Nataly Aukar squares up with the patriarchy
While headlining Stand Up Comedy Live! on Oct. 17, the Lebanese comedian enthralled a mixed-gender audience with witty bits about her upbringing, her mother, and her marriage
As a proud alumnus of the MIT IAP Stand Up Comedy class, I’d say I care more about being funny than the average MIT student. That’s why when I saw the posters for Oct. 17’s Stand Up Comedy Live! in Kresge Auditorium, I knew I had to go.
Stand Up Comedy Live! is a semesterly comedy show funded by the de Florez Fund for Humor. The fund was established by Peter de Florez ’38 in 1988 and is now administered by the School of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences. (Note: in past years, The Tech has received De Florez funding for its satire issue.) The show is free and open to everyone in the MIT community. Unfortunately, this semester’s performance occurred on a Saturday night during midterm season, so Kresge was only half-full, with mostly adults and graduate students in attendance.
In October, the headliner was Nataly Aukar, whom Vulture named one of "The Comedians You Should and Will Know of 2025.”
The daughter of a Lebanese women’s rights activist, Aukar was born and raised in Lebanon and moved to New York after graduating college to pursue standup full-time and “represent her country.” From one of her earliest jokes, where she described responding to her now-husband’s marriage proposal by asking if he’d gotten her mother’s approval first, Aukar spoke with deadpan matter-of-factness about growing up in a country where women are legally lesser citizens than men.
That’s not to say that any story Aukar told — including those referencing her experiences as a war refugee — was too serious to chuckle at. Her sharp sense of humor and casual demeanor made her seem less like a professional performer and more like your older sister in blue jeans and a brown cardigan, who majored in Media and Communications at the American University of Beirut.
To summarize Aukar’s set: men are weird, her mother is awesome, and women, especially Lebanese women, do not have it easy.
I am not from the Middle East, but the Arab attendees I interviewed found her act relatable. Some, like George Barakat, came to the show specifically because of Aukar’s background. “The person that was performing is Lebanese, and we’re all Lebanese,” Barakat said.
Attendee Dr. Dimitri Saad PD, who was raised in Lebanon, particularly appreciated the jokes about growing up in a war-torn country. In her set, Aukar compared her reaction to hearing fireworks to that of her German husband. “He [doesn’t] go, ‘Are we sure these are fireworks? Check the news!’” Aukar said.
Saad estimated that roughly half the audience was of Arab descent. “Usually people tend to come together when there's a Middle Eastern artist, and it gives us feelings of connection and community,” he said.
Aukar made it clear that she loves her country, so gender roles, not Lebanon, were the butt of the joke. Early into her set, Aukar poked fun at the idea that her husband is supposed to be her family. “My mom is my family,” she exclaimed, drawing laughter from the audience. “I’m not saying that my husband will leave me for a younger, prettier version of me, but I just know my mom won’t.”
Ah yes, her husband. Though Aukar snuck in several jibes at men in general, the one she married took most of the hit. Over the course of the set, she roasted his wool allergy, pain tolerance and panicked response to getting a “man flu.” By contrast, Aukar lives with debilitating endometriosis, a disease that affects one in ten women. Each month, as she puts it, “your uterus explodes,” leaving her in so much pain she can barely get out of bed.
“If you don’t know what endometriosis is, neither do doctors,” Aukar said. Then, tucking her long hair behind her ear in a mockingly feminine voice, she added, “But it’s okay, it’s not that bad, guys. Because only women get it.”
This spitfire attitude is a big part of Aukar’s signature style, punctuated by snappy punchlines, expletives, gestures, and upon occasion, impressions of human speech that sound like adults in Peanuts cartoons. Smart and snarky, her self-aware humor fits an MIT audience without even trying.
Aukar’s set continued for about an hour, stopping only when an organizer reminded her to wrap it up. And so she did, bookending the night with another bit about the most important person in her life, her mother. As a daughter myself, I can only approve.