Check out Miguel De Sousa’s exclusive Real Bodies shoot for Attitude in 20 images

I was born and raised in Salvador, Brazil. From a very young age, I knew I was different. I grew up in a loving home, with a disco-obsessed father, a hard-working mother and a younger sister. Dad was in the military, so there was a lot of discipline — especially with me being the big brother.

I was a very feminine boy, and I used to hang out a lot more with girls than with boys. I was obsessed with The Little Mermaid, an anime series called Rayearth, and then the Spice Girls. All of this shaped the flamboyant, (vocally) high-pitched boy into the flamboyant, high-pitched man I am today, personally and professionally.

I don’t recall bullying growing up, but I do clearly remember the social pressure to behave a certain way, talk a certain way and to like certain things. I think the fact that my father wasn’t a big football fan like the other dads was sort of comforting, even though I had to play it if I wanted to hang out with boys my age.

Being gay was something that was weirdly expected of me, given how I was as a child, but it didn’t make things easier. It was almost as if there was this hope that I’d turn out straight. To be honest, it was harder telling my parents that I wanted to become a dancer than that I was gay. The dance thing happened first, and it felt like I was throwing away all of the expectations my family had for me with that. But I was fully conscious of my otherness and first came out to my closest friends during high school. It’s also when I had my first experiences.

Dancing has been, for a long time, a source of pleasure and happiness, but sometimes frustration as well. It’s indescribable the joy that comes from moving your whole body to music, whether it’s in big groups in clubs and raves or our big carnivals in Brazil, at home with my partner while we’re cooking, or on stage in a theatre or a film set.

I don’t really remember when I was first introduced to dance. Salvador is a very rich place culturally — dance and music are all around, so it probably happened at a very young age. There are images of me at my second birthday party dancing with my cousins and friends. But to point to something specific, I can remember being six or seven and trying to learn some steps that the seven dwarves do in Disney’s animated Snow White. I also remember not being able to do them.

“What became a real necessity to me is taking time to dance just for fun every now and then”

There’s a big dichotomy in dance because as dancers we train in environments that are usually extremely disciplined and limiting, and at the same time there’s this gigantic freedom that comes from moving. As an art form, it is also very treacherous. Most artists, like musicians, painters and photographers, get to study and develop their crafts and techniques for years — even decades. This is impossible with dance because of how quickly our bodies age. There’s a sense of urgency. Of course, we can dance until we’re very old, but with clear limitations.

There’s not really a style of dance I find the most liberating or that I’m most able to express myself in. Some dancers have a technique they really like and perfect it throughout their whole careers, and others experiment with several. I’m with the latter. Having studied hip-hop, house, different contemporary styles, Afro-Brazilian and even doing aerial rope, I feel the most accomplished and liberated when I’m able to incorporate all of it and find my own way to move between all. What became a real necessity to me is taking time to dance just for fun every now and then. It helps me remember why I chose this career.

As a dancer, my body is the breadwinner. It’s something I was born with but also formed, informed, and try to control and understand as much as possible. It is not easy to build a healthy relationship with it because it’s constantly under my and other people’s microscopes. So, getting to a point of loving and accepting it and at the same time trying to improve and push certain limits is complex.

The journey has been interesting. I think my earliest strong memory regarding my body was being named the ugliest boy in my class when I was 12. Kids can be rough, right? Before that, I was not super aware of it. It’s funny because it’s around that time that I started to learn choreography from music videos and to feel an immense joy from it. Long hours of recording MTV on tapes, playing and rewinding them, trying to move in the living room without hitting the furniture, and feeling accomplished afterwards from somewhat being able to reproduce the steps.

By the time I was 16, digital cameras were getting popular, and I would spend a lot of time taking pictures of myself. I think it’s then that I started making peace with how I look. Maybe all that dancing was paying off, and thankfully the acne was a lot less severe.

“Dance has given me a strong sense of self”

It’s only when I was 18 that I was confronted with being in class with other dancers, when my professional training really began, at the Universidade Federal da Bahia in Salvador. That was a whole different world. Even though it was good to not be so young and gullible, easily swayed by other people’s opinions, it felt like I was really late to the whole thing and needed to catch up. I trained a lot.

Dance has given me a strong sense of self. And it’s weird because the fact that I chose it as a profession comes with having it being scrutinised and a certain docility. It made me be easily taught and accept directions but also know exactly who I am. You have to, otherwise the amount of projection the audience or a boss does on you can make you get lost.

