Dolly Parton My Take 💜

Happy Friday 👋🏼 A few months back, the producers of the new Dolly Parton musical did something wild (and, let’s be honest, pretty smart): they opened up casting to the internet. Anyone could submit to play Dolly herself. Thousands of hopefuls did—singing their hearts out, posting their tapes online.

Then this week, the Dollys were announced: three well-known (and incredibly talented) musical theater performers. No unknown breakout. No TikTok discovery. The internet—predictably—got mad.

Was it a bait-and-switch? A marketing stunt? A lie?

Not exactly.

But it was a collision of two different worlds: the emotionally fragile ecosystem of casting, and the strategic precision of modern marketing. And when those collide in public, it can get messy.

Let’s talk about it.

🎥 Casting as Content

Let’s be clear: this was never just about finding the next Dolly.

It was a casting call and a campaign—a buzzy, boots-and-blonde-wigged media moment designed to light up the algorithm.

And it worked. The wigs were wigging. The girls were giving.

But when you ask the internet to audition, you're not just inviting talent—you’re inviting hope. And hope is noisy. Hope is public. Hope comes with comments.

That doesn’t mean the producers did anything wrong. But it does mean the rules of engagement are different now. Because in a content-driven casting model, your audience isn’t just the casting team—it’s everyone.

And when the audition itself becomes part of the larger narrative—when submissions are posted, liked, and shared—the emotional stakes shift.

It’s no longer just about who books the role. It’s about how the story ends.

💔 Showbiz Was Never “Fair”

Here’s the hard truth: what happened here wasn’t unusual. It just happened in public.

In theater, disappointment is baked into the process. Most auditions go nowhere. Some callbacks feel electric and still lead to nothing. Sometimes you’re perfect—and they’re just looking for someone taller.

That’s not scandal. That’s the job.

Personally, my “no” to “yes” ratio is probably 15 or 20 to 1. And I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve booked work. I’ve been on tour. I’ve performed in New York. And still, most of the time, it’s a pass.

Actors know this. We’ve trained ourselves to know this. We joke about it. We build rituals around it. We try not to take it personally even though it’s hard not to.

That’s the nature of auditioning. It’s unpredictable and often opaque. It runs on relationships, timing, type, gut instinct, and things we’ll never know. It’s emotional roulette. And still...we do it. Because that’s the game. That’s the job. That’s the deal we made with the dream. So when I say “show business was never fair,” I don’t mean that bitterly. I mean it as a kind of weird, weary affirmation.

Sometimes the longshot gets it. Sometimes the offer was already out before the breakdown hit Playbill. Sometimes both things are true.

What’s different now is not the outcome—it’s the audience. The process used to happen behind closed doors. Now it happens on social.

And when the curtain pulls back and people see a familiar face center stage, the letdown feels less like reality and more like betrayal—even if nothing unethical happened.

So when I saw people reacting to the Dolly casting news with shock, I got it. But I also thought: this is how it’s always worked. And I don’t say that to diminish the disappointment. I say it to contextualize it.

The process didn’t change. But the perception did.

🧠 The Science of Auditioning

Auditioning is one of the weirdest, most vulnerable things a person can do.

You walk into a room—or film yourself in one—knowing that the “goal” is to be chosen. Not just evaluated. Not just seen. Chosen. And even if you try to shake it off, even if you’re chill and seasoned and have “done the work,” your nervous system doesn’t care. Your body knows what’s at stake.

That feeling? That’s not just performance anxiety. It’s cognitive risk. It’s your brain experiencing the uncertainty of being judged while craving connection and approval.

Now take that already-fraught experience and make it public.

Open calls on social media don’t just say “show us what you’ve got.” They say: “Show us in front of everyone.” And when you add visibility to vulnerability, you don’t just raise the stakes—you blur the boundaries.

Fun fact: unmet expectations light up the same part of the brain as physical pain. When we believe we’re being offered something—even a chance—and that offer dissolves, it doesn’t just disappoint us. It disorients us.

Because expectations are more than hopes. They’re pre-scripted futures. Quiet contracts we draft in our heads and hand to other people without realizing it.

So when it’s a “no”, it feels like something’s been broken—even if nothing was promised.

That’s what’s happening here. And that’s the emotional math of the actor:
Work + Hope ÷ Control = Heartbreak (sometimes)

Now add exposure—make the whole thing public:
(Work + Hope) × Exposure ÷ Control = Heartbreak (amplified)

🤷‍♂️ The No-Solution Solution

So… what now?

Honestly? I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s a clean takeaway or a five-step fix.

I don’t think the producers did anything wrong.
I don’t think the people who feel disappointed are being irrational.
I don’t think open calls are bad.
I don’t think marketing is evil.
I think we’re just all a little tangled up in a system that’s evolving faster than anyone can track.

We’re watching casting, marketing, and community-building collapse into the same moment—on platforms designed for visibility, but not always for clarity.

And in that blur, people get hurt. Expectations get misunderstood.
Not because of bad intentions—because of missing context.

I can hold that open calls are exciting and that they can be misleading.
That show business is magical and opaque.
That disappointment is inevitable and it still sucks every time.
That a moment can be sincere and strategic.

Zooming out doesn’t erase the complexity. But it helps us hold it better. And the more perspective we bring in, the more empathy we’re able to offer—to ourselves, and to each other.

And I think that matters. A lot.