What The Tonys Mean to Us

Good morning 👋🏼 The Tonys are this weekend.

Whether you’re watching live or catching clips the next morning, chances are you’ll feel something. Nostalgia. Curiosity. Maybe even a little envy. That’s part of the spell.

Because this night has a particular kind of gravity. It’s not just a celebration of Broadway—it’s a reflection of it. A projection of what the industry wants to be, and what it hopes the world will see.

But depending on where you stand—in the audience, backstage, in the middle of a dream or deep into the work—it lands differently.

So this week, I wanted to look at the Tonys from a few different angles. Five to be exact.

Shall we?

The Audience at Home

For most people watching, the Tonys are Broadway.

They’re how you first fell in love with theater. Or how you stay connected to it, even if you’re far from New York. They’re the night when musicals and plays break through the noise of everything else happening in the world and remind us that this art form is still here—still glittering, still alive.

That’s what the Tonys do best: they sell the idea of theater. Not just a specific show, but the whole ecosystem. They remind us that storytelling on a stage matters. That performers sweating under hot lights matter. That live music and original choreography and something happening in real time with a room full of strangers still matters.

And whether you’re planning a trip to the city or checking what’s onstage at your hometown venue, the Tonys plant the seed. They say: this is worth your time. This is worth your money.

Last year, over 4 million people watched the Tony Awards. Only a fraction of them had seen any of the nominated shows. But that’s kind of the point.

The Tonys aren’t just for the people who already love theater. They’re for the people who might.

The Aspiring Artist

For the aspiring artist, the Tonys are something else entirely.

They’re not just a celebration—they’re a mirror. A measuring stick. A moment to look at the screen and quietly ask: Could that be me someday?

For the teenager with a HAMILTON poster on the wall, the high school sophomore in their first musical, or the college student hustling through conservatory classes—the Tonys are the north star. They’re proof that this thing we love isn’t just personal. It’s possible.

And it’s designed to make us feel that way. Every note, every spotlight, every close-up is designed to dazzle. It creates a picture of what a career in theater might look like at its brightest: standing ovations, being center stage, seated amongst the greats.

Because when you’re still dreaming, the Tonys feel like the destination. The moment everything clicks. The moment the world says: You made it.

Of course, it’s more complicated than that. I wrote about this a few weeks ago. Even Audra McDonald—six-time Tony winner, record-holder, icon—said it plainly this week in an interview with CBS Mornings:

Audra’s right, of course. A Tony can’t fix you. And as many in the community know, it doesn’t guarantee anything either.

The Community

For those already inside the industry, the Tonys hit a little differently.

Maybe you were in a show that closed too soon. Maybe your show didn’t get nominated at all. Maybe you’re not in a show right now at all. Or you’re working on a regional contract that’s paying minimum weekly salary.

When Tony season rolls around, it can feel complicated. Pride and pain. Excitement and exhaustion. You want to cheer for your friends—and you do—but there’s also the quiet sting of what (and who) gets overlooked.

Because by now, you know: the Tonys aren’t really a meritocracy. They’re a blend of budget, buzz, narrative, and timing. They’re the tip of the industry’s iceberg. And that doesn’t make them meaningless—but it does make them feel incomplete.

Then there’s the reality that being nominated—or even winning—doesn’t mean you stop auditioning. It doesn’t mean the offers suddenly flood in. Sure, it signals something about your talent. But the spotlight fades fast. There are Tony winners who’ve gone back to waiting tables when their show closed. A Tony, unfortunately, isn’t a golden ticket.

And still, there’s something undeniably celebratory about it. The group chats. The watch parties. There’s a sense, even just for a night, that we’re all in this weird, beautiful, brutal thing together. That theater matters. That it’s worth gathering around.

It’s all there. Maybe that’s why it can feel bittersweet. Because it does mean something. Just not always the thing we thought it might.

The Producers

For the producer of a Broadway show, the Tonys are high-stakes real estate.

