09/06/2025
Credit goes to Stephen Forbes, but this is so damn accurate. I will be crying in my truck because the wind changed directions. 😂
Dressage is absolutely, unequivocally dumb.
We spend decades and life savings trying to convince a horse, an animal that would rather nap or fart in a field, to perform controlled interpretive dance… while we wear white stretchy pants and pretend we’re not crying inside.
We argue online about nosebands and neck lengths.
We watch slow-motion trot videos like they’re Oscar-nominated films.
We talk about “feel” like it’s a sixth sense, and nod solemnly when someone says, “He wasn’t truly through in the right rein.”
Nobody knows what that means. We just say it so we don’t feel alone.
“Needs more schwung.”
Schwung????
Apparently it’s German for "make it fancy and pray".
We all pretend to know, then throw money at a new saddle pad hoping it comes with free schwung.
Special this month: Every new Solo bridle now ships with 3 ounces of authentic German schwung. Use responsibly.
And we obsess over the perfect halt.
THE. PERFECT. HALT.
As if a square halt will heal our childhood wounds.
We film our rides. Watch them back. Cry a little.
Zoom in. Rewind. Cry again.
"Why is my left leg doing that?!?"
We whisper sweet nothings to an animal that just tried to murder us because the wind changed direction.
We spend fortunes, literal fortunes, so a stranger in a box can frown at us and say: “Tension throughout.”
(You mean me or the horse?)
And speaking of showing.
There's you, before your class, sitting in the front seat of your Subaru, white breeches slightly transparent in the wrong places, eating a granola bar, listening to whale sounds to calm your nerves, and somehow believing this will help you nail that medium trot.
(It won’t. But you keep listening.)
And the wildest part? We take this seriously.
Like Olympic-level seriously.
Like, cry-in-the-stall-because-your-horse-has-a-poo-stain seriously.
But here’s the twist:
There’s something addictively beautiful about devoting your life to something this ridiculous.
To whispering with your body.
To the micro-conversations.
To trying to talk to your horse in French… with your seatbones.
It’s composing a symphony using only your spine, breath, and unresolved anxiety.
But that's just it, the best parts of life are kind of dumb.
Love is dumb.
Poetry is dumb.
Art is dumb.
Pursuing perfection you’ll never reach? Extra dumb.
But that’s what makes it holy.
So yeah, dressage is dumb.
Which makes it kind of genius.
