Math, Sexism, and Pole Dance

Circus News

Math, Sexism, and Pole Dance

Trigger warning! Sexual assault, Harassment

I still remember the first time I solved a math problem without someone showing me how to do it first. I was five years old. My twin brother Jeff was undergoing treatment for leukemia, so we both had been pulled out of kindergarten (I had told my parents that I wanted to be with my brother instead of staying in school). As twins, we were, naturally, a bit competitive with each other. I was probably the more competitive one! We were playing a game where we each tried to stump each other with a hard question. I thought my question was pretty hard, because we had not yet learned how to multiply two-digit numbers together. I’m not even sure if we knew our times tables yet. I asked, “What’s 50 times 50?” I succeeded in stumping my brother with this question. However, I had not anticipated that Jeff would ask me what the answer was. My competitiveness had lead me to ask a question that I had not yet answered myself. Suddenly, the answer came to me – fifty 50s is half of one hundred 50s. One hundred 50s is fifty hundred, so half of that is twenty-five hundred. I was so excited that I shared my epiphany with everyone, from my parents to my brother’s nurses in the hospital.

Photo by Frank, @scz_photo

My passion for math just grew after that. I went through my math textbooks and worksheets faster than my teachers could grade them. I picked up used math books from the thrift stores my mom and I frequented and taught myself as much as I could. My brother and I were homeschooled for almost every grade after my brother went into remission, so I was able to pursue my love of math more freely. I could go at my own pace and choose my textbooks.

Ever since I started being formally tested in math, I scored off the charts. I don’t say this to brag, I don’t think I’m a genius, but I do have some amount of natural aptitude. I can tell that I have an easier time “seeing the light” than many of my peers. I went to public school for second grade (and never again after that). One time, all three second grade classes were given the same math puzzle. I don’t quite remember the puzzle, but I do remember that after a moment of deep concentration, the answer came to me. I was excited and raised my hand and shared my answer. The teachers in the room did not tell me if I was correct or not. In fact, they seemed to think that no other student was prepared to answer this question, and they just gave up on teaching us. My parents were secretly told that I was the only person to answer this question correctly in the next parent meeting, but my teachers never told me.

Maybe my experiences in second grade were my first experiences of implicit sexism. I was never encouraged to do math by my teachers, in fact, I was sometimes discouraged because my teacher didn’t want to have to grade all of the extra math worksheets that I did. No one ever suggested (to me) that I was demonstrating an aptitude for math either. As someone who’s tutored several boys whose parents told me they were “math geniuses” and after talking to my male peers in grad school, it seems that boys are much more likely to be told they’re good at math, and often without even demonstrating the same level of skill that I had shown. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out for me if someone guided my interest in math when I was a kid, instead of me studying mostly on my own until college. (My mother put quite a bit of time into planning lessons for my brother and I when we were young, which I am very grateful for. After I advanced to a certain level, I studied more on my own.)

I was extremely excited to start taking math classes at college. I couldn’t take higher-level math classes such as calculus at my home-schooling program, so I had to wait to take these until I enrolled in my local community college. I was 17 when I took calculus. I loved it. It gave me tools to think about things and ask questions that were interesting to me. My college teachers quickly saw my interest in and aptitude for math, and they suggested that I major in math. It was not long after that that I switched majors to math and took every math class that I could. I participated in some math competitions and won some money and a couple of scholarships. My undergrad education culminated in a couple of paid research opportunities. I wrote my first paper in math research (“Torsion of Elliptic Curves Over Quadratic Fields”) during my senior year. I won second place at a statewide research competition for this research.

It was during my undergrad years that I discovered pole dance. Pole was not my first athletic interest. I played basketball for years, and after that I roller-skated. Roller skating was the first athletic discipline that inspired me creatively. I created my own tricks and was inspired by dance tricks and even gymnastics. I tried dancing for a few years too, but never quite felt like I fit in with my large shoulders (from lifting weights) and muscular thighs (from skating). I saw an ad for pole dancing lessons in the dance studio where I took belly dance classes. I had seen videos of pole dancing, and I thought it looked really fun. After my first class, I fell in love. My big muscles were no longer seen as an eyesore but rather necessary for pole. I excelled quickly because I had the upper body strength and had a pole at home to practice on. I won my first competition (at a strip club) within my first year of training. Big shoutout to my first pole instructor Christella, to whom I will be forever grateful for welcoming me into the world of pole dance!

