15 Great Monologues From Queer Characters

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Photo Source: Merie Wallace/Netflix

Finding the perfect audition monologue can be nerve-racking for any actor. With so many options, it can feel overwhelming to sift through script after script and narrow down which characters—and which monologues—best match the rich tapestry of who you are and what you hope to represent. This can be especially difficult for actors searching for monologues from characters who represent queer identities and experiences. To help pave the way for more diverse representation of gender and sexuality, we’ve selected an array of contemporary monologues from queer men and women, as well as trans and nonbinary people.


Monologues by male-identified characters

Scene from 'The Devil Wears Prada'“Devil Wears Prada” Courtesy 20th Century Fox

1. Tommy’s eulogy for Nick, “The Normal Heart” (dramatic)

Larry Kramer’s semi-autobiographical 1985 play takes place in the 1980s at the onset of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in New York City. It tells the story of several friends who band together to shed light on the crisis. In this monologue, Tommy, a gay man, is giving a speech at his friend Nick’s funeral after he dies of AIDS. 

This monologue runs about a minute long and is good for showing off vulnerability, anger, and/or defeat in your audition, depending on how you choose to read it. 

I have this tradition. It’s something I do now when a friend dies. I save his Rolodex card. What am I supposed to do, throw it away in the trash can? I won’t do that. No, I won’t. It’s too final. Last year I had five cards. Now I have fifty. A collection of cardboard tombstones bound together with a rubber band. I hate these fucking funerals, I really do.

And you know what else I hate? I hate the memorials. That’s our social life now, going to these things. Nick was a choreographer; not many of you knew that. He was just starting out, he didn’t tell a lot of people. He was waiting to invite you to his big debut at Carnegie Hall or some shit so we could all be proud of him. But he was so good. He had such promise.

We’re losing an entire generation. Young men, at the beginning, just gone. Choreographers, playwrights, dancers, actors. All those plays that won’t get written now. All those dances, never to be danced. In closing, I’m just gonna say I’m mad. I’m fucking mad. I keep screaming inside, “Why are they letting us die? Why is no one helping us?” And here’s the truth, here’s the answer: They just don’t like us.

2. Nigel confronts Andy, “The Devil Wears Prada” (dramatic)

Aline Brosh McKenna and David Frankel’s 2006 film takes a deep dive into the fashion world, closely following Andy in her new position as the personal assistant of Miranda, the Anna Wintour–esque editor-in-chief of Runway magazine. Andy has a job that “millions of girls would kill for,” but she finds herself becoming more and more disillusioned. In this monologue, Nigel, the magazine’s art director, gives her a wake-up call about what her place of work means to so many people. 

The monologue runs about a minute long, and is good for showing off frustration and ambition. 

Andy, be serious. You are not trying. You are whining. What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, “Poor you. Miranda’s picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy”? Hmm? Wake up, six. She’s just doing her job. 

Don’t you know that you are working at the place that published some of the greatest artists of the century? Halston, Lagerfeld, de la Renta. And what they did, what they created, was greater than art, because you live your life in it. Well, not you, obviously, but some people. 

You think this is just a magazine, hmm? This is not just a magazine. This is a shining beacon of hope for…oh, I don’t know…let’s say a young boy growing up in Rhode Island with six brothers, pretending to go to soccer practice when he was really going to sewing class and reading Runway under the covers at night with a flashlight. 

You have no idea how many legends have walked these halls. And what’s worse, you don’t care. Because this place, where so many people would die to work, you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn’t kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day. Wake up, sweetheart.

3. Prior discusses living with AIDS, “Angels in America Part One: Millennium Approaches” (dramatic)

Tony Kushner’s 1992 two-part play, “Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes,” takes place at the height of the AIDS epidemic. It follows an ensemble of characters, both gay and straight, who become intricately intertwined with each other. In this scene from the first installment, “Millennium Approaches,” Prior has recently been diagnosed with AIDS and is speaking to his boyfriend, Louis, about his worsening condition. Louis begins to panic, wondering if Prior would hate him if he walked out. Prior offers this metaphor after telling him, “Yes.”  

This monologue runs about a minute long and is good for showing off vulnerability and fear. 

