Don't get so offended, it's just a joke
Equal Opportunity Offenders Aren't Telling Jokes — They're Just Saving Face
At the beginning of this year, British comedian Jimmy Carr, known for edgy jokes that toe the line between funny and offensive, received backlash online for a joke from his Netflix special His Dark Material, which premiered on Christmas 2021. The joke has to do with the Holocaust and the Romani people, and it uses a slur — just a warning.
“When people talk about the Holocaust, they talk about the tragedy and horror of 6 million Jewish lives being lost to the Nazi war machine,” his bit started. “But they never mention the thousands of Gypsies that were killed by the Nazis. No one ever wants to talk about that, because no one ever wants to talk about the positives.”
The outcry was swift and ferocious — and rightfully so. The joke isn’t just offensive, it’s not funny. It relies more on the shock value of what Carr’s saying than any actual punchline. It feels subversive, but it’s just a verbal trick. It’s starkly different from a lot of Carr’s other jokes — not because it’s more offensive, per se, but because it punches down at the targeted group, rather than punching up at the villains of the story. But rather than taking the warranted criticism, the comic essentially ignored it — not because he was #BlockingOutTheHaters, but because he had already covered his ass by calling himself an “equal opportunity offender" and saying everything he says is just a joke. “I offend everyone,” Carr told Cult MTL. “Hopefully no one will feel picked on.”
The term “equal opportunity offender” is a riff on the idea of an equal opportunity _____ (fill in the blank: employer, lender, hater, etc.), meant to evoke the idea that the comedian says edgy things about everyone and doesn’t target any one group of people — specifically, the comic talks about their own identities as well as those they’re not a part of. Sure, that sounds great! But think about it like this: Rather than a white comic being called “racist” for making fun of Black people, they can just make fun of every race — including their own — so no specific group is offended. Except, you’re still saying harmful things about other groups of people, right? Now, you’re just doing it to more of them and pretending to do it to yourself.
I’d like to note here that I’m not by any means saying offensive comedy is bad; it’s just that you have to do it right. Sure, make jokes about whoever or whatever you want, but in order for offensive comedy to work, you have to subscribe to the idea of punching down and the fact you shouldn’t do that. You’re not safe from criticism because you “make fun of everyone” if you’re doing it wrong. Those comics are still going to use their platform to say offensive things about others based on generalizations; it’s impossible to avoid the problematic reading of these jokes, and doing more of them isn’t going to suddenly make them less of an attack. Hailing yourself an “equal opportunity offender” doesn’t absolve you of any blame — which is what we’re talking about here.
The thing is that saying you’re “equal” because you also make fun of your own identities is incorrect, because you can never really “target” the identity groups you’re a part of in comedy. Let’s take Carr as an example. He’s a white man, but if she were to make “offensive jokes” about men or white people (or white men — yikes!), it would just be making fun of who he is — aka self-deprecation, which actually heightens humor. If he were to make offensive jokes about Jewish people, though, for example, it would be making fun of a group he has no knowledge or experience of, and there’s a stark contrast between making edgy jokes from a place of lived experience and making ones from a place of assumption. "When that privilege is used in 'joking' to alienate and dehumanise women, homosexuals, trans individuals, ethnic minorities, et cetera, I'd count that as punching down,” Sarah Ilott, senior lecturer in English and film at Manchester Metropolitan University and co-author of Comedy and the Politics of Representation: Mocking the Weak told the Australian Broadcasting Company.
For offensive comments to be equal, then, the comic would have to target their identities in the same way as those they aren’t a part of — but that’s impossible. A comedian is always going to be the one in power, and anything they say about themselves is going to feel significantly less harmful; it feels more like they’re sharing their own experiences rather than making fun of others’. It’s impossible to punch down on yourself. "It's a complex power relationship … based on the social and systemic power and privilege individuals have in relation to their subject matter and the butts of their jokes," said Ilott.
