Dress like you just dove into a pile of dirty laundry. Shirts should be at least two sizes too large and must hang off the shoulder. Dark-colored sports bras are allowed but should be appropriately raggedy.
Hair should be swept back into an impossibly secure yet casual-looking bun. Don’t forget to leave a few strands out to get caught in your mouth during across-the-floor combinations. If you have short hair, you must also maintain creative bangs; preferably ones that look like they were cut with your non-dominant hand.
Cigarettes must be pre-rolled on the subway and smoked outside the studio while staring wistfully at dance academy students who “fucking wish they knew what it’s really like.”
Upon entering the studio, pretend that you are very cold. Shuffle around weakly and keep piling on those earth-tone layers. Wrap a 6-foot scarf around your neck and then sink into a casual side split. This communicates that you are flexible but also very cold.
When class starts, make sure you’re standing where the teacher can see you. You never know, they might be looking to re-stage their seminal work, Place in Space: Space of the Place: No Place/No Space.
During the first few exercises, don’t be afraid to really sigh and groan as you feel those hamstrings warming up. Restrained shouting is encouraged; it shows that you’re the best at stretching.
If your back isn’t drenched in sweat by the end of the third exercise, go to the back and think long and hard about your mistakes.
Only ask questions if you feel like you have the confidence to really drag them out. Only answer questions directed at you with slow and meaningful head rolls.
When performing the final combination, always stay at least one count behind the music to show off your artistry. Everyone else is gonna love it, trust me.
At the end of the class, thank the teacher, exchange numbers with the guy who wants to work on a collaborative piece ironically staged in a Crate & Barrel, and take one final, exaggerated chug from your water bottle.
Make sure you’ve gathered all of your belongings before leaving the studio, including your barista apron and those textbooks you’re selling on Craigslist. Who do you think you are? An artist?