Raising Dancers, Nurturing Young Dreamers

Tutu School’s founder on leadership, imagination, and what children carry beyond the studio

Outside the sunlit studios of Tutu School, where tiny shoes slide across polished floors and pastel tutus sway in motion, there is a philosophy far deeper than a first plié. Behind the beloved national boutique ballet brand is founder Genevieve Weeks, a former professional dancer who transformed her own early love of movement into a magical first experience for children everywhere. At Tutu School, the stories of famous Classical Ballets inspire exercise in both little bodies and big imaginations, and the carefully developed curriculum balances just the right amount of skill-based instruction with enrichment, creativity, and fun.

We sat down with Weeks to talk about the origin of Tutu School, scaling without sacrificing soul, building a business with her husband and creative partner Andrew, and what she hopes her young dancers carry with them long after they leave the studio.

Palomino County: Let’s start at the beginning. When did the idea for Tutu School first come alive for you—and what pushed you to bring it into the world?

Genevieve Weeks: The first time I imagined it clearly was during my years as a freelance dancer. When the company I was performing with folded, my career became a cycle of very intense work—rehearsals, touring, shows—and then quiet gaps in between. In those lulls, I taught. And I completely fell in love with introducing very young children to ballet.

I also noticed a huge missing piece in the market. Families deeply wanted that “first ballet class” moment to feel special. But traditional studios weren’t designed for toddlers or preschoolers. The spaces were big and industrial; early childhood development wasn’t a focus. Young dancers were an afterthought.

The spark was recognizing the opportunity to flip that dynamic: What if they were the main event? What if we created a beautiful, imaginative space designed entirely around their developmental needs: a first relationship with music and movement that felt magical and safe?

The moment the idea became reality was when I shared the dream with my husband, Andrew. He simply asked, “Why wait?”

PC: How did your own early training shape the educational philosophy at Tutu School?

GW: It really comes from the contrast between two very different worlds. My earliest love of dance started in my parents’ living room in Madison, Wisconsin. Music was always playing. I felt completely free to be creative, silly, expressive. That uninhibited joy became the foundation of everything for me.

Then came traditional ballet training. I had wonderful teachers, but early ballet education can be quite technical before a child even understands why dance matters. It doesn’t always protect the part that makes kids fall in love with movement in the first place.

So, Tutu School is built to honor both things: the beauty and discipline of ballet, and that living-room freedom. We lead with imagination. We teach technique through storytelling, music, and play. And we treat the developmental reality of a three-year-old like it matters—because it absolutely does.

PC: You and Andrew built Tutu School alongside raising a family and his photography career. How did you navigate working so closely together?

GW: If entrepreneurial couples are honest, there’s often very little separation between work and life. We were building two businesses and raising young kids (Sullivan; twins Thatcher and Hudson) all at once. It was intense, but it created a kind of shared momentum we could only have experienced by leaping together.

Andrew wasn’t just documenting Tutu School; he helped define it visually. As our brand photographer, he captured the essence and emotion of the experience before we even had the language for it. And behind the scenes, he was constantly supporting me—helping me refine ideas, trust my instincts, take bold steps.

There’s this moment in Frozen 2 where Kristoff shows up on a horse, not to rescue Anna, but simply to ask, “What do you need?” I tell Andrew all the time: that’s you. He doesn’t swoop in and take over; he stands with me, steady and present, always ready to help me succeed.

PC: When did you realize Tutu School was resonating beyond that first neighborhood studio?

GW: Very early and very quickly. We opened in February 2008 in a little space in San Francisco, under 800 square feet. We needed around 50 students to break even. We doubled that within two months. Word spread fast. Parents told their friends and classes filled.

Then, during the recession, we opened our second location in Marin County—and it still worked. That was the moment I realized: this could exist everywhere. But it was also when I knew I couldn’t open all those schools myself.

PC: Scaling a boutique concept can be tricky. What allowed you to expand nationally without losing the magic?

GW: The key shift was realizing scaling is less about copying and more about codifying. If you want to replicate wonder, you have to define it. You have to turn culture into training. You have to protect the experience through systems without sterilizing it.

Franchising became our model, but the real strategy was building a brand ecosystem that keeps Tutu School consistent yet personal. We invite owners to bring their leadership, love, and local connection; but within a framework that ensures every child, everywhere, feels that same joy.

PC: How has your leadership evolved? Where have you grown the most?

GW: In the beginning, leadership looked like doing absolutely everything. Teaching, cleaning, answering emails, troubleshooting endlessly. It was scrappy and deeply personal. Today, leadership looks like clarity and caretaking. Protecting the brand. Setting priorities. Building systems that let others shine. Developing leaders across our franchise community and HQ team and then stepping back.

One of our principles is “Next Right Thing.” Identifying that next right thing, and giving it your full attention, is deceptively difficult. Without that focus, you can move in a million directions, but only a centimeter in each.

PC: What do you hope tiny dancers carry with them, even if they never take another ballet class?

GW: In dance, I hope they carry a true relationship with music and movement. Not just choreography but expression. In life, I hope they walk away with confidence and creativity. The feeling that they belong in the room. The courage to try something new, to get it wrong, and still be celebrated. And most of all, I hope they carry joy. Not a performed joy, but the kind that comes from feeling fully yourself.

PC: Tutu School welcomes both boys and girls. How do you make sure the curriculum supports all children?

GW: We believe ballet is for everybody. Our curriculum is story-driven, musical, imaginative—and that approach resonates with every child. We are intentional with language, roles, and studio culture. Every child loves pretending to blast off like rocket ships or gallop like unicorns. Those aren’t “girly” or “boyish” activities. They are tools for growing minds and joyful bodies.

PC: What is your long-term hope for this brand and for the children who grow up in it?

GW: My hope is that Tutu School continues to be a place where creativity is treated as essential, and joy is something we practice.

We are helping raise a generation of children who have exercised bravery in small ways, who know how to try, how to imagine, how to feel the power of music and movement and community. If they carry that into adulthood—into science, entrepreneurship, teaching, engineering, whatever they pursue—they will be people who dream new possibilities and actually build them.

That’s the real magic.

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