One of my ancestors was a ship’s captain who made money bringing whale oil to Europe and returning with immigrants—Irish mostly, packed in tight, so many dollars per head. The last ship he captained foundered off the coast of Nova Scotia in a winter tempest and sank to the bottom. He went down with the ship—la Grande Geste—but his crew took seventy women and kids in the ship’s only longboat, this big, open rowboat, and when the weather got too rough, and they thought the boat was overcrowded, the crew started lifting people up and hurling them into the sea. Until they got the ballast right. They walked up and down the longboat, eyes to the waterline, and when the boat rode low in the water, they’d grab the nearest passenger and throw them into the sea. The boat was leaky, see; seventy people; they arrived in Halifax with nine people on board.

I think about that story a lot now. People in a boat, waiting, terrified, while implacable, unsmiling men, irresistibly strong, seize…maybe the person next to you, maybe you, and with no warning at all, with time only for a quick intake of air, you are pitched into freezing, turbulent water and salt and darkness to drown.

I like your cosmology, baby. While time is running out, I find myself drawn to anything that’s suspended, that lacks an ending—but it seems to me that it lets you off scot-free.

No judgment. No guilt or responsibility. 

4. Levi talks to Nico, “Grey’s Anatomy” (dramatic as originally performed, but could be read as comedic)  

In this scene, surgical resident Levi is stuck in the back of an ambulance during a windstorm with orthopedic surgeon Nico, the man who helped him realize he was gay. Tension grows between the two as they try to figure out what they want. Nico starts to work through his concerns about dating someone he needs to “guide out of the closet,” and Levi expresses anguish over minor inconveniences. 

This monologue runs for about a minute, and is good for showing off anger, insecurity, and pride. 

No, no, I’m not done. You know what’s also your fault? The fact that you think I have a shame spiral, because I don’t. I’m not spiraling. I’m a nerd. I’m no more ashamed of being attracted to guys than I am of anything else in my life. 

Do you know what I did almost every night before I went to college? I sat in my mom’s basement with three other debate club kids playing Dungeons & Dragons, and it’s the same basement I live in now. Trust me when I say no one was having sex. With guys or girls. 

Sex was…sex was like the Sunsword. It’s a magical weapon in the game that’s really hard to find. It’s basically like a talking lightsaber… Never mind; doesn’t matter. The point is, sex wasn’t on the table for us. So I didn’t know I was gay. I knew that I had feelings for boys, but I didn’t understand it. Not until you kissed me. 

You kissed me, and I felt the opposite of shame. I felt like I existed and everything fell in place. For the first time, it felt like I was holding the Sunsword, and I kno— [Nico kisses him.] Mmmmph.

Are you just kissing me to get me to stop talking?

5. The wine and not the label, “Schitt’s Creek” (comedic)

In “Honeymoon,” a 2015 episode of Dan and Eugene Levy’s “Schitt’s Creek,” Stevie questions David’s sexual preferences after an unplanned hookup between the two. Since they’re at a wine shop, David explains his sexuality using the bottles in front of him as a metaphor. 

This monologue is very short, making it a good choice to show off comedic timing and the ability to perform dry humor.

I see where this is going. Um, I do drink red wine. But I also drink white wine. And I’ve been known to sample the occasional rosé. And a couple summers back, I tried a Merlot that used to be a Chardonnay, which got a bit complicated…. I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?

I know this is very new to you, so just so you know, I absolutely did roll over and cry myself to sleep with regret. I just wept for hours in the dark. 

I say we go with this one. It’s the biggest. 

6. Kevin T’s monologue, “Come From Away” (dramatic)  

Irene Sankoff and David Hein’s 2013 musical follows airline passengers who are stranded in Newfoundland in the immediate aftermath of the September 11th attacks, as well as the locals who house them. In this scene, Kevin T, an American passenger, is reflecting on the unexpected kindness of Canadian citizens when responding to a tragedy that is not their own. 

The monologue clocks in at just under a minute, but it can be lengthened if you add Kevin’s next line of dialogue. You can also speak the first two verses of the song that follows immediately after. 

This is a good choice for showing off your emotional range, as the character goes from stunned to touched as he processes what is happening. 

Everywhere you look, there are people from around the globe. Going back and forth for phones, or showers…grabbing something from Shoppers. I’m getting coffee at a gas station on the main drag…and suddenly the entire place goes quiet…and nobody moves. 

Even the people outside are standing still. And I look up at the TVs and realize…it’s a national moment of silence in America. And all of these Newfoundlanders—these people from another country—they maintain that moment of silence. 

