Allison Williams, Ben Platt, and the Nepo Baby Conversation We Need to Have

by Chris Peterson

The “nepo baby” conversation has been circling the entertainment industry for a few years now. It really took off after New York Magazine published its viral cover story in 2022, and while most of the attention has gone to film and TV, it’s just as relevant in theatre. Broadway isn’t immune to generational privilege, and that makes the way people respond to the topic all the more revealing.

Which is why I was so struck by something Allison Williams said recently on the Not Skinny But Not Fat podcast. She was asked about being the daughter of two successful parents, journalist Brian Williams and producer Jane Stoddard Williams. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t get defensive. She said something honest and clear.

“Aside from all the many layers of privilege, high on the list is the fact that I could pursue a career in acting without being worried that I wasn’t going to be able to feed myself. I had been surrounded by people who did what I wanted to do…There’s no floor I can fall through.”

That line says so much. It doesn’t diminish her talent or erase her work, but it does acknowledge something important. When you grow up with safety nets, financial stability, and professional connections, your creative risks come with less risk. You can afford to fail. And that’s something most young artists simply can’t say.

Williams has been consistent about this. In an earlier interview with Wired, she said that admitting her advantage doesn’t feel like a loss. She’s proud of her work, but she’s also aware of how she got her foot in the door. That doesn’t mean she didn’t earn her career. It means she’s not pretending the road was the same for everyone.

And that honesty is refreshing.

She talked about how privilege helped her get started, but then she put in the work. She went to Yale. She gave six years of her life to Girls. She moved into producing with M3GAN. She’s doing the work and not pretending it all happened in a vacuum.

Now compare that to how Ben Platt has handled the same conversation.

Ben is incredibly talented. I’ve seen him live. He’s won a Tony. I’ve watched him take on roles that require a level of emotional depth most actors would kill to access. But he’s also the son of producer Marc Platt, who happens to be behind some of the biggest movies and musicals of the last twenty years. That connection helped. That access mattered.

When asked about the nepo baby conversation while promoting Theater Camp last year, Ben didn’t want to talk about it. He said, “We’re going to skip right over that if we can,” and the subject was quickly shut down. That felt disappointing. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to get into it. It was that he didn’t seem willing to acknowledge what was true.

He did soften later. In a different interview with Elle, he admitted he is “an absolute nepo baby.” He said he was grateful for what his father gave him. But by then, the moment had passed. The first instinct was to shut down the conversation, not open it up. And that’s the difference.

I’m not saying Ben Platt hasn’t worked hard. I believe he has. But I also believe how someone responds to these conversations says a lot. When you get defensive or dismissive, you miss an opportunity. You miss the chance to be real. You miss the chance to connect.

There was a comment I read on Reddit that really stuck with me. Someone said, “He could’ve been humble and said something like, ‘While I acknowledge my privilege, I’d like to think my work speaks for itself.’” That’s it. That’s all it would have taken. Instead, it felt like he didn’t want to touch the topic at all.

Theatre is already an industry built on access. You need money to train, time to audition, and often a second job just to stay afloat. If you have parents who can pay your rent, or help you get into the right rooms, or fund your passion while you figure it out, that changes everything. Pretending that doesn’t exist isn’t just misleading. It’s hurtful.

Allison Williams doesn’t pretend. She owns it. She doesn’t try to center herself in the story, but she also doesn’t act like she made it there without a head start. She knows she started on third base. She’s just trying to bring herself home.

And that’s what makes her voice so valuable.

She models what a productive nepo baby conversation can look like. She shows that it’s not about guilt or shame. It’s about honesty. She recognizes that privilege doesn’t mean she didn’t work. It means she got to start the race a little farther down the track. That’s not her fault. But it is her responsibility to say it out loud.

I wish more performers would follow that lead. I wish more Broadway actors would say what Williams said. That they had a floor they couldn’t fall through. That they had support while others were scraping by. That they used their access to build something instead of pretending they built it alone.

The nepo baby conversation doesn’t have to be hostile. It doesn’t have to be a takedown. It can be thoughtful. It can be honest. It can even be healing.

But only if the people who benefit from privilege are willing to name it first.