Go to any gallery and you see how painters and sculptors for centuries have made fat an issue. The nudes of Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt and Renoir show women with curves that are no longer part of any fashionable idea of beauty. Venus or Diana had a belly like that? I love most of them myself, but I have friends who object. Either way, all of us acknowledge that weight plays a part in our response. Which art requires more exposure of the human form than the nude in painting, photography or sculpture? Ballet, of course. Dancers -- even when sheathed in tights, tunics, tutus -- open their bodies up in the geometrical shapes and academic movements that ballet has codified, and so they make their bodies subject to the most intense scrutiny. The issue of scrutiny came up this week in a review of 'George Balanchine's The Nutcracker' at New York City Ballet. I wrote that Jenifer Ringer, cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy, 'looked as if she'd eaten one sugarplum too many,' and that Jared Angle, as her Cavalier, 'seems to have been sampling half the Sweet realm.' (The performance took place the night after Thanksgiving.) This has caused a certain brouhaha online, and a minor deluge of reader e-mails, in many cases obscene and abusive. The general feeling was that my characterizations went beyond the pale of civilized discourse. One reader wrote that the review was 'appalling,' 'heartbreaking,' 'childish, 'hurtful' and 'incompetent.' Notably, the fuss has been about Ringer's appearance. No one took issue with what might be considered a much more severe criticism, that the two danced 'without adult depth or complexity.' And though I was much harder on Angle's appearance, scarcely a reader objected. When I described Nilas Martins as 'portly' in The New York Times and Mark Morris as 'obese' in the Times Literary Supplement, those remarks were also greeted with silence. Fat, apparently, is not so much a feminist issue as a sexist one. Sauce for the goose? Scandal. Sauce for the gander? No problem. Ballet demands sacrifice in its pursuit of widely accepted ideals of beauty. To several readers that struggle is, regrettably but demonstrably and historically in the case of many women, concomitant with anorexia. (For the record, I have sometimes observed in print that certain dancers of either sex look too thin.) Ringer has spoken in the past about coping with eating disorders. Some of my correspondents feel I should know this history of hers, just as others have on occasion written to explain which ballerinas have histories of scoliosis. I think otherwise. Dancers do not ask to be considered victims. When I've praised Ringer, I've applied the standards I've applied to Suzanne Farrell, Natalia Makarova and Kyra Nichols. My own history makes me intimately aware of what it is like to have a physique considerably less ideal than any of those I have mentioned. Acute asthma in childhood gave me a chest deformity that often made me miserable into my adolescence. (It was ameliorated by major thoracic surgery at age 20.) On my doctor's advice, I lost 20 pounds last year. When a dancer has surplus weight, there can be no more ruthless way to demonstrate it than to dance in a tutu with shoulders bare. Some steps (notably, traveling across the stage on point with arms outstretched) open the upper body to maximum legibility, others the lower. If Ringer performed flamenco or Bharatanatyam or most forms of contemporary dance, she would look extremely slim. In most of her recent ballet roles, she has actually looked slender. To be overweight is not to be a bad dancer. Morris at his largest has often been a sensational performer. I have heard an audience snort with laughter as he arrived onstage and then be awestruck by the brilliance of his dancing. In the 1970s Lynn Seymour's weight was more pronounced, and her physique more curvaceous, than Ringer's. And her upper arms wobbled considerably more than Ringer's did last week. But they were like the wobble on certain notes in Maria Callas' voice -- unfortunate, controversial, but entirely mentionable in an artist who transcended her flaws. Seymour was one of the greatest ballerinas I ever saw, probably the plumpest and certainly the most original. Size in ballet is not only a modern obsession. In the mid-18th century at the Paris Opera, the ballerina Marie Allard was dismissed for her inability to lose weight (and the frequency of her pregnancies), while her contemporary Marie-Madeleine Guimard was nicknamed 'the skeleton of the graces.' History remembers both, however, as exceptional artists. And it enshrines Marie Taglioni, the archetypal Romantic ballerina of the 19th century. Yet Taglioni as a student was derided by her classmates as a 'hunchback.' In due course she became 'Marie full of grace' (the echo of the Virgin Mary was intentional), the supreme sylph. In our own time many other female dancers with obvious physical imperfections have made impressions far greater than those whose bodies were ballet-perfect. But that's their task: In an Apollonian art that requires purity of line, precision of execution and harmony of appearance, dancers with less than ideal shapes must bring other qualities to bear. Many have, and Ringer does, too, with several roles. This particular Sugar Plum Fairy -- one of her rare tutu parts these days -- was not one of them. Some correspondents have argued that the body in ballet is 'irrelevant.' Sorry, but the opposite is true. If you want to make your appearance irrelevant to criticism, do not choose ballet as a career. The body in ballet becomes a subject of the keenest observation and the most intense discussion. I am severe -- but ballet, as dancers know, is more so. 