'Glow' Star Betty Gilpin: What It's Like To Have Pea-Sized Confidence With Watermelon-Sized Boobs

The months that followed are hard to describe. Studio 54 in 1600s Salem, Massachusetts, maybe. The 14 of us put our faces in each other's armpits and crotches, grabbing the meat of each other's stomachs and thighs as we scream-danced each other to the ground. My body was listening, talking. To her body, to her body, to her body.

I saw our power in other ways too. I won’t name names, but sometimes a TV set can be a shame-and-fear obstacle course for an actress. Ten points if the sexist-gargoyle producer tries to flirt with you after you’ve gone through hair and makeup, so you don’t disgust him. Don’t make eye contact with the Philly cheesesteaks they bring out for the crew. Laugh hard at the lead male actor’s improv, then be word-perfect for your line, “Oh, you boys!” Glow was the first set I’d been on run by women. It was a magical never-never land run by type-A amazons. I saw power and care together for the first time. Seeing women possess those two things simultaneously was a huge lesson for me.

Creators Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch commanded our set with a greater authority than any of the bro-gargoyles of yore, but with open arms, back rubs, and eye contact. This created the constant sense of: You are loved and celebrated—and now that you’re comfortable, please give us your goddamn guts and soul so we can make the best thing possible. Also, have this Philly cheesesteak for God's sake. Alison Brie taught me you don’t have to choose between being liked and having a voice. I watched the crew cry-laugh at her genius bit involving a jig, then suddenly snap to attention to answer questions I hadn’t thought we were allowed to ask. I followed Alison’s lead: If I didn’t understand the scene, I’d ask a question. If I didn’t feel comfortable with something, I’d raise my voice. Her bravery was contagious. And in a shocking twist, no one died.

One day during filming, I stood in a tiny glitter diaper of a costume in the middle of the ring. My body was harder from giving it protein and vegetables and treats every day so that I'd be strong enough to throw Alison Brie into the air. I was flexible from stretching every day so I could guide Marianna Palka safely to the ground. My stomach was tight because I needed to engage my core when Kimmy Gatewood swung me into a suplex. I hadn't winced at the mirror in months. I stood taller. I took up space. I was in an American flag unitard. It was November 8, 2016. Luckily, I was already learning how to push through shame and put up my fists. On January 22, in Washington, D.C., I screamed at the sky and pounded my chest in power and pride, like the mermaids taught me to.

Glow is now available for streaming on Netflix.