It’s hard to recommend a play when you can’t say its name out loud. “You have to see Prince…um…” I found myself stumbling over the words repeatedly last week. “Prince Faggot.”
The play, which imagines Britain’s Prince George coming out as gay about ten years in the future, is making headlines despite—or perhaps partly because of—its provocative title. After a sold-out summer run at Playwrights Horizons/Soho Rep, where it was fittingly named a New York Times Critic’s Pick, Prince Faggot has returned off-Broadway for a second staging at Studio Seaview through November 9.
Much of the coverage has rightly focused on the titular prince, played by John McCrea, and his lover Dev (a captivating Mihir Kumar). But the heart of the play lies in the hands—or, to borrow a double entendre from the show, the fists—of the women in the cast: Rachel Crowl as Kate, Princess of Wales, and N’yomi Allure Stewart as her daughter, Charlotte. As George’s mother and sister, they anchor the play in emotional reality, whether it’s Charlotte and George sharing a cigarette outside their grandfather’s funeral or Kate confronting her son in her pajamas when he comes home high at 4 a.m. Between scenes, they break the fourth wall to deliver their own monologues, including the play’s final coda, which Stewart developed in collaboration with playwright Jordan Tannahill.
Stewart as Charlotte, Princess of Wales; John McCrea as Prince George
Photo: Marc J. Franklin
Crowl and Stewart are two trans women from different generations and backgrounds—Crowl is a former punk and longtime working actor who lives mostly in Wisconsin, while Stewart emerged from the New York ball scene and is Mother of the House of Unbothered Cartier. I sat down with them to discuss creating royal characters, the play’s reception, and what it means to occupy space as trans women on an off-Broadway stage.
This conversation has been edited for clarity and conciseness.
Vogue: A lot of the press so far has centered on the men in the show, so I’m really excited to talk to you both about your performances, which stood out completely. What has been your reaction to the coverage?
Rachel Crowl: You go first, N’yomi, my daughter.
N’yomi Allure Stewart: My amazing mother. What you’re saying is true, and I’ve been speaking about it… not from a place of anger, because can you blame people for having that natural reaction? Can you blame the large demographic coming to see a play titled Prince Faggot for being less interested in two trans women who already occupy bodies unfamiliar to many? Over time, I naturally started to feel somewhat invisible—not to the creative team, but to the audience. Within the play, the cast, and the team, I always felt seen and heard. As for the reaction, I think my community and the people I call family have been moved.
Even those who aren’t represented onstage still find themselves deeply affected, challenged, and inspired by the language. They understand what it means to be loved while grappling with issues of status, power, and the freedom to live as one wishes. My friends said, “I left not knowing if I wanted to fight or to fuck, to dance or to scream, but I felt everything.” And I think that’s a powerful thing to say about a piece.
Crowl: Everything N’yomi said—amen. It’s lovely because N’yomi and I come from two different worlds, yet we’re connected. There’s both a generational and experiential divide; for instance, I have many straight friends who have seen the show. I’ve been delighted by how they’ve responded to this play.
To me, that’s the beautiful magic of the play: it takes things often kept on the fringes, like fisting, kink, and fetish, and brings them to the forefront.At the center, it humanizes them and places them in the context of real lives. There’s something delightful about using the royal family—who we Americans know far too much about without even trying—as a really useful metaphor for many things.
Rachel Crowl plays Catherine (Kate), Princess of Wales, and K. Todd Freeman plays William, Prince of Wales.
Photo: Marc J. Franklin
You both deliver monologues in the play. N’yomi, I know yours is autobiographical, while Rachel, yours is not. What were your respective entry points into those?
Stewart: I’ve been working with Jordan and Jeremy O. Harris, a producer of Prince Faggot, since the first reading back in 2022. I remember Jordan asking, “What is your relationship to the royal family?” We sat down and talked about it.
I told him I truly never cared about the royal family. If I could add a line to my monologue now, I’d say: “My family wasn’t even very political until Obama became president. That’s when I realized my family actually cared or was moved by politics—because they saw someone who looked like them.” At that time, being new in my transition and fresh to New York City, where there’s a trans woman on every corner—at least in the spaces I’m in—I thought, “That’s my royalty.”
There are royals in my world that others don’t even see as royalty. There are people who make others cry and scream when they get onstage. Their names may not be known outside my world, but they are so royal to me. They mean much more to me than celebrities—maybe because I’m a Leo. So I think, okay, you’re a celebrity, but you’re not Sinia Alaia. You’re not Tati Miyake Mugler. Jordan said it was moving, and we added it to the end. It made sense to land on the idea that if royals are chosen by God, I’m chosen by God, too.
Crowl: My introduction to the monologue was during my Zoom callback audition. I remember Misha Chowdhury, the director, said, “Just try to be as simple and matter-of-fact as possible.” I’m a workaday actor—I’ve been acting for over 30 years and transitioned a very long time ago. So I approached it as a beautifully written piece that I could do justice to.
Are all the details mine? No. I’m very much a gold-star lesbian. I would never have hooked up with a married man in his garage in the suburbs because I’m not interested in that at all. But I have friends who’ve done things like that—friends who’ve suffered violence and done sex work. And I’ve definitely gone through periods of depression where I mourned times in my life when I wasn’t myself, and the fact that I’ll never get that time back. You have to adjust: am I going to resent that forever, or am I going to find little gems in that experience? Even though I wasn’t able to be me, I still picked up useful things along the way.
As an actor, the details don’t have to be literally true for me to make them true in performance, because Tannahill wrote such a beautiful thing for me to say in a vulnerable moment. I’m thrilled that he and Misha created something where the women can be strong, interesting, conflicted, and badass, and then step outside the frame with the same level of badassery as these performers.
