“I’m not trying to congratulate myself for my career, but let’s be real: if I can have all this work under my belt and still worry about losing my healthcare, what’s it like for folks without my luck?”
Photo: Andrew Bisdale
In October 2025, comedian Chris Gethard took a detour into the realm of political satire by guest-hosting *Going Down*, a public access show presumably meant for folks who have grown weary of using social media as their only performance stage. Addressing a youthful audience of aspiring comedy wizards, he lamented the demise of the middle-class comedian and how big corporations are allergic to the idea of DIY—essentially, stealing artists’ lunch money. “Why should artists have to choose between making art and a decent living?” he mused, clearly bemused by the irony of it all.
Oh, how the comedy landscape has transformed! Just five years ago, we were riding high on the Second Comedy Boom, where the internet was more generous than a sugar daddy on payday. During those halcyon days, social media served as a golden gateway for comedians to worm their way into the limelight. But lo and behold, we now find ourselves drowning in a sea of short-form videos and algorithm-induced chaos, especially since the streaming boom has gone the way of Blockbuster. On a recent episode of *Good One*, Gethard unpacked these trends while promoting his latest special, *A Father and the Sun*, which debuted this past September. Spoiler alert: it ain’t all sunshine and rainbows.
Gethard’s analogy of the “company store” harkens back to yesteryear’s coal-mining towns, where everything, from housing to groceries, came with strings attached—specifically, a heavy dose of debt disguised as “scrip.” He argued that today’s entertainment industry feels eerily similar. Instead of coal, we have an endless feed of algorithm-driven content that turns artists into mere cogs in a gargantuan machine. Welcome to the gig economy, where creativity gets penalized like a high school dropout.
Ah, remember when a middle-class gig meant landing a spot with platforms like CollegeHumor or Funny or Die? Gethard fondly recalls scoring a writing job at Onion News Network, earning just enough to scrape by while pinching pennies from freelance gigs. Nowadays, however, a so-called middle class in entertainment seems more elusive than a unicorn at a backyard barbecue.
Then came the digital apocalypse: Facebook’s algorithmic meddling. Gethard describes the painful transition where creative platforms decided that a little paying-to-play was the price for visibility. With this new “reward” came the dreaded realization that one missed post could ruin your entire online persona—thanks, Mark Zuckerberg. So here we are, laboring tirelessly to feed an algorithm that keeps making comedies feel less like art and more like inventory.
Things have only escalated from there. Just like Spotify made musicians question their existence, TikTok is now flaunting its “disposable hits” like it’s the latest fashion trend. Your five-minute comedy clip might spike in views today, but come next week, it’s old news. “What’s next, the thrill of being irrelevant?” Gethard quips, showcasing the utter absurdity of it all. One could have a Netflix special but still struggle to make rent—nothing like a garnish of irony to spice up the frigid reality of financial instability.
Gethard doesn’t just throw shade; he suggests that the next wave of young creators needs to ditch mainstream platforms altogether. “Forget TikTok, find something that isn’t owned by a billionaire,” he advises. Maybe start a bonfire with the algorithms and just create for the sheer love of it? With the hope of discovering the next comic goldmine looms large, he urges young artists to take the industry’s bleak terms and turn them upside down, like a poorly executed pratfall.
Reflecting on his career, Gethard paints a picture where even those who have ‘made it’ are floundering under the mighty weight of healthcare worries. “I used to think creating art was a ticket to a stable life, but look at me now, banging the ‘I lost my insurance’ drum,” he wryly notes. His story underscores a growing reality where the arts are becoming a gamble, and he, like many others, is left praying that artistic doom isn’t the only endgame.
Yet, there’s hope shining through the cracks. Gethard points out places like Dropout, a worker-owned platform that actually pays artists to audition. Creative sanctuaries like Logan Square Improv and The Comedy Fort emphasize community over corporate greed, proving that there’s a flicker of life after the apocalypse. As the artist community looks to redraw the lines, we can only hope they manage to carve out a viable future that doesn’t resemble a dystopian episode of *Black Mirror*.
