Harvey Fierstein says he is no longer interested in performing simply for the sake of staying visible.

At 72, the actor, playwright and four-time Tony Award winner says the reason he appears on stage less often is straightforward: the work no longer excites him.“I’ve been offered a few things,” he says, “and everything I’ve read just bored the shit out of me.”Instead, Fierstein keeps to a disciplined routine of 10-hour workdays, dividing his time between writing and quilting.

He is also writing a book about quilting, a pursuit he describes with the same seriousness he once reserved for theatre. His focus remains on meaningful work rather than constant performance.Even without appearing regularly on stage, Fierstein’s influence remains firmly embedded in contemporary theatre.

A new off-Broadway production of La Cage aux Folles is scheduled for June, starring Billy Porter, while a revival of Kinky Boots has opened in London featuring Johannes Radebe.For Fierstein, Kinky Boots continues to resonate because it addresses emotional conflicts that remain universal.

Adapted from the 2005 British film and featuring music by Cyndi Lauper, the musical tells the story of a struggling shoe factory owner in Northampton who saves the family business by partnering with a drag queen to create footwear for drag performers.

The production premiered in Chicago in 2012 before moving to Broadway, where it won six Tony Awards and established itself as a global commercial success.Fierstein says the heart of the show is often misunderstood.

While many see it as a bright, energetic musical built around drag performance, he argues its emotional core lies elsewhere.“What I love most about Kinky Boots is a lot of times men get dragged to see musicals—heterosexual men—and they sort of put up with it,” he says.

“But Kinky Boots, women love it, but it’s for men.”He describes it primarily as a story about fathers and sons, and about the tension between parental expectations and personal truth. Men, he says, often struggle to discuss those emotional conflicts openly.Born in Brooklyn, New York, Fierstein grew up in a Jewish household with his father, a handkerchief manufacturer, his mother, who later became a school librarian, and his older brother Ron, who would later become his longtime manager.

His earliest connection to performance came through his mother, who regularly took the family to Broadway shows. At home, Fierstein would sing show tunes in his room, imagining himself as leading ladies such as Mary Martin, Ethel Merman and Chita Rivera.

His sexuality entered family conversation unexpectedly when his parents discovered nude photographs he had taken of two friends posing on his mother’s bed. He recalls his mother reacting with anger, saying they had “raised a queer,” that she could not trust him and that he had broken her heart.Yet he says there was no demand to change and no formal rejection.

Instead, there was what he describes as a quiet, unspoken acceptance.As a child, Fierstein also struggled with body image. He was particularly self-conscious about his weight and recalls taping down what he called his “boy boobs” with bandages. Asked when he finally became comfortable with himself, his answer is immediate.“Never,” he says.

He believes that discomfort is common among actors, who often feel safer disappearing into characters than confronting themselves directly.“I think anybody who acts is a chameleon that just never really is comfortable with themselves,” he says. “They’re much more comfortable hiding inside a character.”

His perspective on insecurity extends beyond sexuality. Fierstein rejects the idea that self-doubt belongs primarily to gay men, arguing that it is universal.“Heterosexuals are self-loathing as well,” he says. “Nobody judges you as badly as you judge yourself. I don’t think that’s just a gay thing. It takes a lot of work to love yourself.”

He says that growing up, he assumed his life would follow the same milestones as those of his straight peers: long-term love, partnership and family. It was only later, stepping into the wider world, that he realised society did not necessarily expect or allow the same future for him.

After studying at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where he focused on ceramics, Fierstein became immersed in New York’s underground theatre scene during the early 1970s. He also spent time in the West Village, then a centre of gay life and political unrest.Although he was not present during the Stonewall riots in 1969, he was among the crowds gathered the following day.

It was a period shaped by both liberation and instability, with sexual freedom existing alongside deep social stigma.By the time he graduated in 1973, he was performing in experimental productions, including Andy Warhol’s Pork.

His now-famous gravelly baritone voice developed early, partly due to overdeveloped false vocal cords and partly from permanent damage caused by screaming too loudly on stage.His major breakthrough came with Torch Song Trilogy, a series of plays he wrote and starred in beginning in 1978.

Eventually combined into a four-hour Broadway production, the work followed a Jewish drag queen navigating love, heartbreak, family conflict and the search for dignity.The material drew heavily from Fierstein’s own life, including his experiences with drag performance, casual sex, romantic disappointment and his relationship with his mother.

It arrived at a moment when openly gay stories were still largely absent from mainstream commercial theatre.The production became both a critical and cultural milestone. Fierstein was promoted as one of the first openly gay writers to achieve major Broadway success with openly gay material.

Torch Song Trilogy ran for three years and earned him Tony Awards for Best Play and Best Actor in 1983.That success, followed by his adaptation of La Cage aux Folles, established him as one of Broadway’s most prominent writers.During that period, he also became known for publicly defending gay identity in mainstream media.

In a widely remembered interview with journalist Barbara Walters, Fierstein responded to questions about homosexuality with directness and calm.When asked what it was like to be homosexual, he replied: “What’s it like to be heterosexual? I don’t know, I’m just a person.”He also challenged the framing of homosexuality as illness or abnormality, arguing that it had always existed throughout human history and should be understood as part of normal human life.

But as his career accelerated, the AIDS crisis transformed everything.“In the summer of 1982, Aids slammed into us like a tsunami,” he says.He lost friends, former lovers and partners as the epidemic devastated New York’s gay community. He says he does not carry survivor’s guilt, largely because many of his closest friends also survived, but he remembers the period as one of relentless grief.

“I was surrounded by sick people,” he says. “Imagine seeing somebody for dinner and then finding out that they took their own life that night.”He also remembers the political response with anger. Public officials and public discourse often framed AIDS as a “gay disease,” turning medical crisis into moral judgment.“They were talking about putting us in encampments,” he says.

“That’s the first thing they think of: lock everybody up. They don’t think of dealing with the problem.”For Fierstein, the lessons of that era remain relevant. Theatre, identity and politics are inseparable because all are ultimately about visibility and dignity.

Even now, whether writing musicals, stitching quilts or reflecting on survival, he approaches the work the same way: honestly, without apology, and with little patience for performance that lacks substance.