Additionally, all comedy has to be approached and created within the context of the current cultural climate. To create jokes without any knowledge of their greater impact or potential understanding isn’t good, and almost certainly leads to harm. And that, of course, applies to offensive comedy as well — even if you’re targeting everyone.
Although the point of offensive comedy is to walk the line between tasteful and targeted, it still has “to be approached with a level of cultural safety and intellect,” according to Ilott. That safety, she explains, doesn’t mean that you can’t touch on certain topics or have to be nice to everyone, but it’s important to consider how you’re discussing other people. "Cultural safety means I can take any of my disabled friends or any of my [B]lack friends or queer friends or people who are marginalised to any of these shows and not walk away going, 'Once again I was the butt of 50 per cent of the jokes,'" Illot noted. That even applies to shows where you know the comedy will be offensive; no matter the situation, no one should have to feel like a comedian intends to oppress them further by making their pain the punchline.
And, on the surface, when you hear the term “equal opportunity offender,” it sounds like comics are considering the cultural atmosphere. It sounds like they are distributing the wealth (of offense). But the truth is that the EOO title is just a way for comics to protect themselves from criticism. In a way, it is an adaptation to the landscape, but it’s more like Sparknotes than actual learning. It’s a way to say, “I know I should be considerate in how I make fun of groups I have no experience with, but instead, I’m just going to be super-cruel to everyone so I don’t have to.” They’re just jokes! Lighten up! Who cares if a comedian is taking others’ pain and twisting it into a joke that punches down on them?
Of course, being an offensive comedian means, from the get-go, that you’ll be touching on subjects that some may find insulting or problematic — and you shouldn’t have to pull punches. But it’s necessary to consider your comedy in the larger context, and simply calling yourself an EOO to avoid potential controversy is essentially admitting that you don’t care if you cross a line or say something harmful to others — that’s just who you are. Carr’s avoidance of owning up to a joke that’s not good is a perfect example of this. The EOO comic’s job is to offend everyone, they assert, because if everyone’s upset then no one’s upset (right?). Rather than understanding that it’s possible to hurt people with comedy, EOO comedians think they can say whatever they want with no consequence because it’s all just jokes, and the jokes are about everyone, so you can’t say they’re doing anything wrong.
As comedy consumers, it’s easy to get caught up in the catchy title, to think, “Hey, that makes sense” — especially if your identities aren’t being made fun of. It’s the same thinking as people who don’t want to cancel student loans because they already paid theirs off; why should comics go easy on some groups versus others? But the thing is that comedy is words, and words have real consequences — even an offensive comedian needs to understand that. And sure, you can be an “equal opportunity offender” in the sense that you’re touching on several controversial subjects, but if you’re targeting people instead, you’re not being equal; you’re just being a bad comedian.
If you're still a bit confused about the whole thing, let me point you to a comic from The Nib drawn by Mattie Lubchansky, which explains it all way simpler than I ever could.
Interview with the Comedian: Kyle Gordon
If you know Kyle Gordon, it's probably because of one of his characters. Whether it's the kid who's no fun, old-timey baseball guy, or an angsty teen with a guitar, Gordon's characters are making a splash across social media — and TikTok in particular. With almost 3 million subscribers on the video app (and over 130,000 on Instagram), the comedian is bringing in new fans every day who get to enjoy the quippy, hilarious, and too-true parts of life that Gordon spoofs. I told my friend I interviewed him, and she freaked out. "I spent like eight hours watching his TikToks yesterday," she told me. That's the Kyle Gordon effect.
But Gordon is way more than just a TikTok star. As his career hit its stride online, he's used to being behind the camera as much as he is in front of it — and that's exactly how he likes it. Having control over his content and getting to joke about exactly what he wants is an essential part of Gordon's work, and it's something he hopes to hang on to for a long time. "I think the dream scenario is like the Kyle Gordon show, where I just write, star, cast — do everything," the comedian said.
After spending eight hours myself (or maybe more, that's none of your business) scrolling through Gordon's videos, I had the chance to chat with the comedian about character-driven comedy, being an atypical act in a standup city, and getting recognized on the street. Read it all below!