I don’t know if that would happen back home, at a busy gas station on the main drag, but it happened here. 

I suddenly realized what that music was from my dream: It was an old hymn from when I was a kid. Well, I haven’t been to church in years, but for some reason that song was in my head. 

“Make me a channel of your peace; where there is hatred let me bring your love; where there is injury, your pardon, Lord, and where there’s doubt, true faith in you.

Make me a channel of your peace; where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope; where there is darkness, only light; ever joy.”

Monologues by female-identified characters

Scene from 'Orange is the New Black'“Orange is the New Black” Credit: Patrick Harbron/Netflix

7. “The Woman Who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy,” “The Vagina Monologues” (comedic)

“The Vagina Monologues,” a 1996 play written by V (formerly known as Eve Ensler), addresses the social stigmas surrounding sexuality, rape, menstruation, and other aspects of the feminine experience. The series of monologues is based on dozens of interviews the author conducted.

In this monologue, a sex worker details her love of pleasuring other women. It runs for several minutes and presents the opportunity to show off your comedic timing, vulnerability, and sense of empowerment. 

I love vaginas. I love women. I do not see them as separate things. Women pay me to dominate them, to excite them, to make them come. I did not start out like this. No, to the contrary: I started out as a lawyer, but in my late thirties, I became obsessed with making women happy. It began as a mission of sorts, but then I got involved in it. I got very good at it, kind of brilliant. It was my art. I started getting paid for it. It was as if I had found my calling. 

I wore outrageous outfits when I dominated women—lace and silk and leather—and I used props: whips, handcuffs, rope, dildos. There was nothing like this in tax law. There were no props, no excitement, and I hated those blue corporate suits; although I wear them now from time to time in my new line of work and they serve quite nicely. There were no props in corporate law. No wetness. No dark, mysterious foreplay. No erect nipples. No delicious mouths. But mainly, there was no moaning. Not the kind I’m talking about anyway. This was the key, I see now; moaning was the thing that ultimately seduced me and got me addicted to making women happy. When I was a little girl and I would see women in the movies making love, making strange orgasmic moaning noises, I used to laugh. I got strangely hysterical. I couldn’t believe that big, outrageous, ungoverned sounds like that came out of women. 

I longed to moan. I practiced in front of my mirror, on a tape recorder, moaning in various keys, various tones. But always when I played it back, it sounded fake. It was fake. It wasn’t rooted in anything sexual, really, only in my desire to be sexual. 

But then when I was ten, I had to pee really badly once. On a car trip. It went on for almost an hour, and when I finally got to pee in this dirty little gas station, it was so exciting, I moaned. I moaned as I peed. I couldn’t believe it, me moaning in a Texaco station in the middle of Louisiana. I realized right then that moans are connected with not getting what you want right away, with putting things off. I realized moans were best when they caught you by surprise; they came out of this hidden mysterious part of you that was speaking its own language. I realized that moans were, in fact, that language. 

I became a moaner. It made most men anxious. Frankly, it terrified them. I was loud and they couldn’t concentrate on what they were doing. They’d lose focus. Then they’d lose everything. We couldn’t make love in people’s homes. The walls were too thin. I got a reputation in my building and people stared at me with contempt in the elevator. Men thought I was too intense, some called me insane. 

I began to feel bad about moaning. I got quiet and polite. I made noise into a pillow. I learned to choke my moan, hold it back like a sneeze. I began to get headaches and stress-related disorders. I was becoming hopeless when I discovered women. I discovered that most women loved my moaning, but more importantly I discovered how deeply excited I got when other women moaned, when I was responsible for other women moaning. 

I made love to quiet women and I found this place inside them and they shocked themselves in their moaning. I made love to moaners and they found a deeper, more penetrating moan. 

It was a kind of surgery, a kind of delicate science, finding the tempo, the exact location or home of the moan. That’s what I called it. 

Sometimes I found it over a woman’s jeans. Sometimes I snuck up on it, off the record, quietly disarming the surrounding alarms and moving in. Sometimes I used force, but not violent, oppressing force, more like dominating, “I’m going to take you someplace, don’t worry, lay back and enjoy the ride” kind of force. Sometimes it was simply mundane. I found the moan before things even started, while we were eating salad or chicken just casual just right there, with my fingers. “Here it is like that,” real simple, in the kitchen, all mixed in with the balsamic vinegar. Sometimes I used props—I loved props—sometimes I made the woman find her own moan in front of me. I waited, stuck it out until she opened herself. I wasn’t fooled by the minor, more obvious moans. No, I pushed her further all the way into her power moan. 

