"You're very talented. I would know, I'm very talented too."
There are few characters who’ve become as divisive
in recent years as Rachel Berry,
Glee’s high-strung protagonist with
a voice of gold and a fiery passion for musical theatre.
Rachel’s competitive, neurotic personality--
and willingness to step on anyone to get to the top--
lead her to make some truly reprehensible decisions.
The AV Club described her as “ravenously spotlight-hungry,
egotistical, victim and villain.”
“She’s an ambitious little freak who will
do anything to hold on to her power.”
But from 2009-2015, Rachel was also synonymous
with a particular high-school trope:
the theater kid-- a zealous, type-A
musical-theatre devotee and fixture at the bottom
of the high-school social ladder whose intense obsession with
the craft and tendency to break into unasked-for-song
have been branded as just a little annoying.
“As the school’s resident High School Musical historian,
I basically have zero chill about this right now,
I’ve seen the original movie 37 times.”
Rachel and characters like Sharpay in High School Musical
gave this character a reputation for elitism:
they’re known for flexing their knowledge,
gatekeeping beloved musicals, and sucking up to directors.
Today more self-aware film & TV is consciously
breaking with the theater kid’s notorious past,
while the actress who played Rachel, Lea Michele,
has faced a barrage of negative stories about
her own unacceptable diva act on set.
Meanwhile the theater kid community on TikTok is
growing as a supportive, inclusive space for people
to share their creativity and find others with a
shared passion for this space.
So where does that leave the legacy of Glee and
other cutthroat wanna-be divas before Rachel?
“You'd do all that just for a part in a play?”
“I'd do much more for a part that good.”
Here’s our take on how the theater kid went from
underdog to ruthlessly amoral predator, and how
actual theater kids are redefining the label today.
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The “theater kid” moniker may be relatively recent,
but precursors to this archetype can be seen
as far back as in live action musicals of the 1950s.
In Singin’ In the Rain, Debbie Reynolds’ character
Kathy Selden is an ingénue who turns her nose up at
glitzy Hollywood stars and dreams of making it in New York as a
quote-unquote “real” actor-- that is, one who performs
live on stage as opposed to the movie screen.
“Tell me, what's your lofty mission in life
that lets you sneer at my humble profession?”
“Well I‘m-l'm an actress. On the stage.”
The stereotype of stage actors as gatekeepers and elitists is
reflected in Kathy, an unknown with hardly
a dollar to her name who nonetheless scoffs at and
feels superior over Gene Kelly’s wildly successful film actor
Don Lockwood because she knows the value and essence of real drama.
“At least the stage is a dignified profession!
And what have you gotta be so conceited about?
You’re nothing but a shadow on film. A shadow.
You’re not flesh and blood.”
In the 60s musical and movie Funny Girl,
Barbara Streisand’s starry-eyed dreamer and social outcast
Fanny Bryce pursues her Broadway dream with the
classic underdog attitude theater kids pride themselves on.
"You don't look like the other girls--”
“I know, but--”
“--you've got skinny legs, you stick out!"
"Why don't you just give me a chance?"
She’s driven by a fierce desire to become a Broadway
star and to prove herself by any means necessary,
sucking up to those that think less of her,
and taking any role she can get in her early career.
These portrayals of young theater actors as cut-throat
snobs with an almost desperate desire for fame seemed to
present audiences with contradictory messages:
both Fanny and Kathy’s eventual career success is praised, and
their faith in their own exceptional talents is proven right.
“I’m a bagel on a plate full of onion roles!”
“I’ve so much to offer.“
Kathy’s high standards for their shared craft make her
the ideal creative partner who can push Don into making
a truly quality sound film.
But at the same time, the personality traits that made
these actresses successful are also mocked or teased.
“The stage? Well, l'd like to see you act.
What are you in?”
“Well, l'm not in a play now. But I will be, l'm going to New York--”
“Oh you're going to New York, and then someday we'll all
hear of you, won’t we?”
On the darker end of the spectrum, All About Eve’s
Eve Harrington is a theater kid-esque superfan,
“Yes I’ve seen every performance.”
“Every performance?”
who studies her idol with an eye toward
replacing her by any schemes necessary.
