Comedy stretches, often breaks, boundaries; it is a risky venture. Stand-up comedy in particular has a tradition of ridiculing moral, social, and political conventions. The performer steps into a space on the margin, observing the incongruities of society's behavior and/or attitudes and envisioning alternative interpretations of those behaviors. He or she then returns to the group bearing this newfound 'knowledge.' To varying degrees, stand-up comics serve as social interpreters.[1] Jeremy Beth Michaels identifies herself, and other comics, as 'living prophets': "We say the things people are too afraid to say or don't know how to say. That's why you laugh at our jokes, because you can relate to it [sic]" (Villagran, para.3). Humour depends in part on collaboration, on audience recognition and participation (active or reactive) -- no joke is funny if it has to be explained.

A common framework is logically a central element in a successful performance, but of equal, if not greater, concern is audience reaction to the performer - the message cannot be heard if the medium is rejected. "The comedian's traditional license for deviant behavior and expression," theorizes Lawrence E. Mintz, is key to "understanding the role of stand-up comedy in the process of cultural affirmation and subversion" (88). The status of comedic entertainer grants the speaker freedom to engage in "deviant behavior." A potential to affirm or subvert cultural norms gives the position an ambiguous power. The comic seemingly controls the interaction - he or she knows the intended destination of the audience - but the possibility of the crowd derailing the process is an ever-present hazard. A miscue can be fatal for any performer, but the balancing act is complicated by gender. For the purposes of this discussion, all references to gender are based upon Sally McConnell-Ginet's definition of gender as "the complex of social, cultural, and psychological phenomena attached to sex" (76). Clearly other factors like race, ethnicity, physical disability, and sexuality (whether articulated or inferred) can affect audience response, but the parameters of this discussion require a narrower focus. The subjects of this study are predominantly white (or could pass for it), most are straight, abled, and Christian, though several are openly Jewish and use this in their acts. Mintz's use of 'traditional' is a succinct modifier for, as this article will reveal, stand-up comedy has been (and regrettably still is) largely a man's domain.

The presence of a female comic elicits a much different audience reaction than that of her male counterpart. "Deviant behavior and expression" are somehow more palatable from a man. He is granted his due - assumed to be funny until he proves to be otherwise - while she starts from a different position - she must prove that she can be funny. Comedian Kim Wayans observes:

Although the variety of comedic approaches are as varied as the comedians themselves, one form of humour continues to be identified with women in particular: self-deprecation. Through her 1976 study of male and female comics, Joan B. Levine determined that "self-satire can be expected to be women's niche in comedy" (174). Three years later, Paul E. McGhee concluded that the female use of self-deprecatory humour may reflect an internalization of social values, but held out hope that "changes in socialization" stemming from the "women's liberation movement should modify . . . humour preferences among women" (199). In light of women's social progress (at least for white, heterosexual, able-bodied, educated, North American women) in the twenty-six years since Levine's work, has there been any comedic 'progress' for women? This article will address the pitfalls and potential represented by self-deprecatory humour and the issue of whether or not it is a gendered practice. Is the female comic still in her "niche" or has she claimed a wider territory?

In an effort to determine if self-deprecation persists in the comedy routines of women, and if so, to what extent and to what end, one hundred and fifty performances were reviewed.[2] Thirty-seven female and one hundred and thirteen male comics were observed. The lengths of the routines varied (from three to forty-five minutes) but the average was ten minutes. Selection was random -- a sampling of North American television and video performances from the last three decades.[3] Of the males only five utilized self-deprecatory humour (4.4%); eight of the females used self-deprecation (21.6%). My findings indicate that self-deprecatory humour is neither restricted to, nor the staple of, female comics. It is, however, more prevalent in their stand-up routines than in those of their male counterparts.

Self-deprecation can be construed as a form of self-censorship. Satire is directed towards the self rather than confronting external targets. In a sense, it is a form of accommodation -- accommodating the perceptions of others. Censorship of female comedians arguably begins before their routines do. An example of this can be seen in the way a comic responds to hecklers. Greg Dean's guide to stand-up comedy cautions, "you can't blast women as hard as you can men no matter how much they deserve it" (164). Reasoning that "everyone has a primordial instinct to protect women" -- if only! -- Dean warns, "if you hit them with too harsh a line, the audience will turn on you" (164). Kibler's study of the representation of the audience on televised stand-up performances also raises the reality of gender and censorship. She observes that "the basic unit of [the] congenial Improv audience is a man and a woman laughing as a couple. Audience close-ups most often capture laughing pairs of men and women" (50). Dissenting laughter or the refusal to laugh at (and/or quietly accept) sexist or negative comments do not get airtime.

