Laugh Until They Cry from p12 are nationally acclaimed comedians Kather- ine Blanford, Jenny Zigrino and Helen Hong. The Addison Improv’s schedule will headline TikTok’s Pinky Patel and Netflix’s Cristela Alonzo. Aside from a live podcast, no other women are on the Improv’s current headline schedule. Alonzo is one of the few nationally recog- nized female comedians with local roots. Her comedy career was born at the Addison Improv, where she worked as an office man- ager in 2003, according to Texas Monthly. A chance encounter with Carlos Mencia at the Improv launched her career. Dallas Comedy Club’s event schedule is progressive in comparison. An all-LGBTQ+ cast performs monthly for Queer Factor, an event the website describes as the “biggest gayest thing to happen at Dallas Comedy Club.” An all-women benefit show took place Oct. 28. Only two women will headline between now and April 2023. Von Daniel, owner of The Comedy Arena in McKinney, says the lack of female head- liners is not a jab at local female comedians. It’s a matter of numbers. “Stand-up comedy as a whole, usually, is majority men so the percentage of people that are performing are men,” Daniel says. “With that said, it kind of puts women at a disadvantage already, because of the sheer numbers in visibility. There are women here in the D/FW area that I think are super, su- per talented, and they probably will have no problem moving up throughout the ranks.” Daniel has owned and managed The Comedy Arena since March 2017. He is pres- ent at 90% of the venue’s shows, and his phone number is written on a board in the venue’s green room. “By making myself present and available, that makes a world of difference versus be- ing this club owner who’s elusive that you never see and just stands in the shadows and just works and just watches the shows,” Daniel says. This presence has allowed open commu- nication between Daniel and comedians. For Davis, that communication is lacking in the larger comedy scene. Outside of Dallas, she leaned on come- dian-organized Facebook groups to help her navigate new scenes. In these groups, come- dians would post warnings and let one an- other know where it was safe to perform, give tips and ask for help when necessary. At the time, she was unaware of anything simi- lar in Dallas. Since her 2020 return to Dallas, Davis has watched countless friends and acquaintances leave comedy after being solicited, stalked or sexually assaulted. Such behavior is normal- ized and swept under the rug, Davis says. Women must decide between their safety or their career. When allegations do come to light, she says local venues continue to sup- port aggressors. “No matter what someone has done, if they’re famous enough, if they can sell the tickets, most clubs are still going to book them,” Davis says. Louis C. K. was accused of exposing him- 14 14 self and masturbating in front of female comics who feared their careers would end Nathan Hunsinger if they complained. Bryan Callen was ac- cused by four women of sexual misconduct and assault. Both men had shows canceled, and C.K.’s movie I Love You, Daddy was pulled by its film distributor. But that didn’t keep either of them off Dallas comedy stages. The Addison Improv continued to book both after allegations became public. Despite this, some comedians felt safe in Dallas’ comedy spaces. In Nov. 2020, after Callen performed in Addison, comedian and producer Gretchen Young told the Observer that no matter what comedy club she was at in North Texas, it was a safe place. But when the Improv continued to sup- port C.K. in 2019 with four consecutive dates, Stomping Ground Theatre co- founder and artistic director Lindsay Gold- app condemned the venue in an op-ed. “This is not unique to comedy,” Goldapp tells the Observer. “It just happens to be that the comedy doesn’t have an HR department that woman can go to and say, ‘I think that I may have just been sexually harassed.” In her 20 years in comedy in Dallas and Chicago, Goldapp has heard many com- plaints of sexual harassment or of demands that women trade sex for stage time, and not just in Dallas. It happens everywhere, she says. Daniel agrees. “Stand-up comedy is not an exception for this type of behavior,” he says. “It’s not like this only happens in comedy. This is global.” According to the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission April 2022 data highlight, 98,411 charges of workplace harass- ment were filed between fiscal years 2018 and 2021. Women filed the greater part of the complaints. At The Comedy Arena, Daniel incorpo- rates his corporate background into policy- making. He says staff is bound to a zero-tolerance harassment policy. The club works with a third party to help facilitate harassment claims. Employees can call or send an email anonymously to the firm. The club uses a “lights” communication policy. During conversation if a person says yellow, that means they are starting to feel uncomfortable and the speaker should pro- ceed with caution. Red indicates they are uncomfortable and the speaker should stop. Stand-up comedians are considered in- dependent contractors. Daniel cannot bind them to The Comedy Arena’s policies. Issues with contractors are handled on a case-by-case basis, which usually involves a conversation between the comedian and Daniel. In most cases, the conversation solves the issue. If the issue continues or is egregious, the venue terminates the rela- tionship. The venue has had to cut ties with only two comedians. When Davis returned to Dallas comedy in 2020, she tried to take matters into her own hands. “I’ve been assaulted multiple times by co- medians, sexually harassed by guys, and I just keep doing it to be on their shows. I’ve seen the same shit happen to friends too,” Davis says. “You just have to keep going and not say anything. I don’t give a shit anymore. I’m gonna say something.” From left to right: Comedians La’Tasha Duran, Lauren Davis and Hannah Vaughan She created a Facebook group called “Bitchin” as a safety measure. She imagined a space for Dallas’ queer and female comedi- ans to discuss issues within the scene and protect one another. “I did hear an allegation about sexual as- saults, and I was concerned about them,” Davis says. “One of the guys I’d heard about I’ve been on shows with. He was a nice guy and had asked me to do a show coming up.” She asked if anyone had heard about the allegations in the Facebook group. No one said anything. The silence startled her. She later learned that a Facebook group like the one she sought to create had existed in Dallas a few months prior. When a sexual assault was reported, someone else had taken screenshots of it. The whistleblower received blowback with comments such as, “Oh, are you trying to ruin this guy and fuck with his career?” Davis says. In November 2021, Davis attempted to tackle the issue of visibility and brought up the lack of women as headliners and in line- ups with a female booker. The response she received floored her. “She was like, ‘So my thing, though, about women in Dallas stand-up is they’re not that funny because most of them just talk about sex and vaginas,’” Davis says. Perrio bases his booking on talent. When he books, he’s not looking to meet a diversity quota, but his lineups do feature women, he says. 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