1980’s Fame (originally a film and then a TV series)
focused on musical theatre enthusiasts in a high-school setting.
“You want fame? Well fame costs.”
The franchise is much warmer to its core subject,
the theater kid, than almost any other work before or after it,
showing young performers to be hard-working, admirable,
and supportive of one another’s Broadway dreams.
No-nonsense dance teacher Lydia Grant,
confident diva-in-the- making Coco Hernandez,
cello prodigy Julie Miller, and aspiring comedian Danny
make up an eclectic cast of personalities that helped
usher in the idea of the high school theatre world as
a safe place for outcasts to come together and thrive.
"Because in this school you gotta be tough.
You can’t cry over an unkind word, you’ve
gotta work harder, prove them wrong."
Fast forward to 2006 and Disney’s High School Musical
leans back into stereotypical characterizations of the theater kid.
Stage-obsessed Sharpay Evans runs her school’s theater department
with an iron fist and craves the spotlight in every scene.
“And you should be thankful that me and Ryan are here to
lift your music out of its current obscurity. Are we clear?!”
“Yes ma’am!”
The diva aspect of this duo is so over-the-top that it
actually becomes villainous: the focus of Sharpay’s character
is not her underlying acting or musical ability,
but her elitist, entitled attitude toward others.
Thus the seasoned theater kid is made into the antagonist
standing in the way of the inexperienced, starry-eyed Gabriella.
“We need to save our show from people who don't know
the difference between a Tony Award and Tony Hawk.”
Given this legacy of theater hopefuls depicted
as stardom-obsessed at best and villains at worst,
Glee seemed to promise a more nuanced view of the trope.
It’s a show (somewhat in the Fame mold) with a large,
diverse cast of theater kids, featuring numerous characters
who both fit and subvert the stereotypes.
Still, it’s Glee's Broadway- bound protagonist Rachel Berry
who has become synonymous with the term “theater kid”
and who embodies a starkly negative incarnation of the trope.
Rachel Berry may be New Direction’s most talented and graceful member,
but her constant eyes-on-the-prize attitude leads her to behave in
manipulative, selfish, and elaborately antisocial ways.
She bugs the choir room when she suspects her
fellow glee club members aren’t pulling their weight.
"None of them were singing. I knew I needed proof… "
And when she feels threatened by Sunshine Corazon, Rachel sends her
the address to a crack house rather than tell her where
auditions are being held.
“Tell me this isn’t true, Rachel.” “She could have died.”
“I didn’t send her to an active crackhouse.”
Rachel's tendency to burn bridges and spend time obsessing over
high school glee club politics helped affirm the notion of
the theater kid as over- dramatic and small-minded--
failing to see the relative unimportance of a single
high school production, losing control to indulge in
petty histrionics,
“She’s not ready for such an iconic role as Maria!”
and mortgaging future relationships for short term glory.
“There will be a secret ballot where
you guys can finally answer the age old question:
who is the true star of the glee club, me or Mercedes?”
She also plays games with Mr. Schue to get the parts she wants,
while engaging in a rather ridiculous number of ‘showmances’
with her co-stars-- both common stereotypes
of the theater kid.
Despite all her apparent flaws, Rachel is the central character
the audience is encouraged to root and feel for.
“You’re gonna get on the train, ok? And you’re gonna go to New York,
and you’re gonna be a star.”
Perhaps this is because Rachel’s backstabbing behavior is often
contextualized as acceptable in relation to her immense talent,
passion, and commitment to becoming the best performer she can be.
"And I'm not saying that it's healthy and I'm not saying that
it's better than being loved, but there's nothing--nothing
that I wouldn't do for the chance to be in the spotlight."
For this iteration of the theater kid,
a questionable set of ethics is an adequate trade-off
so long as they’re talented enough.
This parallels real life dynamics on Broadway stages
and Hollywood film sets where some A-listers' self-involved
(if not bullying or abusive) antics have long been
tolerated because of their status.
So Glee’s aspiring theater actors are no doubt imitating
the entitlement that they see reflected
in people who’ve made it in their field--
despite where they fall on the success ladder as of yet.
