Monologue collections are great, but they’re only the start. There are plenty of other resources to help you prepare for drama school auditions, record a self-tape, or keep building your tool kit. From an eerie depiction of supernatural monomania to a nuanced exploration of the ethics of parenthood, these contemporary monologues for women will take you off the beaten track of audition pieces and help you avoid the usual fare. Note that in some cases, punctuation has been added for clarity.
1. “Margo's Got Money Troubles” by Rufi Thorpe and Sarah Bird (television, 2026): Margo
Margo, a young single mother improvising her way through OnlyFans and reconnecting with her retired wrestler father, describes motherhood in a way that’s equal parts funny and devastating. Play with both elements in your delivery—extra points for giving your all with the closing “click” sounds.
I'm beginning to realize that nobody is totally straight with you, you know? They all just harp on the "joy" and the "miracle" and "wonderful" and… You know, which… And it is, it, it, it totally is. But, but, I mean, he just re, refuses, refuses to get a good latch. My nipples are so sore. And after he's done with them, they don't even look like nipples. They're like, more like, like, like squeezed toothpaste tubes. And my areola is all white and… and pinched, and… I mean, he's probably cutting off my blood supply, so… And he just spits them out with such vicious contempt. And he makes this awful clicking noise. It's like… [makes clicking noises]
2. “Obsession” by Curry Barker (film, 2025): Nikki
Barker’s feature debut sends lovelorn protagonist Bear to an occult shop for a novelty wishing toy, which he uses to wish that his crush Nikki love him more than anyone in the world. She does…and then some. The film is a horror comedy about consent, and Nikki spends it losing control of her body and her personality to a wish she never agreed to.
This speech arrives when Bear tries to go out for the evening. Nikki comes out of the kitchen with a knife and describes, flatly, what will happen to her if she is left alone that night, then snaps into brightness with an offer to let him stay instead. The monotone is both the joke and the menace, so resist any urge to color it—the terror is Bear’s domain, not Nikki’s. Keep the final pivot instant and completely sincere.
[Monotone] Well, if I have the bed all to myself tonight, I'll lay there warm. Until slowly, I feel cold, like I walked into a freezer. My hands will feel like they’re full of sand, like when you lay on them wrong. And that feeling will slowly spread across my entire body. You're still in my heart, but you’re slipping. Any thought of pain or regret will slip away like a chemical switch. Even though it's quiet in the room, somehow, it gets even quieter. It's not painful. You just let go, everything you once were, and then there's nothing. It's not darkness, no, sweetie. Darkness is a color. There's just... nothing. [Suddenly cheerful] Or you can stay!
3. “Oh, Mary!” by Cole Escola (theater, 2024): Mary Todd Lincoln
Escola’s Broadway juggernaut hands you a First Lady who wants one thing—cabaret—and will steamroll the Civil War to get it. Mary’s tantrums are structured like arias, with escalating demands and hairpin tonal turns that reward an actor willing to go all the way. Leaning into the meta elements (after all, you’re an aspiring actor playing an aspiring actor) can help you really send the room with this one.
How dare you look down your nose at cabaret. While you were “dost thou-ing” and “thine art-ing” for a cold dinner and a hard cot, I was taking my tenth and eleventh curtain calls, being showered with roses and rubies! People traveled the world over for my short legs and long medleys. I had a hold over audiences the likes of which have not been seen since Christ disappeared from behind that stupid rock. My singing, thrilling; my personality, magnetic; my dancing, I made up for that with my singing and personality.
4. “Barbie” by Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach (film, 2023): Gloria
“Barbie” is a fantasy comedy that delves into themes of self-discovery and existential crisis. Although the film is a comedy, this monologue, performed by America Ferrera, is a serious look at contemporary womanhood. It offers a deep dive into the contradictions and pressures women face, making it a powerful piece for conveying emotional intensity and social awareness. The monologue’s range from frustration to exhaustion provides ample opportunity for an actor to showcase their ability to navigate complex emotional landscapes. It’s particularly relevant to contemporary discussions about gender roles, making it not only an engaging performance piece but also a thought-provoking one.
It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don't think you're good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we're always doing it wrong.