Skepticism about women's comedic abilities lingers. Widespread resistance to women's humour -- the persistent denial that it exists or is funny: "everyone knows women can't tell jokes" and that "feminists have no sense of humour"[4] -- often stymies the attempts of those women who venture into stand-up comedy. Kathleen Puls Andrade, co-founder of "Funny Women Fest" laments, "I still get emails saying 'It's already been proven women aren't funny, and so you can cancel your festival'" (Amedeo, n. para.). Comic Leighann Lord notes that you "have to fight all those stereotypes . . . that women aren't funny. People still think that [in 2002]" (Johnson, para. 2.). The assumption is twofold: women and men find the same things funny, but women are incapable of effectively conveying jokes or humorous anecdotes.

To appreciate "male" humour is a positive female trait -- a common tip in teen magazines is to laugh at the boys' jokes, let them know you have a sense of humour[5] -- whereas the creation of "female" humour is considered to be too aggressive for a "lady." Men are expected to be the "initiators" of humour, women the "responders", concludes McGhee (183).

Traditional gender expectations thwart women's comedic efforts on yet another level: conventional definitions of "femininity" and "lady-like" behavior render the stance of superiority inherent in stand-up comedy "inappropriate" for women. "Society gyps women", complains comedian Beth Littleford, "because comedy is seen as boys' territory . . . Women have to undo society's 'lady-izing'." (Hammer, para.61.). Stand-up comedy is an aggressive act; to elicit laughter is to exert control, even power. To stand on a stage and initiate humour in an attempt to evoke laughter (and applause) is to reject the submissive, passive role determined for women by North American social conventions. For female comics, gender-based behavioral norms collide with comedic methods. Comedian Robin Tyler offers an astute summary of the situation:

Although Elinor Och's work "Indexing Gender" does not specifically deal with women and comedy, her discussion of stances, social acts, and social activities can help to illuminate the situation of women in comedy. Gender ideologies, Ochs concludes, "are socialized, sustained and transformed through talk" (336). Specifically, "the relation of language to gender is constituted and mediated by the relation of language to stances, social acts, social activities, and other social constructs" (337). Stance is a culturally determined role/identity constructed through the use of particular speech strategies. In the case of a female comedian at least two distinct stances are at play: her identity as a female and as a public performer of comedy. These are in fact two conflicting stances (from a conventional standpoint): to be female is to be passive, demure and unobtrusive, while a comedian seizes centre stage, actively engages the audience and commands attention.

The position of the female comic is further complicated by the sexual aspect of comedy. Whether or not the comedian is actually dealing with sex, the edgy, aggressive quality of stand-up comedy is frequently linked to sex. A literal loss of the microphone strikes Paul Reiser as "like having your balls grabbed . . . you have no control." The "metaphor of 'microphone as dick,'" observes Betsy Borns, is shared by "other male comedians" (21). Where does this interpretation leave the female comic?[7] Regina Barreca wittily encapsulates the dilemma: "Making a joke is like making a pass -- you take control, take a risk, and try to bring the house down. Good girls just wait."[8] The laughter and applause which follow a successful performance, constitute, in part, what Ochs deems the act -- what is accomplished/performed through the behavior of speaking. Many, although not all, female comedians actively strive to convey a message through their routines and arguably all comics (male and female alike) seek to make their audiences think, for all comedy is based upon incongruities. As Mintz describes it: "the essence of the art is creative distortion. Such distortion is achieved through exaggeration, stylization, incongruous context, and burlesque. (Treating that which is usually respected disrespectfully and vice versa)" (95). Expressing a specific political or social view, or even a more vague questioning of social or cultural values and behaviors may also be construed as an act under Ochs' definition.

Acts are employed within a framework of a larger event or activity -- for example, a comic performs his or her jokes in front of an audience in a comedy club. The onlookers are in effect a microcosm of the larger speech community, the members of which share, along with a set of social rules, certain conventions in the use and interpretation of linguistic features.[9] In many cultures public narration is not open to females, thus limiting the stances and acts available to women. Ostensibly, North American culture is tolerant of the entrance of women in public arenas; however, some subtle, and not so subtle, barriers obstruct the female comic in particular.

