After Amy Schumer’s latest Netflix stand-up special, Growing, dropped, a predictable wave of commentary followed. While some critiques focused on the special itself, a significant portion of the discourse immediately veered into comparing Schumer with another prominent female comedian: Ali Wong. This wasn’t just casual comparison; it often morphed into a contest, pitting the two against each other, evaluating who delivered the “better” pregnant comedian set. This tendency to constantly juxtapose Schumer and Wong, especially within the niche of “pregnant comedian” content, raises crucial questions about how we consume and critique comedy, particularly when it comes to women’s voices in stand-up. Why is there this persistent urge to “Ali Compare” these two incredibly talented individuals instead of appreciating their unique comedic styles and contributions?
The inclination to compare Amy Schumer and Ali Wong, often framed around their pregnancy-themed specials, feels inherently limiting. As highlighted by critics like Kathryn VanArendonk at Vulture, this comparison can quickly devolve into an “unsporting” competition, reducing their work to a “maternity equivalent of a genital-measuring contest.” VanArendonk, despite acknowledging the problematic nature of this comparison, herself engages in it, contrasting Schumer’s comedic approach to Wong’s more explicit style. Similarly, The Ringer‘s Alison Herman, while admitting the comparison has “reasons both valid and not,” still proceeds to analyze the “gore” levels in their specials – using “gore” as a euphemism for the entirely normal realities of the female body during pregnancy. This recurring theme in reviews and online discussions reveals a deeper issue: why are these two talented comedians so frequently placed in direct opposition to each other?
It’s tempting to justify these comparisons by pointing to the shared subject matter – pregnancy. And yes, both Schumer and Wong have created stand-up specials that delve into their experiences with pregnancy. Furthermore, the undeniable reality is that in the landscape of mainstream stand-up, female voices, and particularly pregnant female voices, are still relatively scarce. However, this scarcity shouldn’t automatically lead to direct comparisons. We don’t typically see critics constantly comparing male comedians who tell dick jokes, dissecting whose joke is funnier or more “effective.” The sheer volume of male comedians performing stand-up allows for individual appreciation without the need to constantly rank and compare within narrow categories. Dicks, after all, are a common part of life and comedic fodder, and that’s widely accepted. Pregnancy, equally a part of life, should be afforded the same acceptance and diverse comedic exploration without being confined to comparative frameworks.
The act of constantly comparing pregnant comedians, or female comedians in general, risks “othering” them, preventing their narratives from becoming truly mainstream. It subtly reinforces the idea that there’s limited space for women in comedy, creating an environment where they are constantly measured against each other rather than evaluated individually. Why aren’t we, for instance, seeing the same level of comparative analysis between Amy Schumer and John Mulaney, who are arguably peers in terms of career trajectory and Netflix platform? The likely answer is “because they have different styles.” The same logic should absolutely apply to Schumer and Wong. Their comedic styles, while both brilliant and insightful, are distinct. Schumer often employs a more self-deprecating and observational style, while Wong is known for her raw, unfiltered, and often explicit humor. These are stylistic choices, not points to be scored in a competition.
Historically, the stage for stand-up comedy has been overwhelmingly dominated by male narratives. The demanding lifestyle of touring and developing material has presented significant barriers for women, particularly mothers. Amy Schumer herself had to cancel tour dates due to pregnancy complications, highlighting the real-world challenges. Furthermore, comedy audiences have historically been male-dominated, accustomed to male perspectives and experiences being centered. This has led to a situation where female comedians, especially when discussing experiences unique to women like pregnancy and motherhood, can be perceived as creating a “subgenre” of comedy, rather than simply contributing to the broader comedic landscape. When male audience members express confusion or disconnection with Schumer’s or Wong’s pregnancy material, questioning if it’s even “stand-up comedy,” it underscores this ingrained bias. Comedy is about connection, and while pregnancy narratives may resonate more strongly with female audiences, that doesn’t diminish their validity or comedic merit. It simply reflects a different, and historically marginalized, perspective finally finding its voice.
Instead of falling into the trap of constant comparison, we should celebrate the diversity of voices emerging in stand-up comedy. We don’t need to pick a “favorite” pregnant comedian or declare one “better” than the other. There is ample room for both Amy Schumer and Ali Wong, and countless other female comedians, to thrive and contribute their unique comedic perspectives. By moving away from comparative critiques and embracing individual appreciation, we can foster a more inclusive and richer comedy landscape where diverse narratives are not only welcomed but also recognized as integral to the evolution of stand-up. Let’s appreciate Ali Wong and Amy Schumer for their individual brilliance and stop reducing their contributions to a competition that no one needs to win.