I moved away from my hometown Chico to Santa Cruz to begin my graduate studies at UCSC in pure math during the summer of 2013. I was very nervous. I had left all my friends, my twin and my parents, and my partner to pursue my dream of getting a PhD in math and continuing my research. I was all alone besides having brought my two cats, Klaus and Katja, with me.

While my undergrad studies had been an overall great experience filled with supportive instructors, my graduate experience was quite different. I’m not sure what changed, but from day one, I was hyper-aware of being one of the only non-males in my cohort and my classes. I have learned now that I was suffering from stereotype threat – the fear of confirming stereotypes such as the stereotype that females are not as good at math as males. Read more about how stereotype threat can impact students below. As a shy person, I had never liked going to the board in classes, but now in a room full of men, going to the board was even more stressful.

Despite all of my anxiety, I successfully completed my first year of grad school. I had made some friends in my program, too, and I actually found that math people were quite a bit easier for me to talk to than other people. I also had found the local circus school, and had started teaching pole dance there. Finding somewhere to train was very helpful for mitigating the stress of grad school.

During my second year, things started to change. I was assaulted at a party. I’m not going into the details, but it took me a long time to process this. During the first quarter of my second year, something else traumatic happened that I will not be sharing either, but it’s something that haunts me every day. I will refer to this simply as “The Nightmare,” as it still gives me nightmares. Needless to say, I was not really in a place to do math at that time. Math requires deep concentration, and when your thoughts are cluttered with other things it’s really not possible to do math. I also had an overwhelming feeling that my pursuit was selfish. I was away from my family and my brother who I believe needed me. The math that I was working on was so specialized that I couldn’t share it with anyone except other students in my program. I felt further isolated by doing math and I certainly didn’t feel like I was doing anything that was helping anyone else.

Local Performance.

It was during this period that the time I spent at my circus school increased. I started teaching more classes and performing. Training was really the only way I could get some relief from the traumas I was dealing with and it was so rewarding to share my love of pole with my students. It’s amazing to see students progress and achieve things they never thought they could do. Pole students are often so grateful, and I really feel that teaching pole is a way that I can empower others. Choreographing for performances also gave me a way to tell a story or share a feeling through movement, which was (and is) therapeutic for me.

I was taking a math class that I was very interested in during the first quarter of my second year. It was taught by my assigned mentor and it was in a field that I thought I might want to pursue as a specialty. The only thing that made me nervous was that the grade for this class was entirely based on presenting a solution to a homework exercise. After the first week, I solved all of the exercises on the first problem set, but I got too nervous to present any of them. I went to my mentor’s office hours and attempted to show him my solutions and explain that I was nervous about presenting. He refused to look at my work and said there was no reason for me to be nervous, completely oblivious to the fact that as the only non-male in his class, there were additional challenges that I was facing that other students were not. He even said that he had expected that I would drop out! This professor never looked me in the eye during class, and he never acknowledged me when I ran into him outside of class (though he would acknowledge my male classmates who were with me). I began to feel unwelcome in his class. I continued doing the homework on my own (and not presenting any solutions) until The Nightmare happened. After that it was really hard to do math and I definitely struggled during the second half of that quarter. The second-to-last week of class, I planned to present a solution. I prepared and practiced with my friends, but when it came time to present, I was so nervous that I did not do my best. It didn’t help that the instructor sort of grilled me with follow-up questions that I hadn’t prepared for (which he didn’t ask of other students).