You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can't ask for money because that's crass. You have to be a boss, but you can't be mean. You have to lead, but you can't squash other people's ideas. You're supposed to love being a mother, but don't talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman, but also always be looking out for other people. You have to answer for men's bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you're accused of complaining. You're supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you're supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.
But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that, but also always be grateful. You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line.
It's too hard! It's too contradictory, and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out, in fact, that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.
I'm just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don't even know.
5. “Euphoria” by Sam Levinson (television, 2019): Rue
This serves as the audience’s introduction to protagonist Rue (Zendaya), who walks us through her life, from her birth, through her childhood, and eventually to her difficult relationship with mental health, which led to her substance-abuse problems. Despite appearing in the first episode, it ranks among the series’ best. It’s a great choice for anyone looking for material that touches on mental health struggles with just enough quirky detail and florid teenage language to keep things from getting too heavy.
I was once happy. Content. Sloshing around in my own private, primordial pool. Then one day, for reasons beyond my control, I was repeatedly crushed, over and over, by the cruel cervix of my mother, Leslie. I put up a good fight, but I lost, for the first time, but not the last. I was born three days after 9/11. My mother and father spent two days in the hospital, holding me under the soft glow of the television, watching those towers fall over and over again, until the feelings of grief gave way to numbness. And then, without warning, a middle-class childhood in an American suburb.
It’s not like I was physically abused, or had a shortage of clean water, or was molested by a family member. So, explain this shit to me. I don’t remember much between the ages of eight and twelve. Just that the world moved fast and my brain moved slow. And every now and then, if I focused too closely on the way I breathed, I’d die. Until every second of every day, you find yourself trying to outrun your anxiety. And quite frankly, I’m just fucking exhausted. And at some point, you make a choice about who you are and what you want. I just showed up one day, without a map or a compass, or, to be honest, anyone capable of giving one iota of good fucking advice. And I know it all may seem sad, but guess what? I didn’t build this system, nor did I fuck it up. And then it happens. That moment when your breath starts to slow. And every time you breathe, you breathe out all the oxygen you have. And everything stops: your heart, your lungs, then finally, your brain. And everything you feel, and wish, and want to forget, it all just sinks. And then suddenly… you give it air again, give it life again. I remember the first time it happened to me, I got so scared I wanted to call 911. Go to the hospital and be kept alive by machines and apple juice. But I didn’t want to look like an idiot, and I didn’t want to fuck up everyone’s night. And then over time, it’s all I wanted... those two seconds of nothingness.
6. “Barry” by Alec Berg and Bill Hader (television, 2018): Sally
HBO’s “Barry” had some of the most nuanced comedy on television. If you’re an actor who tends to lean toward drama, try Sally’s monologue from the end of Season 2, in which she unloads her insecurities over a piece she’s written for acting class. It’s great when a monologue mirrors an aspect of everyday life, and every actor can relate to Sally’s speech to Barry.
I’m terrified, OK? Because my piece is real. It’s not a character. It’s me. Raw, unapologetic truth with a capital T. All caps, actually. I’m thinking like a writer now. I mean, this was stuff that I couldn’t even talk about without lying. And here I am, about to strip naked in front of a bunch of strangers and share something that I am massively ashamed of—not literally, I don’t believe in nudity unless it drives the story forward. I’m afraid that they’re gonna judge me, and I’m afraid that Sam’s gonna find out and do something crazy. But I have to do this. It’s my story to tell. But then, I mean, so many other women have the same story. What, am I a spokesperson for them now? Could I be the face of a movement? I mean, what if I get it wrong? I mean, I resent the fact that Nick can get up there and talk about his stomach condition, and it’s not like he has to be the poster boy for bulimia. But I get up there, and whatever I say, it’s like, What are we saying about women? I mean, this is just my story! But what if you get it wrong, Sally? I don’t know. You can’t get it wrong, Sally. But you can’t not tell it either, Sally, because it’s who you are. Which makes this thing that my agent sent me on today so fucking insulting. “Payback Ladies”? It’s just another shit male idea of what strong women are. Oh, oh, oh, grab a gun and some stilettos and get a goddamn blowout. And look how strong you are now, Sally! It’s bullshit! Which, by the way, so is this. It’s quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever read. But you want to know the worst part? You want to know what’s really driving me fucking crazy? I am so jealous that you’re reading for this. I have never had a director session for a feature—which is the same thing as a movie, P.S. And I have been doing this for way longer, and I think you’d agree that I am way better. I made you! And I’m actually represented by Gersh. Well, at least I was. I don’t even know if they rep me anymore after what I said in there today, but still, at least I held my ground, because I am an artist, OK? An artist, and this is not fucking art! But then, I mean, to be honest, of course I’m so happy for you. I mean, of course I want you to get this part, and I want to be the one to help you learn your lines and fix your inflections. But I need you to know that if you do get it, it’s gonna make me, like…like, a hundred times more insane, OK?
