn’t. Can’t we come to those decisions on our own? Opera needs to showcase talent. If it comes in a thin package, fine. If it comes with wobbly bits included, also fine. Just sing the crap out of it."

Heidi is absolutely right - singers shouldn't all be thin.  Singers should be whatever shape and size is healthy for them.  And honestly, all this crap pressuring us to look thin and fit doesn't motivate us to take better care of ourselves.  It just makes us feel bad and reach for the cupcakes.  So I thought I would write about some good, positive reasons to exercise - reasons that have nothing to do with your dress size.

1. It boosts your energy.
Have you ever woken up feeling groggy and lethargic?  Exercise is like a big cup of coffee.  It gives you a burst of adrenaline that help you get through the day.  When I start the day with a run, I always feel like I have so much more energy to bring to the practice room and the stage.  It's the difference between starting with a full tank of gas or running on fumes.

Ready and raring to go!

2. It's great stress relief
What singer doesn't need stress relief?  Between auditions, performances, travel, and heavy rehearsal schedules, we are stressed up to our eyeballs.  So blow off some steam in a kickboxing class, or do some relaxing yoga.  I promise that the exercise will help get the stress out of your system.  It will probably help you sleep better too.

3. It makes you happy
Feeling bummed out about a bad audition?  Go to the gym!  Endorphins give you a nice boost of that happy feeling, which we all need every once in a while.

4. It helps your mental focus
Many people come up with their best ideas when they're on a walk.  Why is this?  Exercise helps you to focus your mind.  I often go through music in my head when I run - I find the physical activity really helps me think clearly.  It's the best way I've found so far to memorise music.

5. It warms you up
Singing uses your whole body.  If you come into a practice room "cold", without having done anything physical that day, it will take a long time to warm up.  Exercising warms up the body, and prepares it for singing.  I always find that it takes me far less time to warm up if I have already exercised that day.

6. It keeps you fit
The days of "park and bark" are over.  Modern directors want singers to run, jump, climb, and dance onstage.  If you want to be an opera singer, you have to be fit enough to do all of these things and still have the breath control to sing beautifully.  This may have little or no relation to which size of costume you wear: I've known some very unfit skinny people and some very fit fat people.  Fitness is not what you look like, it's what you can do.  And fit singers can do some amazing things.

Cartwheel on a high C?  No problem!

7. It keeps you healthy
Your body is your instrument, and you have a responsibility to take care of it.  Exercising can increase your lifespan and decrease your risk of heart disease, diabetes, and high blood pressure.  A healthy body means a healthy voice and a longer singing career.

8. It improves your body awareness
I was recently having a lesson with a new teacher, and he was doing some work with me on breathing and support.  He was very happy with how well I responded to his direction, and said it was great that I was so "in my body".  I think what he was noticing was the effects of regular exercise.  Singing involves controlling and coordinating specific groups of muscles, and you need to be connected to your body to do that.  These days with TV and internet, we're more sedentary - we often lose our connection with our bodies and become floating brains.  Exercising helps you stay aware of your body and how it works.  This is essential if you want to learn a new technique, or follow someone's stage directions, or just assess what is happening with your voice today.  You need to be highly sensitive to every movement and change in your body.  You can't do this if you're always stuck in your head.


"Bend my knees.. which ones are my knees again?"

9. It boosts your confidence
Exercising helps you feel good about yourself.  Again, I'm not talking about what you look like.  I'm talking about what you can do.  Whether it's because you added 5 minutes onto your run, or because you added 5 pounds onto your weights, or because you just motivated yourself to go to the gym at all today, nothing beats that smug feeling you get after a workout.  And why shouldn't you feel smug?  You're doing something good for yourself - go you!!

10. It balances you out
Singers have an intense career.  We spend countless hours practising, performing, and studying music.  Our schedules are irregular, and we travel all the time.  All of this time spent focusing on one thing is stressful and exhausting.  Which is why it's great to find something you love to do outside of singing - whether it's salsa-dancing, rock-climbing, or marathon-running.  It adds dimension to an otherwise singularly-focused life, and brings some regularity to an otherwise chaotic schedule.  One thing I love about running is that no matter where I am, no matter which piece I'm rehearsing, I can always put on a pair of running shoes and step outside.  It's one of the only things in my life that I can always count on.

It's all about finding balance.

Exercise is a great thing to have in your life.  It can keep you sane when everything else is insane.  If you want to exercise to lose weight or tone up, that's great.  But don't forget that there are so many other fabulous benefits that come with regular exercise.  Benefits which - in my opinion, at least - are way more important than the size of your waistline.  In the end, it's not about how you look - it's about how you feel!

On being sexy...

Picture this: I'm lying face-down on a table, wearing nothing but a short chemise.  My arse, in all its pink-and-white cotton Primark glory, is out in the open for everyone to see.

I also happen to be covered in strawberries at this point, but that's a story for another day.

A year ago, I would have found this situation mortifying.  These days, it doesn't feel like such a big deal.

This is the second opera this year in which I've performed in my underwear.  It might sound a bit crazy, but actually it's pretty good training for me.  In the course of my opera career, I will probably have to perform many more times in my underwear - or less.

