Stockard Channing leans against a brick wall, her breath visible in the chilly night air of a 1950s backlot, and begins to sing. It’s not a power ballad about finding true love. It’s not a high-energy dance number designed to wake up the back row of the theater. Honestly, There Are Worse Things I Can Do is something much messier. It is a raw, jagged confession of a woman who knows the world has already decided she’s the villain.
Most people who grew up watching Grease remember the hand-jives and the leather jackets. They remember "You're the One That I Want" and the flying car. But if you strip away the neon and the hairspray, the emotional spine of the entire story rests on this two-and-a-half-minute song. Rizzo isn't just a "tough girl." She’s a person navigating a brutal double standard that, frankly, hasn't disappeared as much as we’d like to think it has since 1978.
The Subversive History of Rizzo’s Anthem
When Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey wrote the original 1971 Chicago play, Grease was a lot darker. It was grimy. It was loud. It was deeply concerned with the working-class realities of 1950s teenagers. By the time the movie rolled around in 1978, a lot of that grit was polished away to make room for John Travolta’s charisma. However, There Are Worse Things I Can Do survived the transition because it was too important to lose.
It almost didn't make it, though.
Production lore tells us that the producers weren't sure about the song. They thought it was a "downer." They wanted more upbeat tracks. Stockard Channing had to fight for it. She knew that without this moment, Betty Rizzo is just a caricature of a "mean girl." With it, she becomes the most relatable person on screen.
The song serves as a direct rebuttal to the purity culture of the 1950s. While Sandy is celebrated for her innocence—even though that innocence is often portrayed as a lack of agency—Rizzo is punished for her experience. She’s being "slut-shamed" before we even had a mainstream word for it. She looks at the "good girls" and doesn't see virtue; she sees a different kind of calculation.
Breaking Down the Lyrics: More Than Just a Defiant Shrug
Rizzo starts by listing what she could do. She could flirt with every guy she sees. She could string along a "fine young man" just to keep him interested. She could "wait and hope and wish."
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But she doesn't.
The line "To flirt with all the guys / Smilin' back with magic eyes" is a direct shot at the performative femininity of the era. She’s saying that being "easy" isn't the worst sin; being a fake is. To Rizzo, the ultimate betrayal isn't a lapse in morality, but a lapse in authenticity. She’d rather be hated for who she is than loved for a lie she can’t maintain.
Then she hits the climax. The bridge of the song shifts from defensive to vulnerable. "But to cry in front of you / That's the worst thing I could do." This is the pivot point. It’s the realization that her "toughness" isn't just a personality trait—it’s a survival mechanism. If she cries, she loses. If she shows the hurt, the people who judge her win.
Why We Still Care Decades Later
We live in an era of "main character energy." Everyone wants to be the hero of their own story. But Rizzo? She’s the person who accepts being the antagonist in everyone else’s story because she’s too tired to argue.
The song resonates today because the "worse things" haven't changed. We still judge women for their choices while excusing the men involved (looking at you, Kenickie). We still value a specific type of "polite" victimhood over the loud, messy reality of people who make mistakes.
When Adrienne Warren performed this song in the Grease: Live production or when countless Broadway Rizzos take the stage, they aren't just singing a period piece. They are channeling a universal feeling of being misunderstood. It's about the internal struggle of maintaining a reputation versus protecting a heart.
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The song’s musical structure is actually quite clever. It doesn't rely on big, orchestral swells. It’s intimate. It feels like a secret. The orchestration in the 1978 film is notably sparse compared to the rest of the soundtrack. This allows Channing’s vocal fry and weary delivery to take center stage. You can hear the exhaustion in her voice. She’s tired of being the town's talking point.
Comparing the Versions: Who Sang It Best?
Art is subjective, obviously. But some versions of There Are Worse Things I Can Do hit harder than others.
- Stockard Channing (1978): The gold standard. She was 33 playing a teenager, which sounds ridiculous, but her maturity actually gave the song the weight it needed. A 17-year-old singing this feels like angst; Channing makes it feel like a life sentence.