There’s the clit moan (a soft in-the-mouth sound), the vaginal moan (a deep in-the-throat sound), the combo, clit-vaginal moan. There’s the almost moan (a circling sound), the right on it moan (a deeper definite sound), the elegant moan (a sophisticated laughing sound), the Grace Slick moan (a rock singing sound), the WASP moan (no sound), the Jewish moan (“No. No.”), the African-American moan (“Oh, shit!”), the Irish Catholic moan (“Forgive me.”), the mountaintop moan (yodeling sound), the baby moan (googie googie googie goo sound), the doggy moan (a panting sound), the uninhibited militant bisexual moan (a deep, aggressive, pounding sound), the machine-gun moan, the tortured Zen moan (a twisted, hungry sound), the Diva moan (a high operatic note), the college moan (“I should be studying. I should be studying.”), and finally, the surprise triple orgasm moan (intense, multifaceted, climactic moan). 

8. Alison’s father’s letter, “Fun Home” (dramatic)

Jeanine Tesori and Lisa Kron’s 2013 musical “Fun Home” jumps between time periods as current-day Alison Bechdel writes and illustrates the graphic memoir the show is based on. She reflects back on her childhood and college selves, remembering her familial struggles and the exploration of her sexuality. Here, a 19-year-old Alison reacts to her father’s response to her coming-out letter.

This monologue runs for about a minute and is ideal for demonstrating frustration, anger, and hurt, depending on how you read it. 

“Dear Al, big week at Fun Home. Couple of kids from Lock Haven wrapped their car around a tree and I ended up working two eighteen-hour shifts. Bad for my blood pressure. Anyway, that’s why I’ve been out of touch for a bit. Oh, by the way, we got your letter. Well, kid, talk about a flair for the dramatic! As far as I see it, the good news is you’re human.” 

What does that mean? What else would I be? 

"Your mother’s pretty upset—not surprising, I guess, but I’m of the opinion that everyone should…experiment.” 


“I can’t say, though, that I see the value of putting a label on yourself. There have been a few times in my life when I thought about taking a stand, but I’m not a hero. Is that a cop-out? Maybe so. It’s hard sometimes to tell what is really worth it.” 

God. I just—the tone is what I can’t stand. It’s so typical! So all-knowing! He has to be the expert! Lots of advice and wisdom on things he knows nothing about. I’m gay, which means I’m not like him, and I’ve never been like him, and he can’t handle that! He still wants to be this intellectual, broad-minded liberal bohemian, but he can’t pull it off, because he can’t deal with me. And you know what? He never could. He never could.

9. Martha’s admission, “The Children’s Hour” (dramatic)

In Lillian Hellman’s 1934 play, Martha is a school teacher who becomes embroiled in a scandal with her coworker Karen after a little girl makes up a story about the two of them having an affair. Here, Martha tells Karen about the effects of the lie and how she has come to see herself and their relationship. Moments after, the character dies by suicide. 

Here, some of Karen’s dialogue is paraphrased in Martha’s monologue in order to turn the conversation into a speech. It runs for about a minute, and can showcase your abilities to perform fear, desperation, and quiet acceptance. 

There’s always been something wrong. Always—as long as I can remember. But I never knew it until all this happened. 

You’re afraid of hearing it; I’m more afraid than you. 

Listen to me. You’ve got to know it. I can’t keep it any longer. I’ve got to tell you that I’m guilty.  

I’ve been telling myself I’m not since the night we heard the child say it. I lie in bed night after night praying that it isn’t true. But I know about it now. It’s there. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I did love you. I do love you. I resented your marriage; maybe because I wanted you; maybe I wanted you all these years; I couldn’t call it by a name, but maybe it’s been there ever since I first knew you—I never felt that way about anybody but you. I’ve never loved a man—I never knew why before. Maybe it’s that. 

It’s funny; it’s all mixed up. There’s something in you and you don’t do anything about it because you don’t know it’s there. Suddenly a child gets bored and tells a lie—and there, that night, you see it for the first time, and you say it yourself, did she see it, did she sense it—?

