An Open Letter to The Concept of Broadway
When I reference “The Concept of Broadway,” I am not just referring to the 41 theaters in Manhattan. I am talking about everything from that “Great White Way” to the kid in the middle of nowhere listening to an OBC recording on loop. When I say Broadway I am talking about the culture, the industry, and the Theatre Kid™️ lifestyle. I am writing this letter as someone who was asked why I wanted to study theatre in my college interview and my response was, “I don’t want to, I have to.” I am coming from the perspective of a person whose favorite place on earth is sitting alone in an empty theatre. I am a Theatre Kid™️ who is deeply hurt and disappointed by the fact that I even feel compelled to write this letter.
I was raised by The Concept of Broadway. Broadway was my third parent. I was a Musical Theatre Kid™️ from an early age, it was what I was known for, and where I felt safe. I gained life skills, learned what words meant, and understood some complex topics before my peers. I literally remember getting questions right on tests in school because a Musical Theatre lyric taught me the answer. Broadway taught me my values, some of which I’ve had to adjust as I grew. Broadway gave me my voice, most of which I’ve had to adjust as I grew. Broadway gave me my personality, my drive, my charisma, my resilience, and my stamina; all of which I’ve had to adjust as I’ve grown. I had to adjust because I realized as an adult that Broadway is a sham. The Concept of Broadway, the curtains and the lights and the costumes, are all there to distract you from the abuse and toxicity we are all navigating. And as a result, I was growing up to be a toxic and abusive person before I let go of The Concept.
But it’s The Dream, right?
For an industry and community that prides itself on inclusion and is dominated by (white, cis, wealthy, conventionally attractive) gay men, it was a slap in the face when I realized how heterosexist and transphobic The Concept of Broadway truly was. Theatre is a primary place where we think of young queer people being comfortable and safe, right? That’s the lie we’re taught, that The Concept of Broadway is here to protect you. Be who you are and embrace your truth. But how many of us had to learn how to remove ourselves from our queerness on stage? How many of us were forced to play roles that felt nothing like the safety we were promised? How many of us were internalizing messages of conformity and status quo in order to be castable while being told it was okay to be different and unique in real life? How many of us struggled to make sense of the cis-centered heteronormativity we were forced to navigate under the disguise of inclusion and diversity? How many of us traded bits of ourselves for cheap laughs in the shows that had spotty queer representations or jokes at our expense?
The Concept of Broadway tells us it’s okay to be different without fully showing us what that looks like because it profits off our attempts to see ourselves in stories that weren’t written for us.
As a teenager, I was constantly in a theater. In my High School, multiple community theaters on Long Island, or the trips I made into the city to see shows. The majority of my time was spent in or preparing to be in a theater. I was fully imbedded in The Concept and growing up to be a part of the system. What I was learning and experiencing, I now understand to have been incredibly problematic. The physical and sexual abuse I endured from adults in positions of leadership and education were unfortunately too common and regular in these settings. I was not the only young person made to equate my success in these communities to my willingness to engage with perverts and pedophiles. And yet, throughout High School and College I built a persona of strength and success that was simply a coverup for the trauma I couldn’t yet admit. I started making my way behind the scenes in these theaters; designing, choreographing, and directing. I was a passionate creative, as I would have likely described myself, but looking back I don’t like the person I was when I was in charge of those rooms. I inherited a dynamic where I my position as a white, conventionally attractive person, that at the time was largely perceived as a man protected me from the need for accountability. I got away with being a yelling, angry, scary person because at the end of the process I put on a good show. I think that’s a fatal flaw of The Concept of Broadway, forgiving the successful because they accomplished the job, but not because they accomplished forgiveness.
I gave up on The Concept of Broadway in college. Studying theatre and being immersed in The Concept, I grew to realize this industry had no place for me. The work was limited and limiting. I didn’t like the person I was becoming in those rooms, and I didn’t want to see what else I might become. This was around the same time that I started really settling into my trans identity, and don’t think I saw a path forward for the version of me I was getting to know. The Concept of Broadway just didn’t make sense anymore. I was too young to be taken seriously as a director, too trans to be taken seriously as an actor, and too jaded to try to prove them wrong. I knew The Concept would never see me in the stories where I saw myself, and I couldn’t find a story or a character who actually looked enough like me for them to get it. I kept pursuing theatre, but removed myself from The Concept of Broadway. (Yes, there’s more to theatre than just The Concept.) I dug my efforts into the downtown New York scene where I made some wonderful theatre for social change that had no care for commercial value or mainstream standards of “success.”
The Concept of Broadway is at least a decade behind social progress.
The week after I graduated college with my degree in directing, Laverne Cox was on the cover of Time Magazine talking about the “Transgender Tipping Point” and the new age for trans stories and trans actors. Now, looking back to that moment, I realize that it was only representing progress in film & TV. In the years since that interview, I have realized one upsetting fact: The Concept of Broadway is at least a decade behind social progress. While we’re seeing a rise in representation and visibility for trans and non-binary people on screen, we’re seeing musicals of transphobic movies from the 80s and 90s being introduced into the musical theatre cannon. We’re seeing revivals of shows with casts and stories that do not reflect the social landscape of our current world. We’re seeing erasure, we’re seeing tokenism, and we’re seeing ignorance. We’re seeing profit prioritized over humanity, and spectacle favored to truth.
In just two years of auditioning I quickly learned just how different things were for a non-binary actor on stage and on screen.