Opera has changed a lot in the last fifty years.  Directors these days want realism.  They want sex appeal.  Gone are the days of buttoned-up corsets and petticoats: modern productions are more likely to show you naked in bed with your lover, or painting your nails in your lingerie.

Showing skin onstage is a pretty daunting prospect.  Whether you're skulking around in a skimpy dress, dancing around in your skivvies, or even doing the full Monty, you can't help being painfully aware that you're being watched.  Not just by yourself or your boyfriend/girlfriend - but by an entire audience.  A whole crowd of people are watching you.   And that means you don't just have to be brave enough to reveal your body.  You have to really sell it.  You have to be sexy.

Hopefully a bit sexier than these blokes.

You know those girls who are always look sexy?  The girls who love to strut around in heels with their gorgeous hair and smouldering eyes, flashing their cleavage and wafting their perfume wherever they go?  Well, I am not one of those girls.

I hate perfume.  I prefer running shoes to heels. And my cleavage?  It doesn't quite, um, cleave. And yes, I have a tendency to wear cotton pants from Primark. They happen to be very comfortable!

I've never really been called sexy.  Cute, maybe.  Pretty, perhaps, on a good day.  But not sexy.  And so I never thought I could be "sexy" onstage.  I could do happy, or angry, or evil, or silly... but sexy?  That was completely out of the question.

When I look in the mirror, "sexy" is not the word that comes to mind.  I'm not overweight.  But I'm not model-thin either.  Nor do I have a perfect hourglass figure like Jessica Rabbit.

I'm sure Jess would have no problem performing in her underwear.

I have cellulite.  I have a belly.  And I have my "wobbly bits", as Bridget Jones calls them.  To a certain extent, I have accepted this state of affairs.  It's my body.  It's the way I am.  Even if I worked out two hours a day, I would probably keep the same basic shape.  Partly because of genetics, partly because of my natural build, and partly because of my insatiable addiction to chocolate. 

Let's face it, that's not going away anytime soon.

But there's a big difference between tolerating what you see in the mirror and being able to parade it around in front of an audience.  The first time I had to perform in my underwear, I felt horribly, painfully self-conscious.  I was certain that nobody would want to see what was going on underneath my clothes.

 

Eventually, I realised that I could be just as sexy as the next girl.  Sexiness has nothing to do with how you look.  Sexiness is an attitude.

In this first opera, all the women were supposed to be underwear models, so we all performed in various forms of lingerie.  And it was very interesting to watch how different people handled it.  We are not ballet dancers or supermodels, after all - we are opera singers, and we come in all different shapes and sizes.  At first I thought that the slimmer girls would have an easier time of it.  But it didn't work that way at all.  The girls who were built like models were not necessarily the girls who looked like models onstage.  It was the girls who felt confident.  The girls who felt comfortable in their own skin.  Tall or short, thin or curvy - if they loved their body, it showed.  And it was beautiful.

Personally, I was lucky enough to have some positive reinforcement on my side. My boyfriend, bless his heart, was extremely supportive.  He knew I didn't feel confident about performing in my underwear, and so every day that I rehearsed the opera he sent me a confidence-boosting message (my personal favourite: "I looked up sexy in the dictionary and I saw your name").  My boyfriend always saw me as sexy, and he would love it if I could see myself the way he saw me.

But in the end, my confidence couldn't come from my boyfriend or anyone else.  It had to come from within.  And gradually, as I rehearsed day by day, I began to lose my inhibitions and self-consciousness.  I began to own my body, even to be proud of it.  My walk, my attitude, the way I held myself - all of these things began to change.  And I learned what it really is to be sexy.

Playing Junon in Acteon - photo by Emilie Lauwers

Real sexiness has nothing to do with your appearance. Real sexiness is a state of mind. It's about knowing who you are and owning it. Embracing every pimple, dimple, and roll of fat.  Showing them with pride, because they are a part of you. Speaking honestly, moving with dignity, and acting with conviction. True beauty comes from true confidence. Nothing is sexier than that.

So now that I'm performing in my underwear for the second time, I don't really mind at all.  If people are going to see my arse, they're going to see my arse.  It's my arse, and I happen to think it's a pretty good one - even if it is clothed in cheap cotton.

Rest assured, though - I will wear something a bit nicer for the performances.

On body image...

I'd like to take some time to write about something which I think is often on singers' minds.  This is an issue which, for personal reasons, hits very close to my heart.

I am talking about body image.

As singers, as performers, we are subject to constant scrutiny by ourselves as well as others.  And we feel this scrutiny acutely.  Scrutiny of our singing, our acting, and our musicality, of course.  But also scrutiny of our physical appearance.  These days more than ever, it matters what you look like on stage.  And not just because it's good to be physically fit and move well on stage.  And not just because it's easier to believe you're dying of starvation and tuberculosis if you're slim.  And not just because people with your voice type tend to be more petite, athletic, slender, whatever.  We've all heard these arguments, and many more.  But let's be brutally honest here - the truth is, the audience likes to look at something pretty.