The professor asked me to come into his office after this. I did, prepared to accept whatever he thought I deserved in terms of my grade and also to share a plan of how I could learn the material better. However, as I soon realized, he had called me into his office so he could berate me. He claimed that I was a “minimalist” and that I had only been allowed to get my previous math degree because American schools allow students to be lazy and get away with it. He told me that I had read in his syllabus that I only needed to present one solution to pass his class and that I had decided to do the minimum amount of work, somehow forgetting that I had been solving all of the homework exercises previously and had even come to his office to share my solutions. He said I wouldn’t be able to get a PhD. There was a lot more. It was pretty hard to endure. When I finally got a chance to speak, I said I had “a lot going on,” referring to The Nightmare. He quickly said, “I don’t want to hear about that.” I wouldn’t be surprised if he assumed that I was referring to pole dancing, which I was pretty open about doing. Or maybe he just didn’t care and he didn’t think I fit the mold of someone who should be allowed to do math. I replied, “Then fail me.” He seemed very surprised that I said this and quickly responded that he “wouldn’t do that” to me. Somehow berating me was less bad than failing me? This instructor was also mentoring one of my male friends in this class. My friend missed almost every class and presented one solution on the very last day (there were a number of students who also didn’t present until the last day). He did not receive a passing grade (I did), and our mentor never called him into his office. He is still on track to receive his PhD.

The same professor also prevented me from attending an MSRI summer program. The program reserves one spot for non-males from every participating school, and I was the only non-male to apply, but my mentor would not support me. All the men who applied to this program got to go, including those who actually failed classes (I passed all of my classes).

Another female student in the pure math program shared with me that the same instructor had loudly proclaimed during the department tea time that in order for any female students to be let into the PhD program, he and the deciding faculty had to lower the bar for GRE scores. I compared my GRE score to a few other male students, and we all had essentially the same scores.

I went to Title IX to talk about what had happened to me. They acknowledged that my story indicated that this instructor should be investigated for sexual discrimination. However, they suggested that I drop out of the program! They said that during the investigation, the instructor would know that I had filed a report against him, which would make things difficult for me since he would be grading my exams. I did not move forward with the report.

After that, I wanted to just drop out. I couldn’t manage everything going on with me personally, and I no longer felt welcome in the program. These experiences killed my love of math, at least for a few years. One of my peers talked me into staying for a bit longer, but it was rough. I also was approached by another one of my instructors who wanted to do research with me, which was encouraging. (Students often have to ask instructors to work with them, not the other way around.) This instructor told me that I was the only student who would redo homework assignments after reading her feedback, and I guess she could see my drive. Clearly I was not a lazy student.

I really tried to get back into math, but I just couldn’t at that time. I couldn’t study on campus anymore because I’d always run into my previous mentor. One time I walked into the shared grad student offices to be greeted by a sign saying “No girls allowed.” I appreciated the support of my advisor, but her research was not in the field that I was interested in either. I stuck it out for as long as I could (three years) but I just couldn’t continue after that. I also hated the idea of not performing to the best of my abilities, and I knew I could not do that at UCSC.

Contortion training.

While I was feeling less and less welcome in math spaces, the opposite was happening in pole spaces. My abilities were improving, I was getting more teaching opportunities (including starting a pole and aerial hoop series through UCSC’s recreation department), and I was getting paid work as a performer. While math people were pushing me out, pole dancers were welcoming me. At this point, there really was no other choice I could have made. I was allowed to train and excel at pole and my students were a joy to teach, which was completely opposite of my experience of doing math in grad school.

Unfortunately, working professionally in circus arts often involves a lot of contract work, and income can be very unpredictable. I put in many unpaid hours to prepare and choreograph acts for gigs. I was (and still am) living in Santa Cruz, and I did not feel financially secure living on this income, though I have at times supported myself just on my circus arts work.

I started teaching math at several community colleges to supplement my income. I have found that teaching math is also rewarding. I like helping students realize that they can do math despite what their preconceived notions are about who can do math. I also have found that writing challenging problems for my higher-level classes is a way that I can still enjoy doing math.

While community colleges have been more welcoming than my grad program, I’m still never allowed to forget that I do not fit the mold of someone who can do math. On my first day teaching at one college, I was helping students figure out what class to take while working at a booth near the math department. The dean was there with me, and I had even shared a bit of my experience at grad school with him. An older instructor walked over, and the dean introduced me. I was teaching statistics that semester. The instructor asked me, “What’s the probability that you’d kiss me on a first date?” I was stunned and ashamed. I couldn’t speak. I felt worthless, reduced to just a body. The dean was surprised too and did not respond. After the instructor walked away, the dean excused this act of sexual harassment by stating, “I guess he’s of a different generation.” I did not continue teaching there for long. I’ve also had students exclaim that I “don’t look like a math teacher” a number of times. I know these students don’t mean anything by it, but it really doesn’t feel good to be othered. As someone who is not a natural public speaker, hearing this on the first day of class makes me more nervous. I’ve experienced some backlash from male students as well. Some men have a really hard time with a female-presenting and relatively young-looking instructor knowing more math than them. In general, students rate male instructors higher. Check out the resources below if you want to read about this.

