Anyone familiar with 25-year-old Reneé Rapp knows she never holds back—whether she’s speaking her mind or singing about it. Take the viral line from “Leave Me Alone,” the bold lead single off her new album Bite Me: “Took my sex life with me, now that show ain’t fuckin’.” It’s a clear nod to her exit from The Sex Lives of College Girls in 2023. That same unfiltered energy defined her Mean Girls press tour, which peaked with her joking about “40 hours of court-ordered media training” on SNL.

Despite her sharp wit and stacked résumé (Broadway, TV, a hit debut album, a L’Oréal Paris deal), Rapp openly admits to battling imposter syndrome. That tension fuels Bite Me, an album packed with raw emotion—confidence, insecurity, the highs of success and its crushing weight. It’s a cathartic next chapter after 2023’s Snow Angel, and as always, Rapp has plenty to say.

Vogue: The album’s called Bite Me—a classic, petty insult. Where’d that come from?
Reneé Rapp: My dad says it all the time. He’s the sweetest guy but curses like a sailor. I’d hear him snap, “Oh, bite me!” and think, That’s so petty—like something the mean, pretty girl would say when she couldn’t swear at a teacher. It fit where I was at: overwhelmed, overworked, and just done. It’s the PG-13 way of saying, “Get the hell out of my face.”

Vogue: The album’s brash, angry, and full of score-settling. Did you plan that vibe, or did it emerge while writing?
Rapp: Oh, I knew the attitude and title before anything else. I wasn’t writing from self-pity—that’d be a whole different album.

Vogue: Joan Jett’s a clear influence, especially on “Leave Me Alone.” What draws you to her?
Rapp: She’s a lesbian icon, for starters. And our initials—RR and JJ—that’s funny, right? But her vibe? Unmatched. She’s this beautiful, masculine force with this razor-sharp edge to everything she does. The more in-your-face she is, the more people accept it. I love that.

Vogue: Some songs call out real people—not always kindly. Are they aware? What if you ran into them post-release?
Rapp: I don’t tiptoe. If it happens, we’ll deal with it. But these songs aren’t about one person—they’re a mix. If I tried to explain…Here’s a more natural and fluent version of your text while keeping the original meaning intact:

If I made a list, I’d probably be surprised by how many people from past relationships, current relationships, and old friendships are referenced in this album. When I really dislike someone, they know it—so it’s not like they’d be shocked if they thought I wrote a song about them.

That said, people often assume they know who the songs are about, and they’re usually wrong. I don’t plan my life around whether someone I dislike will be there or not. People who bother me don’t shake me—just stay 50 feet away (or more) for your own good. I’m around people I can’t stand all the time; it’s nothing new. I’ve had to deal with being in spaces with people I don’t like for years. I’m a big girl.

On Leave Me Alone, you sing: “Signed a hundred NDAs but I still say something.” That sounds like something Jay-Z would write. Is that an exaggeration? Have you actually signed a hundred, or is it just a lot—more than 10?

That’s the highest compliment. I’ve probably signed more than 10, because you’d be surprised how often NDAs come up. I make people sign them all the time—there are things you just don’t want getting out, or information that’s need-to-know. But no, I’ve only signed a really serious one once or twice.

That said, NDAs are like stop signs—they’re suggestions. A lot of people in the industry use them to cover up damaging things. If I hadn’t done anything wrong, I wouldn’t be afraid of someone breaking an NDA. If someone’s scared, it’s probably because they’ve done something they regret.

Your public persona is blunt, honest, and unfiltered. You mentioned your father earlier—do you think that’s where it comes from?

It definitely didn’t hurt. There’s a rhythm to how he speaks and how openly he owns his mistakes. That always inspired me. When it comes to interviews or performances, I never walk in thinking, How can I present myself perfectly? I try to keep it human. It’s not a calculated thing—it’s just how I was raised. What you see is what you get.

I wonder if seeing so much phoniness made you embrace authenticity even more. Are there public figures you know who act completely different off-camera?

Honestly, I’m drawn to people who are the same on and off camera—those are the ones I connect with. Sure, I know people who act sweet in public but secretly try to ruin others’ careers. But the people I keep around inspire and earn my respect.

There’s a difference between being yourself and being completely exposed. People might think they know everything about me because I seem open, but they don’t. Not to sound arrogant, but it’s a bit of a mind game—I share what I’m comfortable with and keep the rest private.

In a recent interview, you said: “No matter how many times people tell me things are going well, the fear of not being enough takes over.” That surprised me—you come across as so confident. Even back when Laura Benanti…

(Note: The last sentence was cut off in the original, so I left it incomplete here as well.)

Let me know if you’d like any refinements!Reflecting on the Jimmy Award, she joked, “I’ll never be as confident as that 18-year-old.” How do you balance that bold confidence with feeling like an imposter?

People see me very differently than I see myself. You’d think over time, as more people accept you, that feeling would fade—but it doesn’t. I come across a certain way, even though I don’t always feel connected to that part of myself.

I believe in myself, but I’m also scared. There’s power in acknowledging both. My brother and I talk about this a lot—he only decided to become an actor a year and a half ago, and suddenly I found out he can sing and has amazing stage presence. We’re at very different points in our careers. He’ll say, “I wish I got that job. I don’t feel good enough.” And I tell him, “Well, if it helps, I’ve been doing this for seven years, I’ve had plenty of jobs, and even now, when people say I’m doing well, I still feel like crap.” I don’t know if that’s comforting, but it’s human. There has to be a balance of self-acceptance—I’m just not there yet.

Speaking of your theater background, do you think that shapes how you approach making an album?

Theater taught me how to control my voice. As a theater performer, you need insane vocal power—unless you’re white, in which case they let you get away with mediocre technique. That’s true in every industry, but especially musical theater. They love rewarding that.

The best thing I learned was stage presence, even when I felt awful. In theater, you don’t have a choice—you can’t call out, even with food poisoning. One Christmas Eve, I was sick on the floor, telling them I couldn’t come in. They said, “It’ll look bad if you don’t show up on Christmas Eve.” So I went, thinking I might die, but I learned to fake it.

They say if you can do theater, you can do anything. I’d say that’s true. Broadway is a grind, but it’s also rewarding. It’s one thing on my résumé I’m genuinely proud of. If you can handle that, you’re a beast.

Would you ever go back to Broadway?

I’d be open to it someday, but not yet. Maybe in five to ten years, when I’m more settled and have accomplished other musical goals first.

Finally, you were a Grand Marshal for World Pride DC with Laverne Cox—an honor any year, but especially meaningful in 2025. What was that like?

Laverne made a great point. I told her my social anxiety was making me want to throw up, and she said, “Me too.” But we agreed to do it because visibility matters—standing together in community is crucial right now. Pride is a protest, and doing it in DC under this administration—filled with worthless, pathetic excuses for human beings—felt important. Plus, I got to bring my friends. We were a big group of gays, with an honorary straight person tagging along. It was nice.Got it. But she dresses in a fun, colorful way anyway, so it’s totally fine.

(This conversation has been edited and condensed.)