For a woman to place herself in the foreground is to threaten "the most basic social gender arrangements" observes Leigh Marlowe (150). The comedian's "conversational dominance," she continues, violates "norms of gender-based verbal socialization prescribed for females: passive presentation; hesitant, tentative speech; eye-contact avoidance; and closed body postures" (150). To put it simply: in "doing" comedian the woman ceases to "do" female; that is, the linguistic behavior of one contradicts the expected speech patterns of the other. While the woman performer may hold her personal identity to be fluid, adapting to changing social situations, the social definitions by which she can be, and is, judged are relatively rigid. Ochs in fact acknowledges the limitations in adopting stances: stance, act, and activity are linked by language, but they are not unidirectional. One can assume particular identities (stances), which are reflected in different activities, which in turn can be limited by one's stance.

Women's humour is frequently interpreted as a challenge. The assertive nature of comedy often proves to be threatening to particular audience members (chiefly, but not entirely, men). Stand-up comedy is, in and of itself, an aggressive act and female performers quickly learn that (the perception of) too much aggression can alienate the audience. Of course "overaggressive" is a highly subjective term because the very presence of a female comic is itself an affront to the power dynamic; each performer directly usurps the male "authority" to evoke laughter. All women in comedy challenge the validity of separate spheres based upon gender -- male space is public, female space is private. Whatever their style -- provocative or ingratiating -- comics command attention. The creators of Wisecracks effectively illustrate this point through the powerful juxtaposition of two disparate comedians:

Humour can be a means of controlling a social situation. It can defuse a threatening situation, ease a tense moment, or destroy an adversary without an overt confrontation. Power can stem from the successful use of humour (both in personal and public situations). It is also associated with the ability to determine what is humorous. As Frances Gray observes, "to define a joke, to be the class that decides what is funny, is to make a massive assumption of power . . . that of defining and thus controlling the immediate area of discourse" (8). Power dynamics are interwoven with comedy; by pursuing their personal agendas female comics expose the politics behind definitions of what, and who, is funny.

In the case of self-deprecatory humour, the power dynamic is complicated. The performer seems to surrender control through the juxtaposition of her/his own inadequacies (self-putdowns) and the implied superiority of the audience (if I am the ugliest, dumbest . . . you can only be more attractive, smarter . . .). And yet, the comic retains the microphone (a determinant of whose voice will be heard) and center stage (the focus of attention). The surrender of power is an illusion. Even self-deprecation can "challenge the audience's expectations about women," suggests Gray, "a self-deprecating routine, can say, all right, I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm a hopeless cook, a terrible mother, and a lousy housewife, but I'm here" (139). Comedy requires a delicate balancing act. An audience can be lost through relinquishing control via "under"-exertion (self-deprecation taken to the extreme can be a denial of authority) or "over"-exertion (turn off the crowd through aggressive superiority and/or the targeting of audience members). In each case, the group can usurp the power by withholding laughter.

Before she can attempt the daunting task of "mastering" an audience, the female comic must first successfully negotiate her way past the keepers of the gate -- the powers that decide who is given the chance to perform, assistance through the amateur ranks, and ultimately admittance to the professional circuit. Traditionally, few women have ventured into this field of entertainment and while the number of female comics has increased in the last few decades there is still a noticeable imbalance between female and male comedians. Comic Clara Clayy complains, "men tend to get more stage time than women" (Villagran, para. 5). Leighann Lord similarly laments, "we don't have as many opportunities to develop." She estimates that "for every 10 male comics there's one female, if we're even that lucky"(Johnson, para. 2). Kibler's work on A & E's An Evening at the Improv found that if a woman appears on the show "she will most likely be surrounded by four male comedians on the bill" (45).

Comedy club owner Mark Breslin comments on the situation:

As galling as it may be, women in comedy (at least those who wish to remain) must address the issue of audience discomfort with their presence -- quite simply, the performer cannot afford to completely alienate the crowd. The strategies employed by women to attempt to defuse the aggressive nature of stand-up comedy can be as varied as the women themselves. This article will discuss only two approaches: the first appears to be an inevitable pitfall -- attempting to become gender neutral -- and the second has been deemed the "natural" niche of women in comedy -- the use of self- deprecating humour. Since comedy has primarily been a male-dominated profession, role models for women performers have been scarce. That is not to say that they do not exist, just that the women of comedy have always struggled in the shadows of their male counterparts.

