Playing the part

Maybe not natural, but second nature. (Image by Evgen Rom)

A few years ago, I had to front a band.

This was a bit of a crisis for me. I had spent twenty years trying to never be the “chick singer,” out there with just a tambourine for company (sorry, Stevie Nicks). I had always hid behind a guitar, piano, or even a drum set in order to present myself as a “real musician” (with all the internalized misogyny inherent in that statement).

And now, with all the roles filled, it was on me to just sing (and play a little tambourine).

The good news is that I was going to get to sing some really fun songs: “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Venus,” “Rescue Me,” and more.

So I decided that I was going to embrace the discomfort of doing something new. Nobody wanted to see a reluctant, awkward lead singer. I owed it to the audience to give the performance my all.

I realized that I could play the part of a Debbie Harry or Gwen Stefani, just as if I were in a theater production.

My next move, after ensuring that I had the music and lyrics down, was to go and get a cute outfit that would make me feel confident onstage and would help me to embody the frontwoman I would be imitating.

On the night of the gig, with the proper costume and makeup, I stepped into the spotlight as my character. And I found that I was able to move the way she would move, smile the way she would smile, and sing the way she would sing.

I wasn’t imitating anyone at all — I was embodying her.

I had always thought of acting as a veneer of artifice — a phony put-on, covering up one’s true self. All of a sudden, with this arm movement and that shimmy, I discovered that acting is an opportunity to highlight the aspects of one’s true self that match the part being played. I was her, and she was me. I already had it in me. I wasn’t pretending.

I’m not sure how my performance came off to the people in the audience. To me, that’s not the important part. What matters to me is that I felt perfectly comfortable — perfectly myself, being someone else.

Since then, I have had plenty of opportunity to embody various characters — to summon the enthusiasm, gravitas, or authority that a situation requires in order to serve an audience, a community, or an organization. It’s not a “fake it till you make it” thing — I’m pulling from something that’s already there. It is as authentic as any other persona that I could manifest.

My evening of being the lead singer showed me that the moments in the past when I had been reluctant to step forward and claim the spotlight were just as arbitrary as my more confident turn.

The way I giggled awkwardly or rolled my eyes at my friend when it was my turn to read the lines in a play, or how I Americanized my pronunciation in French class — these were choices I made to convey a certain feeling of apathy or ironic detachment to my classmates, which, it turns out, was actually phonier than just letting myself get into it. The real me was earnest and enthusiastic — a lot more like my frontwoman persona.

If you have been hesitant to share your ideas publicly for fear of hogging the spotlight or appearing to be a shameless self-promoter, I wonder if it could be helpful to see yourself as playing a part — acting. What does the role require of you, and how can you participate in it in a way that benefits the people you hope to serve or connect with? Can you see this role as part of who you are, as opposed to a put-on or pretense?

Actress Anya Taylor-Joy, in a recent issue of British Harper’s Bazaar, confessed to feeling anxious about red carpet appearances until she saw it as a performance in itself. This gave her the freedom to play — to be dramatic and take risks.

That freedom to play is what I seek more than anything in my life and work. I have found that exploring characters and personas allows me to be more fully expressed in my identity and my creative pursuits. Playing these different parts is a way of becoming who I am.

What experiences have you had with acting? How might you apply this idea of “playing a part” to overcome the difficulty of doing something new or uncomfortable? When, in the past, have you already done this? I’d love to hear.