Who is controlling whom? Who has the power? Is the power privileged by class, assets, a social structure? Or is it bestowed by nature, a beauty or charisma akin to the mythic and stunning the eye? These are questions that dance asks, though not in words or the usual tropes. Sexual politics, the push–pull and up–down between genders, have always been deep in the dynamics of dance. This winter season at the New York City Ballet, with #MeToo not only in the air but still a scandal within the company (last year three male principals were fired for sharing sexually explicit photos and videos of their female bedmates), even the fairy-tale divertissements in The Sleeping Beauty were subject to reevaluation. Posting on a ballet website, one viewer wrote of feeling uncomfortable with Puss in Boots, who seemed to be looking up the White Cat’s skirt. And when the Big Bad Wolf, an adult dancer, stalked Little Red Riding Hood, a tiny School of American Ballet student, I myself wondered if her little knees knocking in fear would send a negative tremor through the audience. (They didn’t.)

The truth is that classical dance is rife with microaggressions, with movement that can be read in myriad ways, because, as George Balanchine once said, “it means what you see.” Most choreographers refuse to weigh in on their intent, wisely understanding that any idea they bring into the studio, once pressured by music, bodies, time, and space, quickly takes on a life