7. “Bull” by Mike Bartlett (theater, 2015): Isobel
If you’ve seen any of Mike Bartlett’s works for stage or TV, you’ll know that he’s the master of people being horrible to each other. Here, in this play about workplace bullying and competition, Isobel belittles a male character. First, she hopes to destroy his self-confidence by suggesting that everyone expects him to lose his job. Second, she suggests that whatever confidence he had was founded on the wrong ideas about how life works.
A key thing to play in this monologue is the switches in tone. Isobel is a ruthless manipulator. In this, she can sound genuinely caring one line and cold the next. And if words are her weapon, stillness and poise might be a great way of showing that (unlike the men in the play) she doesn’t need to physically threaten.
When she hears you’re out of work, her low estimation of you will drop even further. It will. I promise. She won’t be surprised. She won’t be like, “Oh my god he lost his job!” She’ll be like, “Of course he lost his job, the fucking retard. Good job I got out when I could. Wouldn’t want Harry to see too much of him though. Better not let Harry grow up into this distorted, disabled fucking image of his fucking drip of a father.” I expect that’s what she’ll think.
It’s tough, isn’t it? Life. Is it a lot more difficult than what you’d thought it would be? I mean, I’m sure you thought it was going to be difficult but that through sheer hard work and practice and training and inspiration – and in your case, perspiration – that you would come through and in the end succeed. Because you thought, y’know, in this country at least, it was, at the end of the day, a meritocracy. And that fair play and honest, transparent work behaviour would be rewarded in the end. That bad people like me would fall by the wayside. And good people like you would triumph. Is that what you thought? Oops.
8. “Chewing Gum Dreams” by Michaela Coel (theater, 2014): Tracey
Tracey is a boisterous teenage girl who mocks those around her. She’s young, naive, and hungry for adulthood. At least, she thinks she is. But when she meets Connor, an ambitious white boy, Tracey begins to resist his encouragement to aim higher and think of university. The understated brilliance of Michaela Coel’s monologue is that although it’s all from Tracey’s point of view, the audience gets to see her from multiple perspectives.
In this speech, we begin with boastful reports of how long Tracey and Connor kissed and end up in a scene where she encounters the sea for the first time and is, for once, at a loss for words and uncertain of her emotions. Although there’s plenty of opportunity for comedy, especially in the Craig David section, it’s worth remembering that this speech only flies when you play the character and intentions, not the jokes.
His lips are thin, and soft, and very pink, and one time we kissed for eight minutes. I know coz we started kissing when Craig David’s album was on, and it was like Walking Away, which is three minutes 27 seconds, and then we kept kissing after that when Time to Party came on, which is like four minutes and six seconds, so all together that’s like eight minutes. Eight minutes.
If I look at him for more than like six seconds he starts squinting – he’s not going blind or anything coz they sort of get bigger at the same time, sort of like – I think it’s coz he really likes the way my face is. He says I’m like a little firecracker and he’s like… I dunno, someone smart.
He’s not like those boys that take you cinema just so they can kiss you in the dark. We walk outside holding hands. And he likes the way my face is.
Right now I am looking at the sea for the first time in my life. He blindfolded me and took me all the way to a beach.
I’ve never seen so much water before, and it’s not the water, it’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in the whole course of my life.
“Where are we?”
“Margate”
“Mah… Gate…”
I don’t actually know where Margate is, but I’m guessing it must be like… past Enfield coz we ain’t got anything like this in my borough or in any of the neighbouring boroughs I’m sure.
“Gosh, it goes back for ages. It goes so far, it joins with the sky.”
I feel like crying, but not from sadness. “Thank you.”