How would you describe your comedy?
I would definitely say it's character based — in my life and online. And, just my own personal taste and preference. I just love doing characters. I like playing different characters to varying degrees of closeness to myself.
Where does that love of characters come from?
It's something I think about myself. … I think it's partly because I like playing heightened versions of people. I'm a pretty big sort of broad, energetic performer, and I really like to write for myself, so I think playing characters is just something I've always been drawn to. I think, in terms of personal influence on my comedy, … on the one hand, Chris Farley was like my god growing up — ever since I was a little kid. But then, as I got older, I love, love, love Christopher Guest and Christopher Guest movies. … I was in awe of how they were able to so precisely capture these really nuanced characters and make them really funny. So, I like to kind of think of myself, ideally, at my best as a broader, more cartoon-y version of Christopher Guest.
The last thing I'll say is I think there's this, maybe a bit of a question or slight stigma of, when you're playing a character, you're kind of putting a shield a little bit between you and other people. I'm not a standup. I've never been a standup. I'm never being myself and being vulnerable on stage, so I don't know if maybe there's some truth to that. But then also, at the end of the day, that really is my taste and the thing I love to do, and the thing I like watching, too.
You said the characters tend to be a heightened version of yourself. Do you draw all your inspiration from your life?
It really depends. Honestly, writing a lot during the pandemic, you're transitioning to doing a lot of stuff on social media, and therefore [I’m] really pushing myself to write and create a ton. The past few years, I've written and been more prolific than I really ever had been in my life because I'm willing to try things. ... I've gotten more comfortable playing characters that are closer to myself, so I think I would say my instinct is more often, and I think even still, the characters I really enjoy playing are farther away from myself. … I think that's more where my instinct lies, but even just having the impulse over the pandemic to have to create so much more stuff, it did kind of open that world. And I've now created a lot more characters that I might not have been as inclined to create before the pandemic. I've now been more comfortable doing that.
That’s interesting. I think a lot of comics felt that the pandemic was an obstacle, rather than an opportunity. What about it made you look at it like that?
I never really had much of a social media presence before the pandemic — a little bit, but nothing near what it is now. Essentially, it was Thanksgiving 2020, and I hadn't been able to perform live anymore, and I was feeling really unfulfilled and kind of bored — all of us were. So, I set this random goal to create a TikTok every day for three months, just to give myself something to work on and do and create. Sort of, just by luck, the first one blew up. That motivated me to want to do more, especially during the pandemic when there wasn't a lot. At first, it was really just this arbitrary number — every day for three months — so that kind of got the ball rolling.
But then, on like a deeper level, I think there is this … psychological thing for me. I think I'm a lot harder on myself. Just trying new things live is, for me, much more challenging than trying new things online. I guess it's the facelessness of it; I just put it out in the ether and forget about it. The fact that I've been able to do that, I just felt much more comfortable taking risks, and maybe I'm just not as hard on myself when it comes to writing and creating and producing and putting things out there that maybe I would be hesitant to put out if I was doing live. And that's great. I think generally I'm pretty hard on myself when it comes to that stuff, so I'm very grateful for having discovered social media, because it has made me less hard on myself, and I've discovered new things and gotten better as a writer because I feel so much more comfortable just trying new things and putting things out there online.
Can you give me a quick overview of how you came to comedy as a career?
[It’s] the same answer that I think a lot of people give: I was just a funny kid — class clown type person. … Going into my senior year of college, I stayed at school. I went to school in Ohio, outside of Columbus, and I was at school for the summer, so I tried an open mic in Columbus, and I did a handful of open mics. That was really the only time I actually really ever seriously gave standup a shot, because then I moved to New York after I graduated and did a lot of improv for the first few years. I feel really grateful for that, because I was able to get on a team at a smaller theater in New York, and that just allowed me for years to have so much stage time — kind of a 10,000 hours thing — and really develop as a performer. I had this pop-punk parody band that was kind of a character-based thing I did, and I'd written this song in college, so I was doing that for a while. That kind of got me into doing characters and performing.