Photo: Alexey Kim / Sidewalkkilla
What about your royal personas, Kate and Charlotte? How did it feel to take these well-known figures and create your own versions?
Crowl: In the first week of rehearsal, Jordan pulled me aside and said, “Rachel, you’re a really good actor. You can go full biopic on Kate. Knock yourself out.” And I literally ruined my yoga mat.I spent a month studying the YouTube algorithm, and it was all Princess Kate, all the time. I realized my approach wasn’t about copying everything she did, but finding elements that would let me create my own version of Kate. I knew things like costume, wig, and dialect would help sell the character. For me, the most important thing was that we weren’t playing this for laughs or as camp. We were playing it as if everything fucking mattered.
Then Misha said something I found incredibly helpful. He pointed out that William and Kate want to be good millennial parents—they want to be cool for their queer son—but they’re also leading the firm, which is the last place you can be progressive, caring, or empathetic. That tension was the joy of playing Kate: balancing the desire to be a good mom with the demands of heading the institution.
For Charlotte, I didn’t research her much. I approached it as: I’m a sister, I’m the spare. There used to be a line: “No matter how bad you have it, you’re the heir, and I’m the spare.” I’m the sister, the spare, and my parents both care and don’t care, if that makes sense. Not to get corny and rhyme, but that’s how I entered the role.
When Jeremy worked with us, he said what was powerful was that we were cast in roles people don’t usually see us in. You get to be a sister, brother, son, prince, princess, queen—when so many people tell you you can’t be those things. I leaned into that as a performer. Stepping into Charlotte, I asked: How does she sit differently? What does it mean to be royal and sit? Slouching means something else. What is it to be the sister who challenges her parents to support her brother?
The play’s physicality—sex scenes, rope play, acid trips—lets the characters express a lot without words. How did we approach our physical choices?
In one scene, George and William argue, and then Kate enters. I decided that, unlike other times we see Kate, I would carry myself the way I used to see my mom hold herself when she was worried. I played much of the scene from that physical place, having seen my mom do it. Even though I don’t have sex, get naked, or tied up—though I do get to put a pup mask on John, which is really fun—my physicality as Kate is about stillness, in contrast to others.
When we started rehearsals, I didn’t want to vogue. I thought a lot about who would be watching. We’re in a moment where everyone wants to include ballroom in their work—and I’m grateful for chances to bridge gaps—but as an artist, I ask: How are we including ballroom in a challenging, innovative way?
I always keep it real. I won’t stay silent. Ballroom doesn’t need anyone; it exists on its own because the world excluded it. At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to vogue for an audience of white people, or older viewers, who might reduce my whole performance to that one moment. Once, after a show, a woman told my castmate, “Great job, great acting.” Then she looked at me and said, “Great dancing.” I felt limited to that.I still struggle with this sometimes. But for me, I vogue at the end to make a statement: if royalty waltzes and waves, and that’s considered high class—well, my version of high-class dance, my royalty through movement, looks like this. I’m making you see me in this bold, radical way. Theaters, stages, audiences—they don’t usually pay attention to women like me. So every night I perform, I think of it as my rebellion. When I vogue and dance, I carry so many other women with me.
Crowl: We have to work twice as hard to prove ourselves, you know? Every time I step on stage or appear on camera, I feel a sense of responsibility. I have to be the best I can possibly be, because I want people to see how talented trans people are. Every opportunity I get is a chance to open the door a little wider for those coming after me. I hope we reach a point where we don’t even have to talk about this anymore—where it’s just, “Rachel is a great actor, period,” or “N’yomi is a fantastic actress, end of story.” Sure, she’s trans, but who cares? It doesn’t matter. She’s just incredibly talented and can play any role. That’s the goal for me.
Stewart: That’s so true. I’ve been training for this since I was 16. I know I have talent, but I’m still unknown. I really look forward to the day when people want to get to know me for who I am.
Crowl: They will. It’s already happening, babe.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about The Women of Prince Faggot Step into the Spotlight in a natural conversational tone
General Beginner Questions
Q What is The Women of Prince Faggot Step into the Spotlight about
A Its about shifting the narrative focus from the central male character to the female characters in the story exploring their perspectives motivations and agency
Q Who are the women being referred to
A They are the female characters within the story or work that features the Prince Faggot character The FAQ aims to highlight characters who may have been previously overlooked or stereotyped
Q Why is the term Prince Faggot used
A Its likely used as a critical or reclamative title for a specific archetype of a flawed antagonistic or problematic male protagonist The focus is deliberately taken off him and placed on the women
Q Whats the main goal of this perspective shift
A The goal is to challenge traditional storytelling promote feminist literary criticism and give a voice to characters who are often defined only by their relationship to the male lead
Benefits Purpose
Q What are the benefits of analyzing a story this way
A It can reveal hidden themes provide a more nuanced understanding of the plot and highlight issues of power gender dynamics and representation that are often missed
Q How does this help readers or viewers
A It encourages critical thinking allows audiences to connect with a wider range of characters and can make old stories feel new and relevant by examining them through a modern lens
Q Is this just for academic analysis
A Not at all While academics use this approach any fan of a story can use it to gain deeper appreciation and discover new layers of meaning
Common Problems Challenges
Q Whats a common mistake people make when first exploring this idea
A A common mistake is assuming the female characters are simply good or victims This analysis seeks to understand them as complex multidimensional individuals with their own strengths and flaws
Q Couldnt this be seen as unfairly criticizing the original work
A Its less about criticism for