One method of adapting to the demands of performing is to attempt to assimilate to the ever-present male-model. Minimizing personal attractiveness and/or avoiding jokes that emphasize gender differences can be tactics to "placate" the audience; inciting envy or resentment are not in the comic's best interest. Comedian Abby Stein articulates a particular fear of female performers:

A seemingly more successful tactic for appeasing audience anxiety is the use of self-deprecating humour. The most frequently identified "staple" of women's humour is in fact the self-putdown. Self-putdowns are ingratiating rather than overtly hostile -- animosity is internally, not externally directed. Self-deprecation allows the speaker to adopt what is essentially an authoritative stance without alienating the majority of the audience members.[14] The (implicit) threat of the female speaker is defused when she sets herself up as the target of ridicule. An interview with comic/actress Kathy Najimy offers some insight into the motivation (past and present) for adopting such an approach to comedy:

"Standup comedy as we know it," asserts Frances Gray, "began with the Music Hall of the nineteenth century . . ." (117). A broad range of female performers utilized a variety of comedic techniques -- skits, characters, songs, paired or solo routines -- to entertain the customers. Despite this reality, the tradition of women's humour is most readily identified with the self-putdowns of Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers.[15] Diller started professionally in 1955; a period in which, notes Kathleen Rowe, stand-up comedy was "an unfriendly place for female performers" (69). Diller was advised by a male club owner to smile less -- be hostile. Not surprisingly (given that it was 1955), the target of that hostility became herself. In her act she remarks on a visit to the beauty salon: 'I was there five hours -- and that was just for the estimate'; the receptionist sneers: 'Lady, we do repairs, not reclamations.' She despairs about her "Living Bra": 'it died of starvation.' (Unterbrink, 86, and Levine, 174) The inadequacies of her appearance provide the bulk of Diller's material and she quite deliberately intensifies the effect of her words by dressing outrageously, inviting audience ridicule. In an interview with Laurie Stone, Diller refers to herself as having "had a beautiful figure, like Miss America" but, because she "wanted to make body jokes . . .[she] had to hide it" (14). Attacking herself, Diller contends, "got laughs". The costumes which have become her trademark -- outlandish styles, gaudy materials, over-the-top make-up -- intensify the impact of her routine. The jokes are deceptively simple, (cataloguing her multiple short-comings), told in a rapid-fire delivery, and the tone of voice is seemingly hostile (contempt for her own pathetic appearance).

Diller's performance is of course carefully crafted. Each joke builds upon the other and is further reinforced by the comedian's own distinctive laughter: not at all a "lady-like" twitter, but rather a "raucous guffaw" (Horowitz, 57). Diller clearly takes pride in her skills: "I get twelve laughs a minute because I edit to the bone. To play to ten thousand people, your act has to be structured . . ." (56). The explicit target of her wit is herself, her own inadequacies (sexual or domestic), but there is also an implicit target: the society that sets up the expectations she "fails" to meet. She is neither a sex symbol nor a domestic figure but she is emphatically present. Societal norms create an inadequate framework; it cannot contain a woman like Diller.

Joan Rivers specifically identifies her own use of self-satire as a deliberate strategy for dealing with the confrontational aspect of stand-up comedy. She mocks her appearance in order to relax the audience: "If you come on with a superior attitude, they cannot relate to you" (Collier, 10). Nearly every performance incorporates grotesque images of her body: "my body is falling so fast, my gynecologist wears a hard hat" or jokes about her childhood, as a girl so fat "I was my own buddy at camp . . . in my class picture, I was the whole front row" (Unterbrink, 131). Rivers, like Diller, speaks rapidly, her jokes punctuated by the refrain "can we talk" but the level of aggression clearly indicates that there will be no dialogue -- Rivers is very much in control. However, the two performers differ markedly in their physical appearances; Diller accentuates her stance as sexually inadequate female by rendering herself a spectacle through bizarre make-up, hairstyles and clothing whereas Rivers is impeccably groomed and well dressed -- her appearance belies her words: she is performing.