I think there are so many great character performers in New York, but I think it's a little bit of an insular world. And it's definitely a new kind of form, just to be performing characters, so there were a lot of character showcases in New York, but my goal and my hope was that I could go up there, and it would be, like, if it's a show with five or six acts and standups, I go on there and do a character. … I could get on stage with standups and people would have a good time and not be like, “Oh God, what is this guy doing? Like, a little monologue?” Then also, I wanted it to be accessible to people who maybe don't see a lot of comedy, and that's something I've been working a lot on a lot lately too, even. So yeah, I pretty much just started, especially in Brooklyn, doing my thing on standup shows and things like that, and that's kind of where I was pre-pandemic.
What’s it like going to those “normal” standup shows as a character-based comedian? I think character showcases/variety shows have kind of stepped aside for those strict standup shows, at least in New York. Do you feel like there’s a distinction when you do these shows? Are you treated differently?
Yeah, it depends. I mean, there is probably a slight stigma. And just in terms of, like, you see a guy go up with a guitar, you're like, “Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ.” It's especially in New York. I've only ever been out to LA for one week over the summer, and my sense is — and this was, you know, in the one week — I think there's more tolerance for that kind of thing in LA. Just because a lot of people are actors, and they're doing their own like weird, alt-y whatever. There's an alt-y scene in New York, and that's kind of where I came up doing it, but I just, for whatever reason, I think there's more maybe tolerance out in LA for that. That's also why I'm grateful that I came up doing it here, so it wasn't so cushy. Again, my goal is to be actually good so that people can understand that I want to make the audience laugh. I want to make as broad of an audience enjoy it as possible.
On the one hand, I want it to be different and unique. That's something that always drives me. I don't want to do the same thing. Then again, I also never want to—I'm very conscious of not wanting to get in this posture where it's either I'm a genius or this is the funniest thing you've ever seen. I'm a genius, ... or you don't get it, and you're a fucking idiot, and you don't get how much of a unique genius I am. I never want to fall into that trap. It's balancing that and not just pandering to a Brooklyn crowd that's more tolerant of alt-y stuff. When I go on the road, or when I do more like traditional standup rooms in Manhattan, for example, I don't want to let the potential side-eye from the normal standups dissuade me from doing my thing. I want to maintain my confidence in my thing. That's kind of a long way of saying it's a balance.
How do you view social media as kind of changing the comedy industry? And do you think it's a good thing?
I mean, it’s good for me — very good for me. That's another thing — quick tangent. Sometimes people bring me up on the show, like, “So, do you mind if I say you're on TikTok?” Some people don't like that. I'm like, “I don't fucking care.” Like, it's great. If it's an audience, that is [probably] how they know me. To not mention it? That's for sure how they're going to know me. Also, for me, genuinely, I did not change my style at all to fit TikTok or Instagram or anything. I channeled a voice that I had been working on for long in a style that I had been working to develop for a long time and just channel it into this medium, and it's only grown. It's all original characters; I don't even do any trends. … I'm kind of proud of that. I only write original solo sketch kind of stuff.
As to whether I think it's like helping or hurting comedy overall: It's tough. I mean, I'm not a standup…. I think people genuinely, when they see me, they more or less know that I'm not going to be doing standup. So that's on the standup side. Overall, I don't know. I hope it gets people to come out to shows more. … I think it's been good. It's been good for me for sure.
What’s a bit or character you love that either never lands, lands really inconsistently, or just doesn’t hit those successful metrics online?