She found the lie with the ounce of truth. I guess they always do. I’ve ruined your life and I’ve ruined my own. I swear I didn’t know it, I swear I didn’t mean it—Oh, I feel so God-damned sick and dirty—I can’t stand it anymore. 

10. Emma confronts Alyssa, “The Prom” (dramatic)

This 2018 musical from Bob Martin, Chad Beguelin, and Matthew Sklar (and its 2020 movie adaptation) follows a group of Broadway actors who have made it their mission to help a teenage lesbian in a conservative town after her prom gets canceled. Prior to this scene, Emma has been tricked by most of the school into going to a solo prom. So she speaks to her girlfriend, Alyssa, who knew about the prank but never came to help. 

This monologue is less than a minute long and allows you to perform heartbreak, betrayal, and anger in a brief span of time.

Were you in on it? Nobody told you? What about your BFFs Shelby and Kaylee? They didn’t mention anything about the big plan? OK, so your mother, then? She was behind the whole thing. Do I know you? What is this? What are we? Maybe I’m some kind of an experiment? Or you’re just trying to piss off your mother? Do you know what it was like standing there in that stupid dress alone in the gym? Knowing that people got together and planned the best way to hurt me? To humiliate me? The only way it could have been worse is if a bucket of pig’s blood fell on my head. It was awful. But the worst part—the worst part was that you didn’t come. Even though you knew what happened, you didn’t come and, you know, hold my hand. Or take me out of there. Why? 

11. Piper in “Fool Me Once,” “Orange Is the New Black” (comedic or dramatic, depending on how you read it)

Jenji Kohan’s 2013 Netflix series “Orange Is the New Black” follows a group of inmates at a women’s minimum security prison. The first season primarily focuses on Piper Chapman, who is in prison for acting as a drug mule for her ex-girlfriend 10 years prior. In this scene, she admits that she doesn’t believe in God to a group of religious women.

The monologue runs about a minute. Use it to highlight your ability to show disbelief, defense, and/or antagonism, depending on how you read it.

OK, nope. See, I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I really want us to get along, I do. But I can’t pretend to believe in something I don’t. And I don’t. 

No, see, this isn’t doubt. I believe in science. I believe in evolution. I believe in Nate Silver and Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Christopher Hitchens, although I do admit he could be kind of an asshole. I cannot get behind some supreme being who weighs in on the Tony Awards while a million people get whacked with machetes. I don’t believe a billion Indians are going to hell. I don’t think we get cancer to learn life lessons, and I don’t believe that people die young because God needs another angel. 

I think it’s just bullshit. And on some level, I think we all know that, don’t you? 

Look, I understand that religion makes it easier to deal with all of the random, shitty things that happen to us. And I wish I could get on that ride. I’m sure I would be happier. But I can’t. Feelings aren’t enough. I need it to be real. I gotta go. I hope He makes you very happy.

12. Clarke’s internal monologue, “The 100” (dramatic)

Jason Rothenberg’s 2014 CW series “The 100” takes place a century after a nuclear apocalypse. Clarke is a 17-year-old girl imprisoned on a giant space station where the remnants of mankind have been living since Earth became uninhabitable. In the opening scene of the pilot, Clarke is drawing a picture of what she knows of the Earth, imagining what it would be like to touch the ground. 

This monologue runs about a minute, but you can also elongate it by playing it as if the internal monologue is said as an aside to the audience, flipping back and forth between this and her dialogue with other characters. 

The initial monologue shows the switch from hopeful and imaginative to disappointed; if you continue on, there’s an opportunity play terror, confusion, and devastation. 

I feel the sun on my face. I see trees all around me, the scent of wildflowers on a breeze. It’s so beautiful. In this moment, I’m not stranded in space. 

It’s been 97 years since a nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on Earth, leaving the planet simmering in radiation. Fortunately, there were survivors. Twelve nations had operational space stations at the time of the bombs. There is now only the Ark, one station forged from the many. 

We’re told the Earth needs another hundred years to become survivable again. Four more space-locked generations and man can go home, back to the ground. 

The ground, that’s the dream. 

This is reality.

[A prison guards throw open the door, startling her.]

Reality sucks. 

[To the guards] What is this? It’s not my time, I don’t turn 18 for another month!

[To the audience] On the ark, no matter how small, every crime is punishable by death. Unless you’re under 18.

[To the guards] No, this was my father’s watch! No! [She fights the guards and runs out of her cell.]