Highlighting the deficiencies (at times abnormalities) of their bodies are a mainstay of the comedy routines of Diller and Rivers. As Horowitz observes, "Diller is not simply plain or sexually neutral. She is aggressively, comedically repellent" and her outfits are "grotesque, unflattering, and funny" (48). While Rivers speaks of her bodily defects, they are not discernable. The grotesque body is rendered visible via Rivers' own words. "The grotesque body", proposes Mary Russo, "is open, protruding, irregular, secreting, multiple and changing; it is identified with non-official 'low' culture or the carnivalesque, and with social transformation" (8). To step out on a stage and speak from/of "personal" experience is, in a sense, to be both "open" and "protruding"; to do it as a female comic is to be "irregular"; "secreting" on a non-literal level can indicate the (potentially) subversive element of comedy (if only a refusal to be silent and compliant, that is, to maintain the "secret" of women's humour). Given their proclivities for plastic surgery,[16] Diller and Rivers are "multiple and changing." The female comic is the "non-official" comic. But what of social transformation?

The data collected for this study on comics of the last three decades suggest that those women who do incorporate self-deprecatory humour in their routines do so with a particular agenda in mind.[17] Self-putdowns appear more often in the women's acts (over twenty percent, compared to less than five percent for men) but they are not sustained to the same degree as in the performances of Diller and Rivers -- self-directed satire is incorporated into the routine as opposed to being the mainstay of the performance. While keeping in mind that citing one or two performances out of a comedian's repertoire is inadequate proof for a definitive statement about his or her use of self-deprecation, analyzing the demeanor and delivery of these isolated events does provide some insight into the individual's use of this comedic style.

Only two of the total thirteen subjects (male and female) that used self-deprecation maintained self-putdowns throughout their acts. Excerpts from their performances include:

In point of fact, the use of self-putdowns in this study seems to be divorced from even the appearance of self-hatred or loathing. The self-deprecating remarks are offered in a low-key, sometimes dead-pan, manner. With the exception of Wendy Liebman's comments about parts of her anatomy, the (general) trend seems to be a movement away from overt, explicitly negative self-directed putdowns towards more vague, implicit statements of personal inadequacy. Since reproducing entire routines is not feasible, a sampling of several comedians' use of self-deprecation follows:

The implication of personal inadequacy is also common to examples B and D. Rudner initially seems to adopt the traditional formula: in comparison with the Playboy "model" she is physically inadequate despite her efforts to adapt to the standard of beauty. In the second half of the joke Rudner rejects the stance -- the magazine image is the abnormality, is alien. Example D offers a similar reversal of expectations as Ladman uses a negative statement about herself to lead into a questioning of cultural assumptions. She does more than critique standards of beauty; Ladman points out that women are guilty of complicity. Both excerpts are subversive in nature as each comic seems to accept cultural definitions of "femininity," but then proceeds to expose the idiocy of the attitude (and in the case of Ladman, the foolishness of the behavior and the choice). As was the case with examples A and C, personal inadequacy is implied rather than stated and self-directed hostility or anger is absent from the routines.

Jokes have the potential to be subversive. "A victorious tilting of uncontrol against control . . . an image of the leveling of hierarchy, the triumph of intimacy over formality, of unofficial values over official ones" is Mary Douglas' definition of a joke (98). Authority can be subverted through laughter. As the proceeding passages from the comedy routines of Rita Rudner and Cathy Ladman indicate, women in comedy are, as Nancy A. Walker observes, using "self-deprecation in a complex way" (124). On one level they adopt the traditional approach and seem to endorse the stereotype. On another level they seek to expose the "cultural assumptions" on which the stereotype is built (and thereby challenge both the assumptions and the stereotype). They step inside the claustrophobic space and transform it into a liberating site.

Stand-up comic and television actress Roseanne is a powerful (albeit controversial) example of a woman exploiting the image meant to confine her. The comedic persona she has created effectively illustrates how an imposed stereotype can be consciously adopted and redefined:

Subtlety is not Roseanne's strong point and she frequently alienates people through her humour (witness the reaction to her rendition of the American National Anthem). As a means of conveying a message (personal or political) Roseanne's "in your face" approach is both effective and ineffective -- she has had a widely syndicated television show, power in negotiating with her network and lots of money, and yet the media and at least part of the public seem eager to discredit her. Arguably this is a hazard that follows success (the desire to see a hero/victor fall), but a particularly troubling development occurred after the break-up of her marriage to Tom Arnold -- credit for the success of her show shifted from Roseanne to him.

