If you’re a fan of snarky, feminist humor and/or gif-based media criticism, you may have already stumbled across my brainchild of a blog, Lady Parts. For the uninitiated, here’s the gist: I repost heinously sexist casting calls in all their horrific absurdity. For example:
And to answer the first two questions people usually ask about my blog: Yes, these are all 100% real. No, they are not casting calls for porn flicks. Each of these breakdowns was originally posted on a mainstream casting website like Backstage, ActorsAccess, Mandy, etc. (I used to check Craigslist posts too, but let’s be real—most of those could only be considered acting gigs if you call role-playing for horny millionaires “immersive theater”.)
Most early career actors are well acquainted with these casting websites. Before an actor has representation or relationships within the industry, these websites are one of the primary ways of finding resume-building work. I should know, too—with just two years out of acting school behind me and absolutely no industry clout to speak of, I am very much an early career actor.
And up until a few months ago, I was hell-bent on doing all the things They with a capital “t” tell you to do as an early career actor: paying to meet industry people, sending out postcards, taking crappy unpaid parts to bulk up my resume, and keeping my eyes surgically attached to all of the aforementioned casting websites.
But after a couple years of going through these motions with near-obsessive fervor, I started to notice something peculiar. My career was advancing, but not because of flashy marketing materials or pay-to-play sessions with industry folks. That advancement was happening through meeting like-minded creators and figuring out what kind of work I actually cared about. It certainly wasn’t happening by applying to the kinds of roles I now make fun of on my blog, and yet I still found myself submitting for those very jobs, buying into the idea that I needed them to get ahead.
When people ask what inspired me to start Lady Parts, I always refer them to this, “the breakdown that started it all”:
What I don’t always mention is the fact that I had just submitted for that role when it occurred me how messed up it was. I was so in the habit of applying to any role that might have me, of paying my dues at any cost, that I’d completely lost sight of what I actually wanted from my acting career.
Sitting back and looking at that casting call felt like waking up from a nasty dream (and not the fun kind, either). In that moment, I had to admit to myself that my pursuit of an acting career was making me miserable. I pictured myself slogging along the prescribed path laid out before all early career actors, and realized that I wasn’t willing to go down it. I wasn’t willing to play sexist shells of characters, props in the stories of male protagonists. I wasn’t willing to spend my hard-earned money on workshops with people who were only going to comment on my figure. I wasn’t willing to compromise my values, my politics, or my self-respect for the sake of my career.
And so, like any good millennial, I wrote a Facebook status about it:
“Time to start a Tumblr of all insidiously sexist nonsense in Actors Access/Backstage breakdowns, yes?”
The status was only half-serious, but the response from my fellow creative professionals was a resounding, adamant “YES”. All of the actors, writers, and directors I’d worked with and respected the most were also struggling with the lack of inclusive representation in entertainment. And so, bolstered by the support of my collaborators and friends, I launched Lady Parts as a forum for discussion, a place where we creative types could vent our frustrations and support each other in being more selective about the work we wanted to take and make.
And then, to use the technical term, the thing blew up.
In the four months since I launched Lady Parts, the project has gained 25K followers, a dozen write-ups by the likes of Buzzfeed, Elle, The Huffington Post, and Jezebel, and—much to my surprise—not a single cease and desist letter. We’re even crowdfunding on Kickstarter to make the blog into a webseries this spring! People want to talk about the lack of diversity in media across all lines. And not just actors like myself—people from all manner of industries, backgrounds, and interests want to do better on this issue.
Starting Lady Parts was a huge moment of transition for me. It’s meant tossing aside the careful route I’d mapped out for my career and going an entirely different direction. It’s meant making a commitment to stand by my principles, turning down roles I would have killed for a year ago, and quite possibly tanking my acting career altogether. It’s meant starting over from scratch…but it’s also meant starting over on my terms.
And you know something? It’s meant falling in love with acting all over again.
The Lady Parts project has been like a smoke signal to other like-minded creators. Since launching the blog, I’ve met more collaborators, received more offers, and felt more in control of my career than ever before. And if Lady Parts can inspire one other actor to strike out in a totally unforeseen but more honest direction, I’ll count it as a success in my book.
In closing, here are some fast and dirty tips from a clout-less, aspiring creator:
– Paying your dues doesn’t mean shortchanging your standards.
– Critiquing the industry is not an act of war.
– Advocating for yourself doesn’t make you a “difficult actor”
– If the roles you want don’t exist, create them yourself.
– Don’t read the comments section. Just don’t ever do it. Full stop.
– Katrina Day