White Women: If I May Have a Word with You When It Comes to Auditions
Photo: Actor Aesthetic
I have never trusted institutions to enact the systematic change that will offer me inclusion, so I believe in the power of the individual. I will explain, but first, let me start with some context. I graduated from a non-conservatory theater program one year ago. I am an Equity Membership Candidate (EMC) and an award-winning playwright. I am queer, invisibly disabled, and I am Black.
I moved to New York after a summer stock gig that put on four shows, three cabarets, and two fundraisers in less than three months. It was a summer of learning, being challenged, and shaping one aspect of my artistry I had not thought much of before: my humility. I learned how important it is to know when to step up and to know when to step the fudge back.
That is where you come in.
What’s the problem?
If I have learned anything from this profession during my first year in NYC, it is this: auditioning brings out the worst in you.
Some of it is overt. For BIPOC actors, our work goes beyond showing up at 5:00 a.m. to stand in line with you. If you have seen or spoken to me at an open call, you have not spoken to Steph. You have seen code-switching, palatable, proper-speaking Stephanie, articulating herself well so she doesn’t get played by those who feel more entitled to her spot in line. Stephanie acts as both referee on rules and etiquette and broadcaster of different lines outside of Pearl (Ripley, etc. etc.) while her white “peers” silently (selfishly) keep information to themselves. Remember: intent does not equal impact.
Some of it is subtle. White women edging me out of elevators. White women standing over me to use their hair straighteners as I undo my twists. White women using my shade of bronzer to ‘look alive’ while I apply lotion and mascara. White women simultaneously not acknowledging my existence and fetishizing my appearance. All before 10:00 a.m.
So, what can we do?
Let me start with what already exists.
Every casting call I have attended this year for an entirely Black play or musical (which, by the way, still numbers in the single digits) has been an inspirational and affirmational experience. These rooms held a different energy. There was still competition, but there were more shared laughs and compliments. There were exclamations that no one knew so many Blacktresses were actively auditioning in New York. There were genuine well-wishes and even a few follow-up friendships. There was community, support, and, above all, a profound sense of gratitude for this opportunity because they do not come around every day.
White women, you have taken auditions for granted. You have disguised your lack of bookings as a reason to attend as many auditions as humanly possible. You have bought into the eventuality of the math swinging your way by putting yourself in front of every casting director. You have showed up unprepared because one bad audition doesn’t hold the same consequences for you as it does for me. You mistake a perfect attendance record for “luck” and in so doing, you both push me out of the running and discount your own uniqueness and agency. You say it is not your fault, that showing up is what you were taught to do. It is the way of the market, after all. It is capitalism.
BUT, in a world where there are so few casting directors of color (another pressing matter that needs addressing), we must rely on each other to be aware of our privileges, humble about our abilities, and intentional in deciding when we show up. We must rely on each other to ensure that the actors who will stretch the imaginations of those on the other side of the table actually get into the room.
I show up when I feel seen, represented, or moved by a role. I show up because I know my face might inspire another melanated child to follow their dreams. I show up because theater can change the hearts and minds of those who wish to oppress me outside of it. I show up because our audiences help fund our plays, our prospects, and our collective consciousness. Our job as actors is to show up not as ourselves, but in service to a piece of art. Of course, acting is fun and fulfilling, but this job is not entirely about myself. So why do you show up? Can you make a list?
If you are reading this piece, I can trust that you are in the process of ‘listening and learning’ from this revolutionary moment. You might have seen Broadway’s most prominent Black actors calling for change and figured you can’t help. Let this be a reminder that your time and attention are deeply needed at every level of the professional theatre.
Sometimes the best way to show up for actors of color is to not show up at all. The more you insist on clogging audition rooms for shows that don’t need another white body and the more you take opportunities away from actors of color, the more you force actors of color to put themselves into a code-switching, placating box for easier consumption. The more you insist, the more we’re dismissed, or worse, tokenized.
I urge you to use this time away from regular audition spaces to find a deeper understanding of your role in this game we’ve chosen as a career. Forget whatever ‘type’ your education thrust upon you and try a new song or monologue (from a culturally appropriate show). Read more plays, study theater history and immerse yourself in a radical overhaul of the kinds of characters, plays, and musicals you show up to audition for. Be aware of the space you occupy and your actions if you do show up. Keep your confidence, cut your ego, then encourage two friends to do the same.
You must take this time to step back and acknowledge how you contribute to racism in the theater industry, consciously or not, at the very first step in the process: auditions. Only then can we all show up and share a space that is in service to each other and to the bigger picture. Only then can we show up and truly share space, period. This is your work to do. We will all be better for it.
Thanking you in advance and trying to love you always,
Steph
P.S. Hamilton calls are still not for you