Other women in comedy are less eager or able (for various reasons) to present themselves as overt threats to authority. Mercilee M. Jenkins proposes that women use humour to get around their place in society; specifically to "deal with the contradictions and myths inherent in female stereotypes in a patriarchal society" (137). Self-deprecation (or at least the semblance of it) is proving to be a surprisingly effective means of exposing the incongruities of the dominant culture. Consider the following joke by Carol Siskind: "I just broke up with someone after three years. It was a love-hate thing. We both loved him and hated me" (Klein, 126). At first it sounds like self-derogation, but it is more subtle -- a comment on both male narcissism and on women's lack of self-esteem. Not just "male" myths about women are being exposed, but also women's complicity in the perpetuation of those myths. Self-deprecatory humour of this nature can be interpreted as a subversive strategy -- a voice of protest masked by apparent acceptance of the stereotype.

In theory, all comedians run the risk of alienating their audiences. Numerous interviews with comics reveal that a certain degree of anger fuels their routines and yet too much anger can frighten an audience. For a female comic, the need to recognize (and neutralize) audience resistance to her mere presence further complicates the issue of building a quick and positive rapport with her listeners. Self-deprecation can function as a means of defusing a potentially aggressive act or confrontational situation. To be able to identify the hidden (or not so hidden) truth(s) behind a cultural stereotype requires intellectual assurance. To seize center stage is to assert conversational dominance and, in the case of women, to directly challenge cultural stereotypes.

The tactic of adopting the traditional formula of self-deprecatory humour may serve as a face-saving strategy for the benefit of the audience. By exposing their own foolishness, female comics soften the jab at men; for example Rita Rudner jokes: "My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married . . . and I didn't want him to" (Women of the Night). Rudner comments on the faithlessness of men, the gullibility of women and the traditional belief that marriage is the ultimate goal of women (via the delayed punchline). Her tone of speech is gentle, her mannerisms and physical appearance ultra "feminine", but she packs a powerful message.[18] Rudner has had several television specials and numerous guest appearances; her non-confrontational approach has proven to be an effective means of conveying her thought provoking humour.

Self-deprecatory humour can serve a variety of purposes -- the multifunctionality of this comedic style depends in large part on the degree and nature of the self-satire involved. Unlike the explicit, negative comments on their body/physical appearance that are the trademarks of Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers, self-deprecation is not sustained in the more current comedy performances of women. (The one exception being Wendy Liebman; however, she smiled, almost inanely, throughout her entire performance, thus mitigating the self-criticism of her words). My research indicates that not only are women not relying on self-putdowns as the mainstay of their routines (using instead one or two moments of self-satire punctuating observational humour), but few female comics are utilizing self-deprecation at all (only eight of thirty-seven). Despite a shift to different styles of comedy, self-deprecatory humour nonetheless lingers as a strategy of women in comedy. The distance between the self-putdown employed by Diller and Rivers and those of Rudner and Ladman is quite encouraging: gone are the blatant statements of inadequacy, and the anger which was apparently directed inward has been redirected.

To be able to laugh at our foibles and follies can be a positive trait. Walker defines a sense of humour as "the capacity for laughing at oneself -- a healthy self-criticism which bubbles up from confidence and self-respect" (1). Of particular note in Walker's interpretation is the source of the self-satire: confidence and self-respect. For any comic to succeed he or she must endure rejection and intense competition; the difficulties are intensified once gender enters into the equation -- female comics must also contend with cultural definitions of "femininity." Colliding with popular definitions of what and who is funny, women in comedy must confront the male-as-norm (both as performer and audience) mentality. Comedian Jenny LeCoat comments on the value judgments assigned to the differing satiric targets of men and women, observing that women have "been accused of ghettoizing themselves" (Wisecracks). The assumption is that the subjects women in comedy explore limit the effectiveness of their routines. Pushing at the boundaries of social expectations is the hallmark of stand-up comedy. Insisting on the inclusion of "alternative" subjects and comedic styles is the very nature of the beast -- yet resistance persists.