Today’s revisiting of Rachel in a more critical light is
directly linked to a mass re-evaluation of
what we expect from real-life entertainment professionals.
Michele herself has been shamed for mean-spirited
treatment of her costars, including accusations of
racist exclusion as well as reportedly calling background
actors on the show “cockroaches.”
Glee’s cast of theater kid characters often wear their
outsider status as a badge of pride.
The show’s logo, marketing campaigns, and original song,
“Loser Like Me” paint a picture of a group of high schoolers
who cling to the teenage “outcast” mentality.
“--a loser like me!”
Yet these characters do crave social validation
and mostly seek it by showing off their talents.
Mr. Shue encourages in-club rivalries by actively
pitting members against each other.
“And since you guys all seemed to love our little
Defying Gravity ‘diva-off,’ I’m making this a competition.”
And characters will often break out into song and dance
in order to impress or get something they want
out of someone else-- like when Rachel sings
“A Hard Day’s Night” to change her reputation in the eyes of
a New York theater director, or when New Directions holds
a contest to see which of them is talented enough
to become “the new Rachel” after she leaves the club.
There’s a fundamental insecurity at the heart of this theater kid
as portrayed in popular culture: despite all the displays of
confidence and showmanship, there’s nothing they want
more than for their abilities to be celebrated by an audience.
After all, theater as a medium is predicated on performance,
applause and filling seats-- the very recognition these
kids claim not to care about.
Rachel Berry and her theater kid peers in Glee embody
the external validation mental model-- a personality trait that causes
individuals to seek praise more often from others rather than
internal praise from themselves.
“I am like Tinkerbell, Finn. I need applause to live.”
Pitch Perfect’s misfit group of Barden Bellas also take on
the external validation model.
The Barden Bellas members have virtually nothing in common
besides their affinity for being in the spotlight,
and each has something to prove to someone else;
the whole film revolves around their struggle to win validation
not through forming relationships or
finding stability, but simply winning an a capella competition.
“This is war, Beca. And it is my job to
make sure that my soldiers are prepped at go-time with three
kickass songs sung and choreographed to perfection.”
And when two or more groups of insecure, overly-competitive
theater kids come together, chaos often ensues.
Throughout Glee, New Directions maintains a long list of
rival show choirs that they belittle, sabotage,
and do battle with for status at the now infamous regional competitions.
“What the hell are regionals? They never stop talking about it.”
Yet, New Directions members do support each other as unified
outcasts within the larger high school setting.
Mercedes is bullied because of her weight and faces
microaggressions from the garden-variety racism
that takes place at McKinley-- something that also affects
Mike and Tina--who Sue refers to as: “Asian. Other Asian.”
Kurt is gay, Quinn is pregnant, and Santana is later outed as a lesbian.
Glee gives all these characters agency and depth via arcs that
tackle complicated issues like coming out, teen pregnancy,
and mental health.
And despite their differing backgrounds and where they fall
outside the glee club (which even includes
popular cheerleaders and jocks), these theater kids all find
solace within the group, showing how performance can be
a place where groups facing very real marginalization find friendship
and can encourage each other to be (and express) their best selves.
“I'm tired of everyone calling us freaks.”
“Well look at us, we are freaks.”
“But, we’re all freaks together. And we shouldn’t have to hide it.”
While all this attests to the social value of drama and music,
the way that theater kids have long been painted as
uncool outcasts is really a reflection of how
our society grossly undervalues the arts in the adult world.
As Glee and similar stories underline, these theater kids can
have pretty mind-blowing talents-- yet aside from the rare exception,
most of them won’t be able to make any money from performing
(at least nowhere near what a mediocre, mid-level
financial professional will earn).
Our condescending attitude toward the performing arts is reflected
in other examples of adult characters whose love of
the theater is painted as (at best) a silly, lovable,
or pretentious quirk, or (at worst) a symptom of
how irritating they are.
Andy on The Office-- which ran simultaneously with
(and showed its characters watching) Glee--is the butt of many jokes
for constantly singing when no one wants him to and being
deluded enough to think he could ever make it as an actor or singer.
“We’ve heard a lot of really good singers today
and you’re just not good enough."
"Wow, you guys are really mean. I guess that’s the show.
