This past weekend, I competed in the Tulsa District Metropolitan Opera National Council Auditions. For those of you who aren’t familiar, this is a nation wide competition open to individuals between the ages of 20 and 30. You pay $30 to apply, and if they like your resume, and have room for you, you get to show up with five arias and compete. You pick your first piece, the judges pick a second from a list you provide. After they have heard everyone, sometimes up to 40 singers, they announce three winners, and assign two encouragement awards. The winners move on to the next round of the competition. After the awards ceremony, you get to speak with the judges and receive feedback about your performance.

Team, I am not going to lie to you. I may not have moved on this past weekend at the Met Council Auditions, but I nailed that performance. I sang Nobles Seigneurs, Salut! from Meyerbeer’s opera, Les Huguenots. My coloratura was spotless, in the center of the pitch, well connected, and sassy. Except for N’eutant de gloire ni de bonheur, which I butchered by taking a breath too shallow to support the melismas. In the heat of performance, all you can do is think, “well, Self, that just happened. Remember to breathe this time.” I made a quick recovery, delightfully portraying a young page boy drunk with his first dose of power. My character, Urbain, peacocks about as he lauds his knowledge of very valuable information in front a large group of knights and lords. I like to imagine he has a big feather on his hat. Perhaps his jacket is a little too loud.

I like singing pants roles. I didn’t always, but I do now. I love when women get to portray men and boys on stage because it always sparks interesting conversation about character dynamics, and in my opinion, trouser mezzos get to sing some of the best music. Cherubino, Siebel, Nicklausse, and Sesto, to name a few, may be secondary characters, but their music absolutely steals shows. Best of all, these characters don’t have to walk around corseted, coiffed, and stuffed into a period style dress. Don’t get me wrong, I love elaborate costumes, but it is always a relief to know that you’ll get to do the show in flats and pants.

When I decided weeks ago that I would begin with Nobles Seigneurs, I also decided that I would be wearing trousers to my audition. Most women in opera show up in a jewel toned wrap dress. Usually a sheath or pencil skirt fit, occasionally A-line. Most women in opera are sopranos. They sing prima donnas, heroines, damsels, and love interests. I myself, happen to be a mezzo. I play the best friend, the younger sister, the scary aunt, or the young male. Since mezzos frequently perform in pants, we are allowed to audition in pants, and kids, the outfit I picked was a stunner. Straight-leg-cropped-above-the-ankle black trousers, strappy yet closed toe stilettos, and a pink champagne silk blouse. Made sure my belt matched. Made sure my jewelry was tasteful and understated. Natural makeup. Hair styled down, because although I’d be portraying a young boy, I still wanted to appear feminine. Trust me, a lot of thought went into this outfit. I wanted to look the part so that they would remember not my appearance, but my singing.

So you can imagine my utter despair when, upon sitting down with the male judge to discuss my musical performance, the first thing he said to me was,

“I see what you’re trying to do with the pants look, but it just doesn’t work. Leggings are not generally appropriate for auditions at this level. I could see your breathe mechanism working, and honestly it was distracting.”

First. My pants were absolutely no where near tight enough to be mistaken for leggings by any reasonable person. These pants in particular are indeed fitted, but let’s pause and consider the origin of the pants role. In the 1780’s, one never, ever, saw a respectable woman in public wearing anything besides skirts and petticoats. The entire reason composers began writing male characters for female voices is because the public wanted a place to see a cute girl’s legs without being shamed for it. If the girl wearing breeches was on stage, that didn’t make you a creep. I happen to be a solid 8/10, so you are welcome for the literal and metaphorical respects I am paying the root of pants roles with my outfit.

Second. I am not an idiot. I would literally never dream of wearing LEGGINGS to the Met Council. I’m bold, but certainly not that bold. The truth is, it was 23 degrees and windy outside. I regret nothing. Except for my butchered melisma, which has nothing to do with the way I was dressed.

Third. This man was in his late 50’s. Very successful in the industry, but he doesn’t even remember my name. To take it a step further, he doesn’t even remember my contestant number. (It was 17). His phrase, “I see what you are trying to do” insinuates several things, primarily that he doesn’t think I have the body type to wear what I wore. It also implies that my appearance is more important that my performance, since this was the very first thing he chose to say to me. My body type is none of your business, Sir. I look professional and I feel great in this outfit, so this was an opinion better kept to yourself.

Lastly. The notion that one should not be able to see a singer breathe is absurd, ludicrous, and baffling. All of opera is focused around maximizing the efficiency of air flow while creating an ideal space for resonance to occur. This is how singers are able to reach the back of a 1,000 seat house over a full orchestra, with no amplification. My trousers were mid-rise. I’m sure one probably could see my tummy moving around a little bit as I inhaled enough air to sing a ~*flawless*~ high C. One could probably see it collapse as I used the air. The judge probably saw it expand the next time I inhaled. But he was sitting half way back in a house of 500 seats. I was on a black stage wearing black pants. I’m an acceptable weight for my frame, which means that this judge had to actively seek this area of my body out to comment on it.

Perhaps this judge was truly trying to be helpful. I would absolutely have received this comment differently coming from a woman, but in the end, the opera world still has a long way to go. I paid $30, spent six years in school, and drove four hours from Texas to compete in one of the most prestigious singing competitions in the country, not a beauty pageant. Next time I compete at the Met Council, I will probably still wear pants. I hope whoever is judging next year will feel that my singing is important enough to warrant their first comment, because while appearances still matter in the opera world, I would really like to have known how to control my breath on that particular melisma.