The release of Amy Schumer’s Netflix stand-up special, Growing, sparked a predictable wave of online reactions. While some anticipated the usual criticisms leveled at Schumer – labels like “crude” or “crass,” often used to dismiss outspoken female comedians – a more unexpected trend emerged: relentless comparisons to Ali Wong. Reviewers, even those from reputable publications like Vulture and The Ringer, seemed unable to discuss Schumer’s pregnancy-themed comedy without measuring it against Wong’s specials, turning their experiences into a bizarre comedic competition.
This urge to Compare Ali Wong and Amy Schumer, two prominent female comedians who bravely incorporated their pregnancies into their stand-up, raises a crucial question: Why is there such a strong impulse to pit these women against each other? It’s a comparison that feels both reductive and ultimately detrimental to the progress of female voices in comedy. As Kathryn VanArendonk at Vulture herself acknowledged while engaging in the comparison, “It’s unsporting to turn various pregnant comics’ specials into the maternity equivalent of a genital-measuring contest.” Yet, the critical landscape became precisely that – a contest of comedic motherhood.
Alison Herman at The Ringer also fell into this trap, justifying the comparison with “reasons both valid and not,” before delving into a comparative analysis of the “gore” (a thinly veiled euphemism for normal bodily functions) in their routines. This constant side-by-side evaluation creates a false dichotomy and overshadows the individual artistry and experiences of both comedians.
The temptation to compare Ali Wong and Amy Schumer stems partly from the shared subject matter: pregnancy. It’s undeniable that both specials explore the realities of expecting a child. Furthermore, the limited number of women, and especially pregnant women, in the mainstream stand-up scene makes it easy to group them together. However, this logic quickly falls apart when applied to male comedians. We rarely see critics dissecting and ranking male comedians based on their “dick jokes,” despite the prevalence of such material. The sheer volume of male voices in comedy allows for individual appreciation without constant comparative analysis. Dicks, after all, are a common part of life and comedic fodder, and so is pregnancy.
Comparing Schumer and Wong based solely on their shared experience of pregnancy risks creating a “maternity comedy” subgenre, further marginalizing female narratives. It’s akin to comparing prominent female comedians in general simply because of their gender, or black comedians because of their race, or comedians with disabilities because of their physical condition. Such comparisons, while perhaps yielding some interesting observations, ultimately serve to “other” these voices, preventing them from being seen as mainstream and universally relatable.
Consider this: Why aren’t critics equally eager to compare Ali Wong to male comedians who discuss bodily functions with equal candor, or Amy Schumer to her male peers who tackle personal and sometimes controversial topics? Why isn’t Schumer’s Growing analyzed alongside John Mulaney’s latest special, considering they are contemporaries operating on similar professional levels? The simple answer is stylistic differences. And the same logic applies to Schumer and Wong. Their comedic styles, perspectives, and personal experiences are distinct, even when navigating the common ground of pregnancy.
The history of pregnant women in stand-up comedy is sparsely populated. Beyond Schumer and Wong, names like Natasha Leggero and Christina Pazsitzky are relatively recent additions to the national stage. Historically, the demanding nature of touring, coupled with societal expectations around motherhood and financial instability within the comedy world, have created significant barriers for women pursuing comedy careers while raising families. Schumer herself has publicly addressed the challenges, having to cancel tour dates due to pregnancy complications.
Moreover, the historical dominance of male narratives in stand-up has shaped audience expectations. Comedy, at its core, aims to connect with audiences. When pregnant comedians like Schumer and Wong focus on their experiences, they connect deeply with female audiences and mothers in particular. Men who don’t share these experiences might feel alienated, leading to misguided criticisms like “I don’t even think this is stand-up comedy.” This reaction isn’t a reflection of the quality of the comedy, but rather an indication of the limited space historically afforded to diverse perspectives in the mainstream.
Continuing to compare Ali Wong and Amy Schumer perpetuates this “othering” and hinders the normalization of diverse narratives in comedy. We need to move beyond the impulse to create categories and comparisons based on gender or life experiences. Let’s appreciate Amy Schumer’s comedic voice for its own merits, and Ali Wong’s for hers. There is ample space for both, and countless more female and diverse comedic voices, to thrive without being constantly measured against one another. Let’s welcome them all.