9. “Lungs” by Duncan Macmillan (theater, 2012): Woman
The speaker is one half of an educated, thoughtful (bordering on neurotic) couple who discuss having a baby throughout the play but come up against the moral dilemmas of having children. Here, after much discussion, the speaker has finally said yes.
It’s a deceptively simple monologue because, although the speaker says she’s “thinking out loud,” might some of this have been in the back of her head for some time? There’s plenty of opportunity to show how you can think “on the line,” but it will take hard work and some sharpening of your skills to ensure you never play a moment of this speech to yourself. Remember to play the scene.
Look. Alright. Listen, you have to understand, alright, I’m thinking out loud here so please just let me talk, just let me think it through out loud. Please, alright, don’t just jump in if I say something wrong or stupid, just let me think, okay. Because I’ve always wanted – alright – and I’m talking in the abstract, I’ve always wanted, I’ve always had a sense or an idea of myself, always defined myself, okay, as a person who would. That my purpose in life, that my function on this planet would be to. And not that I ever thought about it like that. It’s only now because you’re asking – or not asking but mentioning. Starting the conversation. Only because of that, that I’m now even thinking about it. But it’s always been sort of a given for me, an assumption ever since I was a little girl playing with dolls. I mean long, long before I met you. It’s never been what I guess it should be which is a a a a a a an extension of an expression of, you know, fucking love or whatever. A coming together of two people. It’s always been this, alright – and this will sound stupid and naive. But it’s always been an image, I guess, of myself with a bump and glowing in that motherly – or pushing a pram or a cot, or a mobile above it or singing to it. Reading Beatrix Potter or Dr Seuss. I don’t care, never cared about it being a boy or a girl. Just small and soft and adorable and with that milky head smell and the tiny socks and giggles and, yes, vomit even. It’s all part of it. Looking after it. Caring for it. That’s, I think, the impulse. And there’s always been a father in the picture but sort of a blurring background generic man. I’m sorry, it’s just this picture of my life I’ve always had since I was able to think and I’ve never questioned it. Never.
10. “Good People” by David Lindsay-Abaire (theater, 2011): Margaret
Margaret is on a cigarette break at work, talking to her younger boss, who also happens to be the son of her dead friend, Suzie. Margaret is gregarious, quick-witted, and often uses comedy to lighten how tough her life is. In this edited excerpt, she’s telling a comic story to avoid a serious conversation with her boss about being late for her shift. In the original text, she motors through or deflects his interruptions, which is worth playing here. There’s an opportunity to show your comic timing, demonstrate your movement skills, and explore different voices in telling the story. But there’s also a turn at the end, when Margaret switches from telling a story that makes light of poverty to admitting that she thinks about her dead friend all the time. Try to find the moment the switch happens as well as an intention for it. Is Margaret still playing for time? Is she trying to ingratiate herself with her boss? Or something else?
Did I ever tell you the turkey story? Up at Flanagan’s? When I worked up there and she came in? She never told you that turkey story? Huh. She was pregnant with you. No, Jimmy actually – she was pregnant with Jimmy – because it was near Christmas, and your father was locked up in Walpole again, so she didn’t have any money for anything. She had nothing. So your mother comes into Flanagan’s, and she’s out to here. (Indicates belly.) When’s Jimmy’s birthday? January. Right, so she’s out to here, and in this big coat. Remember that blue coat she always wore? And she’s walking up and down the aisles, slipping things in the pockets – potatoes, and cans of cranberry sauce, cookies, because you guys gotta eat, right? So she comes waddling up to my register. And I’m like, “Hey Suzie, how are the kids?” And she doesn’t wanna talk, obviously, she’s just trying to push through the line, “Oh they’re good, I was just looking for something, but you don’t have it, so I’m gonna try someplace else.” And then the turkey falls out of her coat. It hits the floor right between her legs. A turkey. Boom. And I swear to god, she didn’t miss a beat. She looks up, real mad, and yells, “Who threw that bird at me?!” (Really laughing now). Oh we died. Everybody there. Ya had to laugh. “Who threw that bird at me?!” She was a funny sonofabitch. Pardon my French. God she was funny. I think about her all the time. Your mother was a good lady. It’s a lesson though. You’re lucky you don’t smoke. Too young, your mother.
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Some of these monologues have been edited for clarity.
