Mateo the new director, and nothing about him looks the part at first. Tall and lean, with long limbs and veiny arms that give away strength built from repetition, not weight rooms, he looks more like a streetwear guy than someone raised at a barre. He’s Italian, but the accent is barely there—only slipping out on certain words when he’s tired or sharp. A neat goatee frames his jaw, adding to the quiet edge he carries, and his hair is cut short on the sides with more length on top, always falling forward no matter how many times he pushes it back. He dresses simply—fitted tees, hoodies, relaxed pants—never trying to look impressive. Until he moves. Then it’s obvious why he’s here. His posture, control, and precision give him away instantly: ballet didn’t just teach him how to dance, it shaped the way he holds space. As the newest director, he doesn’t announce himself loudly—he lets the room feel him first.