The majority of critical studies which deal with humour in effect (if not intent) deal with male comedy. Women's humour has, to a large extent, been denied, both explicitly ("women have no sense of humour") and implicitly (by virtue of its exclusion). Several critics have sought to counter this effect, not only by documenting women's humour, but also by re-evaluating traditional interpretations of comedic strategies employed by female comics. Distinguishing women's humour from that of men is one of Emily Toth's goals in "Female Wits." She emphatically rejects the misconception that women's humour is simply men's humour reversed (given the level of misogyny in men's humour, this myth could account for some of the resistance to women's humour!). Toth theorizes that most female humorists observe a "humane humor rule"; that is, they do not attack what people cannot change (a handicap, race, physical appearance). Instead female wits "attack or subvert -- the deliberate choices people make: hypocrisies, affectations, mindless following of social expectations" (783). My study did not find the first theory to be true of all female comics; however, a tendency to mock choices and behaviors was observed in several of the performances. The "humane humor rule" can be construed as incorporating those comics who use themselves as targets of their humour, but divorce the routine from the appearances of self-hatred which permeated the performances of Diller and Rivers.

Self-deprecatory humour may be used to discover a common ground between women; drawing on shared experiences, performer and audience connect in what LeCoat deems "a kind of process of inclusion" (Wisecracks). The listener identifies (perhaps empathizes) with the speaker. "Conversational intimacy," proposes Mary Crawford, is aided through "self-disclosure." The goal of any performer is a quick and positive rapport with their audience. The use of "apparent self-deprecation in women's humour," she asserts, is a strategy to achieve that connection (162). Once the link has been made, the potential to guide the audience to self-reflection (guilt-by-association syndrome?) is created. Qualifying her use of self-deprecation, Crawford suggests that describing one's mistakes or foibles is actually self-disclosure.

One of the more popular entertainers on the comedy circuit is Paula Poundstone. She has mastered the art of disclosure, identification and exposure:

Self-deprecatory humour, as this study illustrates, is neither a staple of women's humour nor the niche of female comics. As a strategy for defusing the aggressive nature of stand-up comedy, self-satire does appear to be a (fairly) successful tactic for female performers. However, it can only be effective if it stems from self-confidence; when the "inadequacy" from which the humour is evolved is genuinely felt by the comic, her humour conveys self-loathing rather than the intellectual assurance which should accompany the stance of stand-up comedian. If the female comic wishes to "expose the sex-role stereotyping in our culture and to reject, either implicitly or explicitly, these rigidly prescribed images of women," asserts Suzanne L. Bunker, self-deprecation must be foregrounded as a strategy (86). Manipulating the traditional formula of the self-deprecatory joke, current female comics like Rudner and Ladman are able to expose the insidious cultural stereotypes which surround women.

All stereotypes come from ideology; it is, logically, in the interest of the dominant group to enforce stereotypes. Comedy can help to subvert those stereotypes and highlight the power dynamics lurking behind them -- in the words of Marilyn French, "one man's subversive is another's (woman or man) truth" (219). Women in comedy challenge traditional gender structures, firstly with their mere presence (violating norms of "feminine" conduct) and secondly with their words (whether or not they challenge social imbalances based on gender, by telling jokes they are defining "femininity" and humour from their own perspective). The increasing participation of women in comedy, both as performers and audience members, may ultimately have a positive impact on the level of misogyny in stand-up comedy. Writing in 1975, Robin Lakoff noted that "there is a whole genre of antiwomen jokes, based on sexual stereotypes as antiethnic jokes were (and are) based on ethnic stereotypes" (81). Nearly thirty years later, the antiethnic joke has decreased in use while the antiwoman joke remains popular (nor is it limited to the comedy routines of men). Perhaps as more women enter the field of entertainment a stronger, more positive image of women will emerge in and through comedy. We can but hope.

More than simply entertaining, comedy can serve as a coping mechanism. It can inspire an alternative vision even if it cannot alter power structures. Gender hierarchies and power dynamics are in fact maintained and reproduced through conversational practices. Women's sense of humour, proposes Walker, is "part of a complex web of cultural assumptions about women's intelligence, competence, and proper role" (98). Questions of who defines what is funny and who can be funny are intertwined with issues of power and control. By "usurping" the traditionally male territory of stand-up comedy, women are claiming a share of the power -- power to perform in public, power to define themselves, power to control the nature of the discourse. Confidently moving away from the angry self-putdowns of many of their predecessors, contemporary women in comedy are evoking both the derisive male snigger and the fortifying female laugh.