This story is part of our ongoing “First Steps” series, where we share extraordinary stories of men who transformed their bodies, minds, and lives with a focus on the first steps it took them to get there (because, after all, nothing can change without a first step!). Read all of the stories here.
Below, actor Zane Phillips, 30, known for his roles in Fire Island, Glamorous, and Legacies, details his experiences with rejection, and how he's learned to find positives in difficult situations.
AS I WAS nearing the end of my time in college, I kept on saying, "I don't feel talented enough for New York, and I don't feel hot enough for L.A."
I have had a really poor relationship with my body from a very early age. I remember there was a period of time from third grade to eighth grade where I refused to wear shorts—and this was in Texas, mind you; it was hot as hell—simply because I didn't like the way my legs looked. I think it has to do with being queer, too, but male body insecurity in general is this weird insidious thing where it's never spoken aloud. I've been unhappy with myself and thought, "Well that's because something's wrong with me."
With my job, it's really hard to separate the work that you do from who you are as a person. And it's hard not to take things personally.
I remember I got fired from a job in New York. It was this weird low-budget musical movie. I had sung for them multiple times, and they had me send some voice memos of me singing a couple of the tracks. They said, "You didn't sound like this in the audition, you sounded better. We need to fix this." We had another session, and it evidently still wasn't good enough, so they fired me.
You think you know what you do well, and you think that other people can see it, and then suddenly, just as easily, they can take it away. But it's good that I learned the most horrible thing I can imagine—being fired from a job—isn't really that bad. This experience represented [my] first step in coming to understand that success didn't necessarily come from other people; that my assurance in my talent and my future could come from me.
At the beginning of my career, I thought that every success or failure, every acceptance or rejection, was an objective statement about whether I could go far in this industry. Believing in myself felt like building a staircase made of clouds. But over time—this came from both other artistic experiences where I did feel valued, and also the sheer indignation at having someone's opinion of my talent whiplash so fast—the staircase made of clouds came to feel much more solid.
There are other jobs. [And] there's this daily thing that I have to do now, which is figuring out what I can control and what I can't.
I have a shifting definition of failure for myself now. I was always asking myself, "Is it time to bite the bullet and pursue something else?" And I think what kept me from answering 'yes' to that question was the fact that I felt like there was always more to learn. As demoralizing as it can feel to be in a room full of extremely talented people, the one little light that started to flicker was the thought of, "How much can I learn?"
I know being the worst person in the room means I'm in the right room, because suddenly I have nowhere to go but up. And that became a really helpful motivator for me, because I have something to strive for. I think the death of a lot of people's careers is feeling comfortable, and at the very least I take comfort in the fact knowing that I'm not comfortable.
What I've done in therapy is look at a lot of what my past has been and understanding that I've never been on a journey of "never." I've been on a journey of a lot of nos, but those nos have led to some really beautiful, wonderful yeses. Each rejection, I've had to figure out how to build myself back up.
I remember it was my fifth time going in for Wicked, and the associate director came to me and said, "You need to get the singing down. I know you have it; something about the audition is not leading you to sound as good as I think you can. So you need to figure that out." It was definitely not easy to hear that rejection because I felt that inside myself. But it’s one of those things where the worst thing that someone said is constructive. And that's helpful, that's specific. But you don't get feedback like that a lot.
I've come to be able to say what I want. Before, I thought that I would take whatever people would give me, but now I have real desires of what I want from this life. I get to decide what I deserve. I don't need the validation from others that I thought I did (although that is still nice to have!), and I am a more generous, open person as a result.
There are also some days where I just have to make sure I feed myself and make sure I get some rest, and just tomorrow perhaps I will be more patient with myself. Sometimes I get caught up in things, but I don't take it for granted that I am doing something that I love surrounded by people that I love.
The negative aspects in life have ultimately taught me to look for the positives. Struggling with your own ambition is its own battle, but I think that is something fundamental to my core. I want to look back at my life, whether it's in five years, whether it's in 20 years, whether it's in 40 years, and know that I at least tried to see how good I had it while I had it.