Every nomination is marketing gold. Every win is a headline. And a performance slot? That’s the holy grail.

Because this isn’t just about prestige. It’s about survival. A win can extend your run. A performance can boost your advance. That little “Tony-Winning” line on the poster can be the difference between curiosity and commitment—especially for shows without a built-in fanbase or brand.

If you’re producing a musical that doesn’t have a movie tie-in, a pop score, or a famous name above the title, a Tony nomination isn’t just nice to have—it’s essential. It’s proof. It’s legitimacy. It gives you something to stand on when you’re trying to sell tickets in Des Moines, or get a sit-down production in Chicago, or convince a subscriber base in Denver that your show is worth the risk.

And all of that depends on one night.

So much of producing is guessing. You follow your gut. You fight for the team you believe in. You convince people to write checks. You make a hundred high-stakes decisions and hope the thing holds.

And you’re carrying more than just capital. You’re carrying people’s trust. The cast. The creative team. The investors. Everyone who hitched themselves to the vision you sold.

The Tonys become a kind of answer. Did the risk pay off? Did the show land? Was I right?

For better or worse, the Tonys can feel like the ultimate litmus test.

The Team

For all the people working on a show—onstage and off—the Tonys aren’t just a celebration. They’re a deadline.

In the weeks leading up to the Tonys, everything ramps up. There are press hits. Rehearsals. Interviews. Appearances. Marketing approvals. Social media assets. It’s one big, high-stakes rollout—and the show is still running eight times a week.

If you’re an actor, it might mean getting to the theater at 4am for hair and makeup, then hustling across town to film a performance for the Today Show. If you’re on the marketing team, it might mean updating creative in real time, pushing for coverage, pitching exclusives, reworking pull quotes. The PR reps, the agents, the casting directors, the dressers, the social media managers, the assistants, the associate directors and choreographers, the dance captains, the swings, the swings covering other swings—they’re all part of the machine.

And most of the time, they don’t get mentioned. But none of this happens without them.

But even with the chaos—even with the early call times and the long days—there’s something deeply special about being a part of it. Even a small part of a part. Even for a moment. Because for all its flaws, Broadway still casts a spell. And during Tony season, you can feel it.

When it’s all said and done—when the credits roll, when the party at the Plaza winds down—another season will have “ended.” But like Audra said: come Tuesday, we’re back at work. Because that’s how this thing goes.

It’s exhausting. It’s beautiful. And it’s a reminder—there really is no business like show business.

One Last Thing…

Tonight is our first preview of BEAU.

It’s a new off-Broadway musical I’ve been part of for seven years—through readings, rewrites, workshops, heartbreak, reinvention. And now, somehow, it’s here. A proper run. In a theater. With an audience. Hard to believe, honestly.

I started this year unsure of what performing might look like for me moving forward—and really lit up by the idea of writing this newsletter every week. The fact that I’ve gotten to do two new musicals off-Broadway back-to-back, AND put a newsletter every week, is still a bit of a shock. I’m proud that I’ve done both. That I’ve kept showing up.

And I won’t lie—there’s fear, too. We’re trained to ask: what’s next? Beau runs through July, maybe early August. After that? Who knows. Maybe freelance work. Maybe one of those auditions I’ve been waiting to hear about will finally come through. It’s impossible to say. And incredibly easy to spiral into what I’ve heard called “future-tripping.”

But being in a show—especially one where I barely leave the stage—is a kind of hack. It forces you to stay present. To be where your feet are. To let each moment happen before you move on to the next.

And I think the Tonys do that too. They ask us to pause. To reflect. To celebrate this particular moment before it disappears.

Maybe that’s why we love them. And maybe that’s why we do any of this at all.

That feeling of collective effervescence. When the lights go down, the music swells, and everyone in the room leans forward—together.

So wherever you are right now—backstage, in rehearsal, in the audience, at your desk—I hope you get to feel a little bit of that this weekend. That presence. That magic.

More of that, please.

See you next week ♥️