In 2018 I started pursuing mainstream acting gigs on stage and on screen. The reasons for my decision to rejoin The Concept are complicated and vary, but some have to do with long-term career stability. As much as I loved the work I was doing downtown, it was not sustainable, and I believed at the time that the world was ready to see me in mainstream roles. For the first time in my life I found myself looking at Broadway (not just The Concept, but actual shows in those 41 theatres) as job opportunities. I never did the open call. I never waited for hours on end hoping they’d let me do my 16 bars. That prospect was never enticing to me, I don’t have the drive to show up in that way. (And I have the utmost respect for those who do.)But I also know that I would stick out like a yellow Smurf in those calls, and not in the way you want to stand out in an audition. Instead, I only showed up when I had an appointment, so they knew I was coming and they were prepared to see a non-binary actor. This was in part thanks to my privilege of having representation to help procure those appointments, which also meant I had help getting auditions for TV shows. And in just two years of this auditioning I quickly learned just how different things were for a non-binary actor on stage and on screen. I booked 4 TV shows in 2 years, 3 of which weren’t specifically looking for a trans actor. They just hired me because I was the right fit. Things weren’t perfect on that side of the industry, but I definitely felt very quickly like I belonged and I was able to set goals that felt attainable. Auditioning for TV, I can bring myself into a room and a character and prove to myself and the team that I’m capable and worthy.
Auditions for mainstream theatre projects always feel different to me. The roles are few and far between, and always require me to compromise on some part of myself. If it’s not my gender, it’s my politics. I find that every time I audition within The Concept of Broadway, I am asked to leave a part of myself outside of the room, compromise on my full self in order to fit their ideal. My whole self doesn’t fit in the room, nor does it belong there. I am asked to have a different vocal range, get a closer shave, fit into their idea of what my entirety should be. I am never afforded the opportunity to share my entirety with the role. The “just be yourself” attitude we love to broadcast so rarely shows up in the auditions for the very scripts that carry the message. The irony is these contracts are always longer time commitments and less money per hour than the TV auditions by which I feel embraced. But the reality is, I still believe I am built for the stage. I still know the magic that can happen in live theatre and I want so badly for a person like me to have access to that opportunity. I want to be the representation I never had when I was a kid, but I can’t do that in an industry that is constantly stripping me of my wholeness.
I sometimes refer to myself as a “Broadway adjacent actor.” And it’s true, I’ve worked Off-Broadway, and have auditioned and been called back for a few Broadway contracts. But I also find that I’m useful to The Concept in name and appearance at Broadway-themed events. My name is attached to concerts and panels that associate me the word Broadway as a way to add to the illusion of inclusivity. I attend some of these events, as I do many things, as the only trans person being highlighted (or sometimes even in the room.) But what most people don’t realize is that I’m also the only person involved who’s never had a Broadway contract. I’m merely adjacent to Broadway, but since I can count the trans people who have held Broadway contracts on my fingers, often I’m the only trans representation the producers know or can find. And I get stuck in this frustration, because while I want people to see trans representation at these events, it feels hollow for me to be that representation without the proper credentials. But The Concept of Broadway benefits from associating with me in this way, and I am expected to be grateful for the exposure and hope that it leads to more visibility and connections.
When in reality, The Concept of Broadway is happy to keep me in my just-visibile-enough place so that I feel close enough to the machine without getting my hands on any of the controls. Because if you look closer into The Concept, you might think you see people like me. But what you’re really seeing is narratives that hurt me. You’re seeing a mockery of gender diversity and/or non-conformity used for cheap laughs or shock value. You’re seeing cisgender people getting praised for pushing boundaries in sloppy, one-dimensional representations of other genders. And what you’re not seeing is the impact those stories have on trans and non-binary people and communities. What you’re not seeing is the trans and non-binary actors who are overlooked for roles because our transness isn’t useful enough to be worth hiring. Our truths aren’t worth as much as cis replications of our trauma. What you’re not seeing is the system that is built to take two steps forward while playing pretty music so you don’t realize the fifteen steps they took back. Tootsie. Hairspray. Mrs. Doubtfire. Straight White Men. Chicago. Jagged Little Pill. Matilda. La Cage. M Butterfly. Hedwig. Kinky Boots. Priscilla Queen of the Dessert. The list goes on. Trans people are constantly set up for failure in an industry that simultaneously erases and attacks us while telling us it’s progress.
The Concept of Broadway as a welcoming and safe space is a myth for anyone who is not safe and welcome in the world at large.
I have watched how The Concept of Broadway perpetuates the problems of the world around us instead of solving them. I have seen confirmed (and sometimes convicted) sex offenders leading Broadway shows. I have seen white washing of stories and re-writing of history to delegitimize the realities that people of color have faced. I have seen gender non-conformity be used as a punchline or a distraction. I have seen silence around atmospheres of abuse and injustice. I have seen standards of beauty be honored over standards of talent and work ethic. I have seen disabilities used as magical story-telling devices more times than I have seen disabled actors on stage. I have seen shaming of people who are bold enough to critique the problems at hand. I have seen, time and time again, white cisgender experiences be prioritized in stories where they do not belong. The Concept of Broadway as a welcoming and safe space is a myth for anyone who is not safe and welcome in the world at large. The power dynamics and systems of oppression that are at play in our society are mimicked, if not exacerbated, by The Concept of Broadway. This culture needs to be eradicated so that it can not do any more harm.
The Concept of Broadway needs to listen to their own lyrics, their own empty messages, and their own lies. Then maybe once they learn to listen, we can start to make realities come true.