- Vanessa Hudgens (2016): This was a massive cultural moment. Hudgens performed this role on Grease: Live just hours after her father passed away. That real-world grief bled into the performance. When she sang about not crying, you could see the sheer willpower it took to keep it together.
- Megan Mullally (1994 Broadway Revival): Before she was Karen Walker on Will & Grace, Mullally was a powerhouse on stage. Her version was punchier, more aggressive. It leaned into the anger rather than just the sadness.
Each version highlights a different facet of the character. Is she sad? Is she mad? Is she just done with everyone’s nonsense? Usually, she’s all three.
The Cultural Impact on Modern Pop
You can see the DNA of this song in modern music. When Olivia Rodrigo sings about the pressures of being "perfect" or when Taylor Swift writes about her reputation, they are standing on the shoulders of Betty Rizzo.
There Are Worse Things I Can Do was one of the first mainstream "unapologetic" songs for a female character in a musical. It didn't ask for forgiveness. It didn't end with a promise to change. It ended with a statement of fact. This paved the way for characters like Elphaba in Wicked or even the darker turns in Heathers. It validated the idea that the "bad girl" has a soul worth exploring.
Rizzo’s pregnancy scare—the context for the song—is often treated as a subplot in the film, but it’s the only part of the movie that feels truly "real." While everyone else is worried about the drag race or the dance contest, Rizzo is facing a life-altering reality in a time when her options were practically non-existent. The song is her processing the terrifying possibility of being a pariah.
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Addressing the Misconceptions
A lot of people misinterpret this song as Rizzo being "promiscuous and proud." That’s a surface-level take. If you listen closely, she’s not actually bragging about her sexual history. She’s defending her integrity.
She’s pointing out the hypocrisy of the people around her. She sees the girls who act sweet but talk behind her back. She sees the guys who use her and then mock her. The "worse things" she refers to are the small, daily cruelties that "good" people commit.
It’s also not a "breakup" song. Kenickie isn't even in the scene. This is a conversation Rizzo is having with herself, and by extension, with Sandy (who is watching from the shadows). It’s a bridge between two different types of womanhood that were often pitted against each other.
How to Apply the Rizzo Mindset (The Actionable Part)
There is a strange kind of power in accepting that you won't be everyone’s favorite person. Rizzo’s anthem teaches us a few things about navigating a judgmental world.
- Own your narrative. If people are going to talk about you anyway, you might as well live a life that makes you happy. Don't waste energy trying to convince people who have already decided to dislike you.
- Identify your "worst things." Rizzo knew her limits. She knew that crying in front of her enemies was her breaking point. Knowing your own vulnerabilities helps you protect them.
- Value authenticity over "niceness." Being "nice" is often just a social mask. Being kind and being real are much more valuable traits, even if they make you less popular in the short term.
- Acknowledge the double standard. Recognizing that the playing field isn't level doesn't make you a victim; it makes you a realist. Once you see the game for what it is, you can stop playing by the rules that were designed to make you lose.
If you ever find yourself being judged for a mistake or a choice that didn't fit the "standard" mold, put on this track. It’s a reminder that being "bad" by society’s standards is often just the price you pay for being honest with yourself.
Rizzo didn't need a transformation at the end of the movie. She didn't need to put on a poodle skirt. She just needed people to see her. And by the time the final note of the song fades out, we finally do.
To really understand the impact of this song, go back and watch the 1978 film, but skip the flashy numbers. Go straight to the scene by the fence. Watch Stockard Channing's eyes. You'll see a woman who isn't just playing a part, but someone who is giving voice to every person who has ever been told they weren't "good enough" because they were "too much."
If you're looking to dive deeper into the history of musical theater’s greatest character studies, start by researching the original 1971 Chicago cast of Grease. The differences in how Rizzo was portrayed before the movie might surprise you. From there, compare the lyrical changes between the stage play and the film—you'll see exactly how the songwriters fought to keep Rizzo's edge in a Hollywood world.