I mean, [on] TikTok, so many. There are a lot — ones that I thought would work and didn't quite hit. … On stage, … there are a few things. I do one character that's an embarrassing, super-white suburban dad singing a song to his daughter in front of all her friends and really embarrass[ing] her. It's actually gotten better after having toured it. It was such a specific kind of guy and experience and character of a very suburban, wholesome dad that maybe wasn't super relatable to other people. Also, the way I presented it, I am speaking to an imaginary daughter who's in the audience. There were layers of, “Who is this exactly to? Is the audience supposed to think we're actually in this person's house?” It took a while to really tweak it to where it is now. I think it's a lot better. It's not perfect yet, but, that was a character that I struggled with for a while.
The nature of TikTok and social media is that you have almost three million followers, but a lot of people have no idea who you are. Is that strange for you?
It's really interesting. I can tell you, my experience walking through two neighborhoods in New York will be radically different. My girlfriend lives here in Long Island City; no one gives a fuck or knows who I am. There's not one person in this neighborhood who cares about me. But if I go through the Lower East Side or whatever, I usually have people coming up to me. It's just really interesting in that way.
I wonder though, too, if that's just a product of our time as well, because things are so siloed and people's tastes are so siloed. On TikTok, too, someone's like, “Oh, you must have heard of this person. They have 10 million followers,” and I've never seen that person in my life because it doesn't show up on my For You Page. They're like a massive celebrity. ... It is interesting that I can tell you in two seconds [if they know me]. It’s like, we're walking down the street, and I see a high school baseball team — guaranteed they know who I am. Yeah, it's funny
And because you really blew up on TikTok, you tend to have a younger, more Gen Z audience. What’s that like?
I think it's great. I hope that they're going to grow up with me. Some of them are really young, like in high school, but most of the people I see, or who come up to me, are like in their early 20s I'd say is the average. Although, now that I'm growing on Instagram, it's really funny. I know who knows me from Instagram and who knows me from TikTok. It's cool. I still worship the people that I grew up discovering and learning in college. I think around college age or right out of college is like the average fan, I would say.
A perfect example is Kyle Mooney — I literally haven't been able to watch his stuff for 10 years because I don't want to get his voice in my head. He was so influential, and I think anyone who watches comedy knows there's like a million Kyle Mooney copycats running around. But I discovered him in like maybe late high school/college, and then he got on SNL while I was in college. When he got on, I think probably it was like, “Yeah, let's get like the college kids in. Let's get them on board with SNL.” I think it's cool. I think it's great. Hopefully, they’re growing up with me. If people could think about me the way I thought about Kyle Mooney, it's like, holy shit, that's the coolest thing in the world.
To check out Gordon's video content, head to (duh) his TikTok. You can also see videos on Instagram and Twitter, along with info about upcoming shows.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Saturday Night Dead?
A Closer Look: The Costume & Wardrobe Department
The costume & wardrobe department at Saturday Night Live is huge — I’m talking gigantic. There’s the main costume closet at 30 Rock, but there are also four other closets in the building, plus off-site warehouses. The size is due to two things: you need to hold clothes on site for current episodes, and you need to store almost 50 years' worth of costumes and accessories at the same time.
It’s no mistake that the costume & wardrobe department is given so much space — it’s because they earned it. While you may not think about the costumes on SNL as much as you think about the jokes, the costumes are always there as a way to support the cast member’s performance while still allowing them to shine. “The whole idea is that you don't satire a satire, so you let the comedy come through,” costume designer Tim Broecker explained to Fashionista. “It's not the Carol Burnett thing, where the person is coming down the stairway with the curtain rod dress. Certainly, that leads the joke, because that was the joke. We tend to want the verbal to come before the costume.” And although you may not have noticed the wardrobe on SNL, the entertainment world has. The costume & wardrobe department — including the people within it — has won dozens of Emmy Awards for its work.
That’s because costuming for a show like SNL, which changes its sketches, characters, and actors up to the last minute, comes with its fair share of challenges. “You have, more or less, three days to put a show together,” Broecker said. “Within those three days, there's constant rewriting and recasting. You may start a sketch with [Keenan Thompson], so you design a costume for Keenan and work on it all day. But you may come into work on Friday and they've redone the sketch and recast a woman who's a smaller size, so you have to be okay to throw that out and start over.” And yet, despite that time crunch, the team manages to churn out high-quality costumes for each sketch and video. “Nowhere else in the world can something like this happen,” Broecker told Leo.