Being a dancer means being in the counter-movement. Unusual working hours, unsteady sources of income, being scared about not having work and being overwhelmed when there’s too much.

I moved to Paris 12 years ago to further develop my professional career. I fell in love with the city and the people I met here, and even though I do miss the proximity to the ocean, there are absolutely no plans to move. We have social protection in France, but even with that it’s hard to find a place to live. All of these things made me embrace living outside the norm, which goes very well with being queer and exploring and learning alternative ways of doing everything.

I started modelling for painting and drawing when I first arrived in Paris to help make ends meet. It came from an economic necessity and became a source of artistic nourishment. There’s something really humbling and at the same time exalting about staying in the same pose for hours and inspiring art being made. It’s very demanding physically and mentally. And for some reason it helps with my anxiety because it forces me to stay present. Seeing so many drawings, paintings and sculptures of me also made me realise how much people project onto you. Most of the time they don’t really see you; they see themselves through you. I learned a life lesson there.

“My relationship with dance has always been attached to the camera, long before the boom of social media and TikTok”

I found working on Emilia Pérez an incredible and unforgettable experience. Up until then, I was mainly working with a small dance company, usually being on stage by myself or in a duo. I found myself all of sudden on these big movie sets with 60 dancers. It was a very inspiring environment, and I’m very happy with the relationships I built during the months of work that went into it — from the audition to the workshops to the rehearsals and the long hours of filming. Damien Jalet is an amazing choreographer. I was also able to put my Spanish to use; it used to be quite good when I was a teenager.

My relationship with dance has always been attached to the camera, long before the boom of social media and TikTok. That’s how I learnt it. It requires a certain precision that is not consistently needed when you dance on stage. I really felt at home. There’s also the specificity of having to be able to do the same movement 10s of times, so cameras can get it from different angles. Something I will never forget is hearing Zoe Saldaña sing acapella during some takes when they wouldn’t play the music loud to be able to record the sounds of our movements. So much passion!

I love the film, and the majority of what I’ve heard about it from others has also been positive. I think some of the criticisms are valid, as there isn’t such a thing as a ‘perfect work of art’ — but some are not. It’s a movie about redemption through amazingly written women with a violent and raw energy. It’s also an action movie and a musical with a political critique. You cannot do what hasn’t been done before without ruffling some feathers.

With the amount of uncertainty I’m surrounded by, building a routine and keeping as much structure as I possibly can really helps me take care of myself. I usually exercise six times a week and I do intermittent fasting.

I feel strong in my body when I’m exercising or dancing a lot, also when I’m lying outside in the sun. Having a cold shower! Those are great. Weirdly enough, having time for myself, feeling rested, even though it doesn’t happen very often, also helps. I guess pleasure is really important, no matter the source.

“I would be lying if I didn’t say that feeling well really came with economic and emotional security”

Besides dancing and modelling, I love film. I have some ongoing video dance projects and I finished the first one I directed last year. It’s definitely something I want to do more of. During the mandatory Covid-19 lockdowns here in France, I learnt to play the piano. I really wish I had more free time to keep practising.

I see my friends as much as I possibly can. I have a circle of friends that truly support me. We don’t have everything in common, but enough to understand each other and be there for one another. The famous found family. I would be lying if I didn’t say that feeling well really came with economic and emotional security. Learning about what I needed in life and trying to recognise my emotions as clearly as possible was a game-changer.

“I feel vulnerable when I’m made to feel othered. Life as an immigrant is not easy”

When it comes to feeling confident, it’s really about the state of mind I’m in. If I’m feeling down, I will usually try to find the source. If it’s something I can’t do anything about, I’ll try my best to live through the feeling and let it go. But if I can change it, it will usually be through listening to music, or dressing up.

I feel vulnerable when I’m made to feel othered. Life as an immigrant is not easy. Being judged by the colour of my skin, or the texture of my hair, or my accent has happened so many times — I did build a thick skin for it, but I shouldn’t have had to. Most of the time it doesn’t affect me, but it’s impossible to be completely closed and not let any of it get to you — specifically, when political decisions are being made, and my right to exist somewhere can be put in danger.

Being LGBTQ+ has given me the freedom to analyse the realities around me and figure out what works and what doesn’t. Question the so-called love from people that don’t want to see you flourish and discover what’s best for you and those you want to keep around.

This piece was lifted from Issue 363 of Attitude magazine which is available to order here, and alongside 15 years of back issues on the free Attitude app.