So why did I feel so desperate?

Well, Hollywood is rough. For everyone. But it’s a special kind of rough for women. A kind of rough that means your agents and managers are usually male. The directors you work with, the producers you work for, the writers hired, and the characters driving the scripts are usually male. And the money is male.* So, whether a woman seeks to enter the industry as an actor or a writer (I seek both), that underrepresentation means something. We feel it.

“Sorry, we already did one female-driven comedy this year.” “Sorry, she’s just not likeable enough.” “Sorry, but it feels like she’s just doing this (bulimia) to herself.” “Sorry, I don’t really respond to ‘feminist’ writing.” “Sorry, you’re not 18 or a [U.S.] size 2. I can’t get you work.”**

And I’m a white woman. I’ve got it good.

Entertainment is an inherently competitive industry. But there are fewer quality roles and creative opportunities for women, so that competition is amplified for us. Particularly if you’re over 25 — or, as we in the industry call it, “sobbing at Death’s door.” Yes, things are changing (slowly). And the opportunities (women’s labs, diversity showcases, etc.), when presented, finally feel somewhat attainable. But there remains a sense that, although the industry wants stories about women, it doesn’t want too many stories. Or stories from too many types of women (WOC, queer, trans). And it especially doesn’t want too many stories from too many crass, ugly, selfish, unlikable (read: loud, real, driven, complex) women. And so, the healthy competition that feeds artistic movements morphs into something ugly. We judge each other in waiting rooms at auditions. We don’t allow for mistakes. We assume others are faking their feminism, or doing it wrong.