Now, I don't think it's entirely a bad thing that singers are encouraged to take care of their appearance.  In moderation, this attitude can encourage us to eat well, exercise, and stay clean and well-groomed.  These are things which will help us feel better about ourselves and be in a better state, mentally, physically, and vocally.

However, taken to extremes, this attitude can lead to all kinds of nasty things.  Crippling self-consciousness.  Obsessive calorie-counting.  Yo-yo dieting.  Grumbling about the "hot" singer who gets all the roles because of their looks.  Speculating that the overweight singer will never get work because they're "too big".  Where does it end?

I have to say, as a singer today, I really worry about the disproportionate emphasis which we put on our outer appearances.  It's really no wonder that this young mezzo got things backwards and asked Joyce DiDonato if she should dye her hair (and by the way, Joyce's response is awesome).  Of course it is good to take care of yourself and present yourself well.  But singers need lots of confidence - true confidence - to succeed.  And true confidence relies on much more than what you look like and how much you weigh.  If we place too much of our self-worth on what we look like, we're putting ourselves in a dangerous position. 

I should know.

My eating disorder was not sudden or dramatic.  I didn't starve myself to the point of crisis.  My parents never had to wheel my skeletal body into the hospital to be force-fed through tubes.  But rather, throughout the course of 4 or 5 years - most of my early twenties - I was addicted to a cycle of binging and purging and self-starvation.  It wasn't continuous.  There were periods lasting several months when I was eating "normally" and was convinced that I was "cured".  But something would always happen - a breakup, a bad mark, or some other perceived failure - to trigger a relapse.

Why was I bulimic?  I have thought about this a lot.  There were some contributing factors you could point at.  I am a perfectionist.  I love to punish myself for perceived shortcomings.  I tend to have an all-or-nothing mentality.  And of course, I have never had a healthy relationship with food.  I overate as a child and dieted as a teenager, and I basked in the praise when people noticed the weight loss.

I began binging and purging in my first year of university.  Looking at it one way, it would seem the whole thing started when my first boyfriend broke up with me.  But really, there was much more to it than that.  I was completely overwhelmed.  From being an over-achieving top student in a small-town high school, I'd been thrown into the unpredictable, competitive world of singing.  Suddenly studying hard would not guarantee me an A+.  I was up against talent and style and looks and gossip, and a million different opinions and criticisms flying about like poison arrows.  I looked around and felt - quite sharply - that I didn't measure up.

Everyone around me seemed so capable, so confident, and yet, no matter how hard I worked on my singing, it was never good enough.  I felt I had no control over it.  Either you were good or you weren't, and I clearly wasn't.

And so, in a twisted leap of logic, I started to control what I could control.  Maybe my voice wasn't as glorious as that other girl, but at least I could run further than her.  At least I could weigh less than her.  At least I could stop the calories from going into my body.

It became an addiction.  It became my way of coping, or not coping, with everything.  I felt that controlling my body was the answer to everything.  I felt that if I lost ten pounds everything would magically get better.  I placed all of my self-worth on the numbers that showed on the scale.  Ironically, the skinnier I was, the fatter I felt.

It is the most unhappy I have ever been in my life.

I wish I could tell you how one day I magically snapped out of it.  How someone said or did the right thing and then it ended.  But it wasn't that simple.  I went to a therapy group.  I left the therapy group.  I came back to the therapy group.  I took a year out of music college.  And after many recoveries and relapses it eventually faded away.

As I recovered from my bulimia and grew stronger, as I learned to accept and deal with who I was, I found that my singing improved dramatically.  I stopped punishing myself and pushing myself to impossible standards and I began to see myself grow.  I released myself from my self-imposed confines and I began to see what I was truly capable of achieving.

My eating disorder wasn't really about food or weight.  It was about avoiding emotions.  It was about hiding from myself.  But I believe it manifested itself this way because we live in a society that's obsessed with appearances.  And the most obvious thing, the easiest thing, was for me to look on the outside of myself instead of within.

The reason I'm sharing this story is that I'm concerned.  I'm concerned that as an insecure young singer under pressure, I found it easier to go on a diet than to address my own thoughts and emotions.  I'm concerned that other insecure young singers under pressure will do the same.  I'm not by any means trying to blame my eating disorder on the pressures of the singing industry.  But I do think it's worth our while to take a step back and examine the messages we're sending to ourselves and other singers about appearance and self-esteem.

As performers it's only natural to want to look as good as we sound on stage.  But to really look good, you have to feel good.  You have to have true confidence in who you are - not just the looks, but the voice, the heart, the whole package.  It might seem easier to focus on the outside, to control something visible and obvious like your weight. But if you don't begin with what's inside you - if you don't learn to develop your mind and your heart first - you may end up an empty shell.

So yes, we should try to look our best.  But the way we look should be the icing on the cake.  There are more important things we need to address to keep ourselves healthy, happy and whole.  Facing yourself, facing your emotions, learning about the world, growing up - these are all painfully difficult things to do, but also extremely important.  And in the end, that is what will shine from your eyes when you're singing.