Every day is opening night.

Ladies and Gents,

It happens every spring. No, not the lilacs in bloom or the opening of the Central Park Zoo seal pool (though both are worth a detour). I mean the true renewal ritual of New York: Tony season. That fever-dream stretch of time when publicists begin aging in dog years, chorus kids become red carpet darlings, and even the most hardened critics soften (or spoil) like butter in the sun.

I’ve seen many a Tony season in my day, but this year, perhaps more than most, I find myself thinking about why we do all this—why we sweat, we scheme, we sob backstage over ripped bodices and crushed wigs. And I was reminded of a tale, a true one, from the year 2014, courtesy of my dear friend, flamboyant dandy, and occasional target of this column’s affectionate jabs: Rick Miramontez.

That spring, Rick and the team at DKC/O&M had an embarrassment of riches—they had a hand in the representation of all of the Best Musical nominees. A veritable monopoly on Broadway buzz. The New York Times profiled him (something I normally frown upon, but we’ll allow it just this once), and eyebrows shot up like a Radio City Rockette’s gams. Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? How could one firm play mother to four rival children? But Rick, ever the diplomat, taught us a little something that year. No mudslinging. No gossip grenades. Just pride in your productions and the audacity to campaign on what you love.

“Never campaign on the negatives,” he told me over a midnight martini (his Stoli, mine Tanqueray; both with olives and a twist). “Solely on your positives. That’s pure power.”

That lesson has stuck with me like a fleck of glitter after a night with Rip Taylor. We may claw for accolades, but the goal—the real point of this madness—is celebration. Of community. Of artists. Of excellence. Of Broadway!

So to this year’s crop of nominees: campaign with joy. Be generous. Be humble. And to the publicists, the producers, the playwrights and panicked performers: remember that the Tonys are a moment, but the work? The work is forever.

Tidbits from around town…

Saw Julianna Margulies breezing through ABC Carpet & Home in search of an “apology vase.”

Overheard one college-aged gal say to another, “Marin Ireland is the Michael Shannon of Carrie Coons.” I have no idea what she meant, but I just adore it.

Spied Josh O’Connor in a suspiciously vintage mood, trying on double-breasted dinner jackets at Crowley Vintage.

A toast of something sparkling to you and yours!

Kisses,