I do keep getting these bad girl roles. The funny thing is that

“I do keep getting these bad girl roles. The funny thing is that, honestly, I don't think I'm believable as these aristocratic mean girls. But I do love playing them.” — so spoke Katie McGrath, the actress known for her poise, intelligence, and quiet strength. Within this reflection lies not merely a thought on acting, but a profound meditation on identity, perception, and the joy of transformation. For what she describes is the paradox that dwells in all who create — the tension between who we are and who the world believes us to be, between the image others assign and the truth we carry within.

In these words, McGrath reveals both humility and insight. She is cast, again and again, as the “bad girl,” the figure of elegance and cunning, the aristocrat who conceals cruelty beneath refinement. Yet she confesses that she does not find herself believable in such roles — not because she lacks skill, but because the essence of such characters feels foreign to her spirit. Here we glimpse the dual nature of art: it demands that one inhabit both self and other, that one enter the realm of contradiction and illusion. And yet, she adds, “I do love playing them,” for in that contradiction lies freedom — the ability to explore sides of the human heart that life itself rarely permits.

Throughout history, the actor has held a sacred and mysterious place among the arts. In ancient Greece, performers donned masks to represent gods, heroes, and villains alike. To wear a mask was not to deceive, but to reveal a deeper truth — the truth that every human soul contains multitudes. Thus, when Katie McGrath speaks of loving the very roles she feels unsuited for, she expresses the eternal artist’s joy: the delight of stepping beyond the boundaries of self, of learning compassion through the act of becoming. In portraying the “bad girl,” she touches something universal — the part of every person that wrestles with pride, ambition, and power.

There is also a quiet wisdom in her disbelief that she is “believable” in such roles. This humility marks the difference between artifice and authenticity. For the greatest performances do not arise from arrogance, but from curiosity — from the willingness to search for truth even in what feels alien. To play the villain with conviction, one must not revel in wickedness, but understand it; not mimic malice, but reveal its humanity. In this, McGrath echoes the lessons of the great tragedians of old — that the purpose of drama is not to glorify the dark, but to illuminate it, to show that even in the coldest heart burns a spark of the divine.

The story of Sir Laurence Olivier, the legendary actor, offers a fitting reflection. When he portrayed Richard III — England’s most infamous king — Olivier did not seek to mock him, nor to make him monstrous beyond recognition. Instead, he looked for Richard’s wounded pride, his hunger for respect, his desperation to be seen. By finding the human within the villain, he made Richard unforgettable. So too does McGrath, in her own way, follow that tradition. The “bad girl” she plays is no longer merely a caricature of cruelty; she becomes a study in pain, desire, and defiance — a mirror of the parts of ourselves we would rather not face.

Yet there is another layer to her words — one that speaks to the soul of anyone who has ever felt misunderstood. The world, like the casting director, often assigns roles to us: the quiet one, the rebel, the strong one, the failure, the saint. But our truest self is always larger than these roles. Sometimes life asks us to play parts that feel foreign, to step into versions of ourselves we do not yet recognize. The wise learn, as McGrath has, to find joy in the performance — to explore every facet of being without losing the thread of who they truly are. For even when we act a part, something authentic shines through: our imagination, our courage, our capacity to love what we do.

Let this, then, be the lesson: embrace the masks life gives you, but never forget the face beneath. When the world casts you as something you do not believe yourself to be, do not resist — play the part with grace and curiosity, and in doing so, learn more about yourself. For every role, even those that feel ill-fitted, reveals a hidden strength. And as Katie McGrath teaches, even the “bad girl” can be a teacher — showing us how to hold power without cruelty, confidence without pride, and passion without corruption.

Thus, her words ring with timeless truth: the artist, and indeed every human soul, is both the actor and the role — both the truth and the illusion. To live well is to perform with heart, to play with courage, and to love the story even when it asks us to be someone we never thought we could be. In this lies the art of life itself — to accept our contradictions, to laugh at our masks, and to find, in every performance, the whisper of our truest self.