I never thought I'd be writing this. I’ve always considered myself a "man's man". I like my steaks rare, my drinks strong, my conversations shallow, my sports violent. Musicals? Not my thing. Too flamboyant, too choreographed, too... Broadway. A world of sequins, jazz hands, and show tunes never called to me.
So when I got an invite to one of the first Wicked performances at Civic Theatre in San Diego, I almost said no. I had just got back from a trip, exhausted. But then I figured, what the heck, I'd sit through it, maybe sip on a whiskey at intermission, and forget about it by morning.
But here's the thing - I didn’t just enjoy Wicked. I LOVED it. I sat there, watching this Wizard of Oz prequel unfold, and felt something inside me shift. By the time the lights dimmed for intermission, I wasn't just entertained - I was completely absorbed, like I had been sucked through some green-tinted portal into the Land of Oz itself.
And it made me realize something: How many men miss out on truly great art because we're too afraid of how it it's been labeled and would be perceived? Too worried about whether it’s "manly" enough? It's a sad, self-inflicted curse - one I almost let keep me from experiencing something absolutely incredible.
Let's talk about the set. Because, my god, the sets. This wasn’t just a stage - it was a breathing, living world. Massive, intricate gears turned like the inner workings of a great mechanical beast. The Emerald City glowed like an otherworldly fever dream. The robotic mask of Oz?! Don't get me started. There was such a depth to the whole thing, an atmosphere, a fully realized vision of Oz that felt more immersive than anything I had imagined as a kid.
The costumes were just as insane. Elphaba's signature green skin wasn’t just a gimmick; it was a statement, a visual rebellion against the gloss and polish of Glinda's sparkly, pink utopia. Every character had a presence, a look that made them feel distinct. It was detailed. It was bold. It was a visual feast. And then, the music. Absolutely BANGERS!
I walked in thinking musicals were all fluff. I walked out humming the damn songs for days. The standout? Defying Gravity, of course! The moment Elphaba rose into the air, belting out that final note before intermission, something primal ignited in my chest. This wasn't just a song; it was a war cry. A middle finger to convention. The entire theater held its breath as she ascended - defiant, unbreakable. It was impossible not to get swept up in it.
Then there was Popular, Glinda’s sickly sweet, borderline satirical anthem of self-improvement. It was the perfect contrast - light, bouncy, hilarious, yet sneakily sharp. Watching her prance around the stage, weaponizing charm like a tactical nuke, was pure genius. Every song had weight, had purpose. They weren’t just catchy - they mattered.
After the show, I found myself looking up the movie adaptation, fully expecting it to be a letdown. But it wasn't. It pulled me back in. I wanted more. I wanted to live in that world again. The film was fantastic, but likely wouldn't have been nearly as digestible had I not seen the play beforehand. And now? Now I’m wondering what other musicals I’ve been missing. What other stories are waiting to hijack my senses and leave me breathless.
If I had let these self-inflicted ideas of masculinity define me, I would have missed out on one of the most incredible performances I've ever seen. And for what? To protect some outdated sense of what's "manly"? Art is art. If something moves you, if it shakes you to your core, it doesn’t matter if it comes wrapped in leather or glitter.
I used to think musicals weren’t for me. Now, I can’t wait to see the next one. And if you’re reading this, wondering whether you should give Wicked a shot - do it. Don’t let your ego talk you out of experiencing something spectacular. Just go. And let it blow your mind.
So yeah, I guess I’ve changed. I guess I like musicals now. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. Don't let toxic masculinity hold you back.
And as Elphaba herself says, “It’s not easy being green.” But sometimes, stepping outside your comfort zone is exactly what sets you free.
Originally published on February 7, 2025.
