In the 5th grade, my elementary school commenced its yearly scrappy rendition of the California Gold Rush. Despite my efforts to make it to the leading cast, I was set aside as a dancer. My disappointment was short-lived because I wasn’t any ordinary dancer; I had to carry a thick encyclopedia that was suffocated by cardstock to turn it into a prop for the play.
Let me lead the rest by disclosing that I am a terrible performer.
I had one job: carry the book through the dance number, and make sure I had it by the end. As you can guess, not even 30 seconds into the number, the book flew across the stage, much to my complaint. My cheeks grew red, and my throat became dry. The embarrassment snowballed in my stomach — how could a 10-year-old live this down?
Easily actually. I ended up living it down, and while the shame didn’t stay with me, the almost superhuman inability to perform never left my side.
I scored my first acting job before they even cut my umbilical cord. I got assigned the role of a woman. Reflecting now, it’s pretty funny how my most prominent role is one I didn’t even try out for. Luckily I had a great crew to help me navigate it. From the ripe age of seven, I was expected to carry out my feminine script, dress a certain way, talk sweetly, be wise beyond my years and be responsible for myself and how men react to me. As the script became more rigid, I gravitated towards improv, but improv seemed to be exclusively for my male co-stars. By 11, I was on my first diet, counting my calories and denying myself sugar, all to feel fit for my role. I didn’t mind, though; the greats always dabble in a bit of method acting. While Heath Ledger immersed himself in the comics for the Joker, I took a more Christian Bale approach and thinned my figure down to a skeleton. Anything for the role, am I right?
I didn’t get many lines playing this role. I glammed up and sat there while I served as an accessory for my male counterpart to self-actualize. Although this role was quite the experience, I’m not sure if it had much range. It felt very one-dimensional — not much humanity in this one. I’ll warn you. This was no Oscar-winning performance. I don’t even think we made it to double digits on Rotten Tomatoes. After all, I am a horrible performer.
So I failed my gender performance and Hollywood hated me for it. I took it like a man as the movie critics scrutinized me for simply having a multifaceted character. I sat with my face burrowed in my assistant’s velvet couch pillow, the latest review crumpled next to me, as my publicist rambled about the importance of “social image.” Shouldn’t I have a say in a role with this much responsibility?
People in my comments were quick to say, “think about what you’re teaching the children with your act.” I greet their simplicity with a scoff. I hope children take my example to heart. I hope that dumbing down their complexities for a prewritten identity doesn’t even cross their mind. In fact, I hope the whole acting industry burns down. That’s all it is — an industry — the roles, events, and conflicts are all crafted by people. And if revolution, war and activism have proven anything, it’s that where there are people, there is power. So what if people fled the industry? What ability would it have? Would the burden of a prewritten identity still exist? Would anyone be stripped of their individuality, put into a pink room with a pink doll and some pink signs that say “it’s a girl”?