I was four when I was initiated into the powwow circle to dance. In my dad’s tribe, Ho-chunk, you’re given an honor song to welcome you in, and my mom made me my own jingle dress to dance in—it’s a colorful “healing” dress traditionally made of the bones of deer toes that clank as the dancer moves and lifts her fan to spread good health to the people around her. Now the dresses are made with rows of metal cones.

These traditions make me proud to be Native, and yet, when I was growing up, society made me feel ashamed of my heritage. At school I was one of only 10 indigenous kids in a class of hundreds. My reservation, Sandia Pueblo, was just outside Albuquerque, New Mexico, yet most of my classmates knew nothing about Native people. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen some oversexualized Poca-hottie costume or been asked whether I live in a tepee. (The answer is no.) One time, when I dropped my books in the hallway, kids started dancing around me, making war whooping sounds. All I wanted in that moment was to cut off my long hair. It’d be so much easier to go to school if I were white, I thought.

Thankfully, I had my dance studio, where I could dance it all out and feel better. I began to practice ballet and jazz in my teens, but I still loved how expressive indigenous dance was. Once I graduated high school, I pursued both professionally. But for years I kept being typecast as the “Native girl” or “indigenous princess,” even when auditioning for Western roles. Now, at 27, I’m tired of it, which is why I’ve reenrolled in school to study indigenous liberal studies and business. My dream is to open my own indigenous dance company and tell Native stories through contemporary and classical dance. I want to show how nuanced and resilient my people are. There’s real beauty in our culture when it’s not appropriated.

Attend a powwow, and you’ll understand. They’re huge gatherings that are filled with food, song, and dance. Everyone shows up in beautiful beadwork—our regalia (we don’t call them costumes) are like works of art. There are different outfits based on your dance, like the fancy shawl that mimics the colors and grace of a butterfly. For my eagle dance, my family made me wings out of feathers (pictured above). They represent spiritual strength and transformation. I can feel the energy of the eagle when I have them on.

Hair and makeup also play a huge role. During the dancing contests, you’re judged on your footwork and your presentation. But more than that, the beauty rituals offer a deep bonding experience. Native people think of our hair as having its own life. We don’t cut it—it’d be like cutting off a limb—so it’s a sign of trust to have someone braid yours. It’s also a misconception that every Native woman wears her hair in two braids. In certain communities, like my dad’s, we wear a ponytail with beads and a wrap around the back. In my mom’s tribe, Sandia Pueblo, we wear our hair down all the time. Our elders have the most beautiful, long silver gray hair.

I finally taught myself how to braid after years of practice for my powwow dances. You want your braids nice and tight, so they don’t unravel while you’re dancing. I use hairspray (lately I’ve been really into Pantene) and a comb to tightly pull every strand into place, then I wrap them in shoestring. My feather is the last to go on since it’s so delicate.

We don’t wear any makeup on my reservation, but I wear a lot to dance. The eagle dance is expressive and regal, so I want my makeup to reflect that. I’ll usually start with white and gold eyeshadow, which I put around my eyes and feather out, kind of like Black Swan, then down my nose to create a beak. Then I draw a slick wing using a good waterproof eyeliner (like Stila’s Stay All Day), along with a swipe of Benefit’s They’re Real Mascara. It doesn’t budge at all. I use Anastasia Beverly Hills Brow Powder Duo on my brows because it blends really well.

The last thing I put on is a really vibrant red lipstick and sometimes face paint. Women are starting to reclaim it, as a visual unifier at all the protests happening now. Whether dancing or marching for my people’s rights, it puts me into warrior mode—ready to feel the drum.

Watch Ria Thundercloud perform her eagle dance:

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