It may not help that I do not teach math in a traditional way. I think quite a few math instructors at community colleges may not have studied pure math, but rather something more applied. Many have not done research in pure math. I like to share what I know and what excites me about math, so I focus more on mathematical proofs and theorems. I also enjoy writing my own problem sets instead of using traditional textbook exercises. I try to write exercises that are explorative and may lead to a surprising or insightful result, or possibly show a connection to another seemingly unrelated topic. In learning, there is always struggle. If there is no struggle, learning is not happening. I think one big difference between teaching movement and teaching math is that students often come to class with a different attitude. If students are expecting to work out, naturally they expect to struggle a bit. When students attend a math lecture, they often expect an instructor to show them math, but they may not actually expect to do math in class, especially if they’re asked to do problems that aren’t nearly the same as the ones the instructor showed them how to do. I often ask my students to do these struggle-inducing types of exercises.

I am at a point now where I’m not sure what my place in mathematics is. I know that I will always do math. I can’t imagine ever not asking math questions and then trying to find the solution. However, I’m not really sure what math spaces will welcome me and where my strengths would be most useful. On the other hand, the pole community has been overall welcoming and allowed me to grow as a pole athlete. I know that my (now 11 years!) experience is respected. I have built up my connections and have been fortunate to have been given many opportunities. The pandemic, of course, has put some of this on hold; however, it has given me time to reflect. Maybe it’s time for me to spend my time and energy in a space that respects me and appreciates what I have to offer. What do you think?

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“Stereotype Threat Widens Achievement Gap.” American Psychological Association. https://www.apa.org/research/action/stereotype

“Why Female Professors Get Lower Ratings.” Anya Kamenetz. https://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2016/01/25/463846130/why-women-professors-get-lower-ratings

“Same Course, Different Ratings.” Colleen Flaherty. https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2018/03/14/study-says-students-rate-men-more-highly-women-even-when-theyre-teaching-identical

“Study reveals gender bias in TA evaluations.” Alisson Clark. https://news.ufl.edu/2020/11/ta-bias/

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This article was originally posted on the artist's blog Pole Diversity.
Jody Ryker
Performer, Teacher, Dircetor -United States
Jody has been training in circus arts since 2011. They specialize in pole dance, aerial hoop, and acrobatics. Jody has performed around California at music festivals, events, variety and circus shows, including the Santa Cruz boardwalk, California's Great America, Northern Nights, and the SF Craft Spirits Festival. Jody enjoys choreographing dramatic acts that showcase their aerial and pole creations. In 2015, Jody founded the performance group Pole Diversity (www.polediversity.com). They have directed, produced, and choreographed three hour-long shows as well as choreographing three sets for Santa Cruz's national dance week event. Pole Diversity's mission is to share pole dance in a circus setting and to dispel common misconceptions about pole dance. Jody currently teaches at Steel & Grace and Cirque, Tumble, and Cheer in Santa Cruz.
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Jody Ryker

Jody has been training in circus arts since 2011. They specialize in pole dance, aerial hoop, and acrobatics. Jody has performed around California at music festivals, events, variety and circus shows, including the Santa Cruz boardwalk, California's Great America, Northern Nights, and the SF Craft Spirits Festival. Jody enjoys choreographing dramatic acts that showcase their aerial and pole creations. In 2015, Jody founded the performance group Pole Diversity (www.polediversity.com). They have directed, produced, and choreographed three hour-long shows as well as choreographing three sets for Santa Cruz's national dance week event. Pole Diversity's mission is to share pole dance in a circus setting and to dispel common misconceptions about pole dance. Jody currently teaches at Steel & Grace and Cirque, Tumble, and Cheer in Santa Cruz.