Let me try a different song, okay?"
Just as theatre itself is a constantly shifting art form,
the theater kid identity has evolved a lot since Glee began.
We could see new breeds of “theater kid” or “theater young adult”
emerging in the story of young Broadway hopefuls, Smash,
airing near the end of Glee’s run.
Smash took a leaf out of High-School Musical’s book
by pitting established, talented musical insider Ivy Lynn against
unpretentious newcomer Karen Cartwright.
“Only one of them has the experience to do this.”
“Well, that's the thing, Tom. Experience is precisely
what we're not looking for.”
Like in High-School Musical, it’s the underdog heroine
we’re meant to admire precisely for the ways she doesn’t fit
the theater kid archetype-- she has friends outside
the Broadway space, and isn’t obsessed
with doing whatever it takes to be a star.
But the series also has respect for insider Ivy’s point of view--
despite early cliched plot points like when she sleeps with
the director to get the part, the show reminds us she’s been
working her whole life in the ensemble while feeling passed over
for people like Karen who just luck into big breaks.
So if Karens bring important new styles and approaches to the medium,
Ivys contribute professionalism and commitment that safeguard
the quality of the theater so many of us love.
Today the high maintenance, type-A, self-serious singer
that Glee perpetuated with Rachel Berry plays as
toxic and an easy target of mockery.
“I got my drivers license last week.”
The cartoonishly elitist and ambitious theater kid now
mostly shows up in parody and satire.
Nickelodeon's 2021 series Drama Club plays on middle school theater kids
as too dramatic and overzealous for their own good, making fun of
the juxtaposition between young cast members’ inflated
self-importance and the smallness of their world.
“Last year's production of Cats sold sixteen tickets.”
“Thirteen!”
Meanwhile, High School Musical: The Musical: The Series has
its talented (but initially arrogant) character Gina Porter be treated
icily by her peers because of her intensity and passion,
until she reveals her own personal vulnerabilities and
makes an effort to build bridges with the rest of the group.
So with this story arc, Disney seems to recant or
at least self-consciously update the dynamics of Sharpay and Ryan,
who remain cartoonishly self-involved throughout
the High School Musical sequels.
Booksmart finds a lot of humor in its drama kids,
but in a more celebratory way.
“Mark thy calendars and make thy plans to attend the
drama department's summer program, Shakespeare in the Park… ing Lot.”
Today, a redefinition of the theater kid is happening in the
real life theater community and on social media.
No longer does the theater kid have to fit any of the old clichés.
On TikTok, it’s become a badge of pride to be a
theater kid who’s virtually unrecognizable as such.
But aside from more superficial questions of how they’re presenting,
platforms like TikTok offer a real new opportunity for
theater kids to showcase their real creativity, writing ability,
and vocal talent while reaching big audiences--
like when Abigail Barlow and Emily Bear went viral for
their musical numbers adapting Netflix series Bridgerton.
"I went to my piano because I was so inspired and posted it on
Tik Tok like I always do and this… this just happened to connect
with a bunch of people-- millions of people, actually."
Other TikTokers have posted rawer videos of themselves
working out the kinks in their performance or being honest
with how difficult it can be to get the part you want in a musical.
The popularity of these types of online TikTok originals
shows us a young theater community being supportive and collaborative
beyond the confines of just one high school glee club.
As much as Glee celebrated the theater department as a
safe space for misfits, it inadvertently made Rachel Berry
(as a bundle of negative stereotypes),
the poster child for what not to be as a modern,
enlightened theater kid.
Even though Rachel ultimately becomes the successful
Broadway actor she always dreamed of being,
today she plays more like an unintentional cautionary tale
about how ambition, unchecked by morality or empathy,
just isn’t a good look.
"Class, in Mr. Schuester's absence I'd like to go around and ask
everyone what solos they'd like to hear ME perform at Sectionals."
Unlike Rachel, we the audience can see that the ends don’t
always justify the means, and that getting the
most satisfaction out of your art doesn’t come from external praise,
but from satisfying interpersonal relationships, finding internal
measures for success and always making sure to also
give encouragement to others who share your passion
"But seriously, you're my idol, Kourt. Let's just have fun.”