Costumes can help put the finishes on a character, and they can help the actor slip into the right mindset. That’s especially important for a show like SNL, where cast members are slipping in and out of a handful of characters each episode and need to quickly alternate from one mindset to another. “[There’s] that moment in the fitting when the actor says, ‘Yes… I see, this is the character,’” said Broecker. But it’s not that the costume is defining the character; it’s more that it’s acting as the final touch, the highlighter on the beat face of the cast member. The costume & wardrobe department isn’t in charge of creating a character — it's in charge of pushing actors in the right direction. That’s not easy to do, but it’s an essential function when costuming a show that demands so many characters of different personalities and backgrounds, and one the department manages to do with skill and grace. “The costume is telling the story and then it’s up to the actor to take that and make it their own and to really claim it,” Broecker told The Hollywood Reporter.
Sometimes, the costumers may actually have more input on the character than you’d think. While writers are the ones creating people, they’re not the ones putting clothes on them, so there can sometimes be a disconnect between what they’re imagining and what the character actually needs. “Sometimes writers say things, but it's not really what they want,” explained Broecker. “They may say, ‘Oh, she walks in in a purple dress.’ And you're like, ‘Well, why do you need a purple dress? It should really be red. Here's why — purple, symbolically, means these sort of things, and is that really what we want?’ You have to know why something is and you have to help [writers].” If they’re coming from a specific reference point, the costume designers work closely with the writers to figure out how to marry the intention with the necessary. And if not? Well, the one with the stronger vision and knowledge comes out on top — aka the costume designers.
Aside from made-up characters, though, SNL sketches rely heavily on playing real people. That’s no easy feat, to begin with, but for the show’s costume & wardrobe department, it’s an even greater challenge. It’s more of a reflection on a specific person, says Broecker, and they’re trying to get the costume as close to that of the real person as possible. Plus, everyone is watching — and expecting a lot. “We do this thing a lot now — we call it a side-by-side — because we realized that on Sundays when press would show the real person and then our version next to each other,” explained Broecker. “During dress rehearsals we do our own side-by-sides between the subject we’re trying to copy and the actor doing it so that we can compare, make sure the wig is right and the costume is in the right place.”
Thanks to all that effort, the costume department manages to get real people perfect. Whether it has to source a specific dress from a certain store or create a tie out of scrap fabric because it doesn’t exist anymore, the SNL wardrobe team manages to get spot-on on almost everything. And even if they’re not — have you noticed?
The costume & wardrobe department is one of the most obvious reasons that SNL is still on air. The team has immense skill, a strong sense of time, and a desire to be as polished as possible in very little time. You may think about how writers often stay overnight to get a sketch finished, but you probably haven’t stopped to think about how many all-nighters have been pulled by the costume department to ensure the final touch is put on a look. Or how many times they’ve had to redo one outfit in one sketch. Or how many times they’ve had to talk down a writer from a look that just wouldn’t work. “It's not for the faint of heart,” said Broecker. “You have to constantly be thinking on your feet, and you have to be able and willing to throw anything out at a moment's notice and start over from scratch.”
And though the costume designers on the show have almost too much experience (Broecker has been working in costuming for almost 30 years) the fluidity and last-minuteness of SNL still manage to keep them on their toes. That’s a good thing for us, the viewers, because it means that the already incredible costume & wardrobe department is only continuing to get better. For Broecker, that’s one of the best things about his position: “On some level, SNL has been the best schooling I've ever had in my entire life.”
The Comedy Showcase
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2. Tiffany Haddish and Aries Spears accused of child sexual abuse in lawsuit; their reps call it a ‘shakedown’ — interesting news to stay on top of
3. Hulu's Welcome to Wrexham from Rob McElhenney and Ryan Reynolds