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

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.”