[To the audience] Juvenile offenders get put here: lockup. We call it the sky box. 

[She sees a guard enter the hallway and turns to run, but freezes when she hears her mother calling her.]

Mom? Mom, what’s going on? What is this? They’re killing us all, aren’t they? Reducing the population to make more time for the rest of you? …What? The ground? But it’s not safe. No, no! We get reviewed at 18! [She’s shot with a tranquilizer dart as her mother explains everything to her.] Oh!

Monologues by trans or nonbinary characters

Scene from 'Supergirl'“Supergirl” Courtesy The CW

13. Nomi’s Pride speech, “Sense8” (dramatic)

J. Michael Straczynski and the Wachowski sisters’ 2015 series follows eight strangers from different parts of the world who inexplicably become mentally and emotionally connected in a way that demonstrates the power of radical empathy. Nomi, a young trans woman, writes these words on her blog before attending a Pride parade.

This monologue represents empowerment, reflection, and the ability to overcome fear. It runs for one to two minutes. 

I’ve been thinking about my life, and all of the mistakes that I’ve made. The ones that stay with me, the ones that I regret, are the ones that I made because of fear.

For a long time, I was afraid to be who I am, because I was taught by my parents that there’s something wrong with someone like me. Something offensive. Something you would avoid, maybe even pity. Something that you could never love. 

My mom, she’s a fan of St. Thomas Aquinas. She calls pride a sin. And of all the venial and mortal sins, St. Thomas saw pride as the queen of the seven deadlies. He saw it as the ultimate gateway sin that would turn you quickly into a sinaholic. 

But hating isn’t a sin on that list. Neither is shame. I was afraid of this parade, because I wanted so badly to be a part of it. So today, I’m marching for that part of me that was once too afraid to march. And for all the people who can’t march. The people living lives like I did. Today, I march to remember that I’m not just a me. I’m also a we. We march with pride. So go fuck yourself, Aquinas.

14. Fiona comes out, “Rotterdam” (dramatic)

In this 2015 play by Jon Brittain, Fiona, a trans man, comes out to his girlfriend, Alice—just as she was about to send her own coming-out email to her parents. In this scene, Fiona explains his reasoning for how he timed his coming out and explores his innate feelings about gender and sexuality.

This monologue runs for about a minute. It’s a solid choice for actors hoping to illustrate assurance, self-confidence, and introspection. 

I wanted to tell you, OK? I just...I didn’t know how you’d react. I…I was scared. I wanted to say something. So many times. I just… Look, it’s not like it was a light bulb moment, y’know? Like suddenly I realized… I mean, I always thought I was gay. I mean, I was a tomboy, I liked girls, I thought, yeah, gay, that makes sense…. But then bit by bit as I got older, it didn’t anymore…. But, I mean, how do you tell someone that? I didn’t know how to put it into words. I still don’t. It’s just this feeling. Like, every time I open my mouth, it’s not my voice, or when I look in the mirror, it’s just not quite me. And when I think about men, or see them, I just… I know that…


It’s not that I’m trying to change. I don’t want to become a man. I…I think…I know…I already am one. I dream as one. 


In my dreams, I’m a man. Every time. Since always.


But you know this doesn’t change anything between us. You do know that?

15. Nia’s defense of her article, “Supergirl” (dramatic)

Nia is a transgender superhero named Dreamer on the 2015 CW series “Supergirl” from Ali Adler, Greg Berlanti, and Andrew Kreisberg. On “American Alien,” the first episode of the fourth season, her secret identity is introduced when she joins CatCo Worldwide Media as a reporter. Here, Kara has just questioned Nia’s choice of article assignment for being a little too bland, and Nia defends it. 

This monologue runs about a minute and shows off how passionate you can be about a subject that others just don’t understand.

There’s nothing slight about fashion, Kara. It’s one of the most visceral forms of art. What we choose to wear tells a story about who we are. Whether you wear black and leather or pastels and silk, you’re creating an inner version of yourself whether you realize it or not.

What makes this story so exciting is that the fashion district’s setting up shop in the middle of East City. New legislation is allowing designers to live and work in industrial spaces that have been abandoned for decades. An area that’s been a hotbed for crime is going to be infused with color and life. 

I just think of all the kids growing up in that neighborhood, all the new job opportunities that’ll be created. The fashion district article I wanna write about isn’t about clothes. It’s about community and growth. And hope.

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