Inside the Raucous Opening Night of Dylan Mulvaney’s New Play, The Least Problematic Woman in the World

“I’m not naked, I’m just wearing a halter top,” Dylan Mulvaney tells me when we meet on Zoom the day before her solo show, The Least Problematic Woman in the World, opens at the Lucille Lortel Theatre. Carefully applying makeup on the call, the actor has a busy day ahead of her, running around the city in search of the outfit she will wear to her opening-night celebration. “Maybe I should do 20 costume changes since I play 20 different characters!” she muses. (Ultimately, she lands on just one: a bouquet-inspired dress from Moschino’s spring 2018 collectsion.)

Directed by Tim Jackson, The Least Problematic Woman tells the story of Mulvaney’s life, from her Catholic upbringing in Southern California to her very public transition and brushes with controversy (think: that 2023 Bud Light campaign). “It feels like I’m taking my power back in a lot of ways,” she says.

Mulvaney has been working on the show for several years, previously performing a version of it at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival under the title Faghag. “We needed to change the title because it is kind of a slur over here in America, but I actually think the new title fits the show so much better, because it plays into the idea of how I've spent my life trying to label myself, and the world's been trying to label me. And by the end,” she adds—referring to the show’s closing song, during which she encourages the audience to sing along—“I have the most ridiculous label of all.”

The Least Problematic Woman is a comic play more than an out-and-out musical, but it does feature an opening number, an 11 o’clock number, and a grand finale, none of which feel extraneous to the show. Mulvaney collaborated closely on the songs with some of her pop and musical-theater idols. “It was so special to get to ask the people I grew up loving to do this with me,” she says, naming Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss of the Broadway hit Six, Mark Sonnenblick of KPop Demon Hunters, and singer-songwriter Ingrid Michaelson.

In the lead-up to the show’s run, Mulvaney has been doing her best to take care of her body. She hasn’t been drinking, she’s been sleeping as much as she can, and, “Girl, I’ve been eating,” she tells me—pizza especially. It’s a physically demanding performance: in one crazed moment, she literally runs on a pink treadmill. “I’ve never been a workout girly, but I really wanted people to see the exhaustion of someone who is constantly trying to please too many people,” she explains.

A few hours before curtain, Mulvaney arrives at the theater to run her lines, go over notes with Jackson, and apply her makeup. By the time the doors open, she is ready to greet the audience, flitting between the aisles in a tiny white halter dress, white go-go boots, and a pair of Styrofoam wings designed by Enver Chakartash as she guides patrons to their seats and takes selfies before the show begins. It’s a ritual that helps to set the tone for the night. “It makes them feel like they can relax and we have already built this relationship, so I can take them on the journey,” Mulvaney says.

On opening night, the Lucille Lortel is filled with Mulvaney’s family and friends, among them Marc Jacobs, Julia Fox, Ben Platt, Noah Gavin, Kiernan Shipka, and Mary-Beth Barone. After her bows, the celebration continues at Greenwich Village’s Madame X lounge nearby, where guests mingle, dance, and sip on signature cocktails (including the “Angel 666,” the “Problematic,” and the “Twink”) in the dim red light. Dozens of boxes of pizza from Two Boots are also on hand.

Upstairs, Mulvaney’s dad sits on one of the couches, wearing a shirt emblazoned with the words The Least Problematic Dad in the World. “I cried,” he says. “Dylan is my best friend.” He’d flown in for the occasion and brought a Ziploc bag of homemade cookies with him to the party.

Mulvaney is beaming as she enters Madame X, grateful for the community she’s gathered around her. I think of something she’d said the day before, as she marveled at the chance to tell her story on her own terms: “This is my favorite version of life.”