Should Social Media Following Size Impact Casting?

by Chris Peterson

A colleague told me about a casting session that came down to two actors and, by all accounts, it was genuinely a tie. Same talent. Same training. Same “oh no, they’re both good-good” problem. The creative team couldn’t decide.

So they did what any noble team of artists would do in the year of our lord 2026 when faced with an impossible choice.

They checked Instagram and TikTok.

One actor had the bigger following. That actor got the part.

And yes, I winced. Like a person hearing a beloved cast album get auto-tuned “for the youth.” Because in our perfect little theatre fantasy, casting is sacred. It’s craft. It’s merit. It’s “the role chooses you” and everyone cries and the stage manager gives you a hug and we all go get Thai food.

But in the actual theatre reality we live in, casting is also… capitalism in dance shoes.

Because theatre is art, sure. It is also weekly grosses. It is also producers staring at spreadsheets like they’re reading tea leaves. It is also “How do we keep this open long enough to get through March?” It is also “Can we please sell tickets without having to do a Groupon situation?”

So when someone walks in with a built-in audience, a little alarm bell goes off in the business brain. Not because they’re a better actor. But because they’re a marketing plan with cheekbones.

And look, I’m not pretending social media doesn’t help. We’ve all seen it. A performer posts rehearsal clips, backstage nonsense, little human moments, and suddenly people who haven’t stepped foot in a theatre since their middle school production of Seussical are like, “Wait… Broadway seems fun? Should we go?” That’s real. That moves the needle. People like JJ Niemann have basically turned “theatre content” into its own art form, and when it’s good, it’s GOOD. It makes audiences feel like they’re in on it.

But here’s the thing that makes me want to gently throw my phone into the ocean:

Followers are not talent. Followers are not training. Followers are not the ability to hold a scene, land a laugh, survive a two-show day, and still deliver an eleven o’clock number like you weren’t just emotionally disassembled eight minutes earlier.

A platform is not a conservatory. A viral video is not a substitute for craft. And I know we all “know” that… but the way this is trending, we’re starting to act like we don’t.

Because the danger isn’t that social media is a factor. The danger is that it becomes the first factor. Or the loudest one. Or the lazy tie-breaker when nobody wants to make a hard artistic call.

And then suddenly the job isn’t just “be an excellent performer.” It’s “be an excellent performer and be your own brand manager and post consistently and be charming online and never have a bad day and don’t you dare be awkward on camera.”

Meanwhile, some of the best actors I’ve ever watched would rather eat a jean jacket than film a “Get Ready With Me: Two Show Day” video. Not because they’re above it. Because they’re busy doing the thing. Working. Studying. Building characters. Getting better. Being… theatre people. Quietly exceptional.

And I hate the idea that those actors start losing out because they didn’t also become a content machine.

So should social media matter?

I mean… it already does. That ship has sailed. It has sailed, done a brand deal, and posted a cute little “POV: you’re on the boat with me” montage.

And fine. If two performers are genuinely equal and one of them can also bring visibility to a production? I get why that tips the scale. Theatre has always been a mix of art and commerce. This isn’t new. The delivery system is new. The desperation is not.

But I need us to be honest about the line.

If we’re letting follower counts become the deciding factor before we’ve seriously weighed the work, we are not casting. We’re buying ad space. And you can call it “modern marketing” if you want, but at some point we are going to look around and realize we’ve built an industry where the loudest people get hired and the best people are told to go learn how to be louder.

And that’s how you lose the magic. Not in one dramatic headline moment. In a slow drip of “well, it’s just how it works now” decisions.

The goal is still the story. The work. The thing that happens in a room when a performer makes an audience go quiet without asking permission.

If someone can do that and also bring an audience with them? Amazing. Congrats. No notes. That’s the dream scenario.

Just… please. For the love of Sondheim’s ghost. Don’t let the icing become the cake.