Why a Sexist 'SNL' Monologue Matters

In the space of a few days, two male public figures offered radically different messages about women. On "Saturday Night Live," comedian Shane Gillis used his monologue to discuss women’s gym wear and announce that he "didn’t know women just dressed like whores now."

Shortly after this, actor, writer, and comedian Dan Levy responded on Instagram, challenging Gillis and arguing that a woman's choice of clothing does not justify degrading sexual labels. Levy went on to highlight the misogyny of the monologue and argued that more men should challenge the objectification of women rather than remain silent, especially when it occurs on a widely viewed public stage like SNL.

So Why Does This Matter?

You could argue that this is simply comedy doing what it's always done—provoking, offending, and pushing boundaries. But context matters: Women don’t experience these jokes in a world free from harassment, objectification, sexual violence, and abuse. They experience them in a culture where being reduced to a body, a sexual stereotype, or an object of male commentary remains commonplace.

The same week that public discussion focused on allegations emerging from Cornell University—including reports that an unconscious young woman was reportedly offered up for sex in a fraternity Snapchat—it seems reasonable to ask whether a primetime comedy show joking about women as "whores" moves us forward or simply reinforces problematic attitudes.

Humour Is Never Just Humour

When people defend controversial jokes, the phrase we hear most often is that it's "just a joke." As if failing to laugh means you lack a sense of humour and the problem lies with you, rather than the person making the so-called joke.

Psychologically, however, humour is rarely "just" anything. Weber et al. (2023) found that exposure to sexist comedy had a detrimental effect on women’s cognitive performance, regardless of their own receptiveness to humour.

Likewise, Argüello‐Gutiérrez et al. (2023) reported that women exposed to sexist humour consistently felt significantly higher levels of anger, displeasure, and offence than their male counterparts. This was particularly interesting, given that Argüello‐Gutiérrez et al. found that both sexes were exposed to such humour at a much higher level than expected, even when simply going about their day. It suggests that far from existing on the margins of social life, sexist humour functions as a routine and normalised feature of many women's everyday experiences. Against this backdrop, the question is not whether one more joke about women being 'whores' matters, but why so many people think it doesn't.

Humour is a valuable and rewarding part of life, which is consistently associated with positive wellbeing (Korock et al. 2026). It helps to signal group membership by establishing what is (and is not) acceptable to laugh at. It identifies who belongs, who doesn't, and who is expected to tolerate being the target. We laugh because we recognise that others around us find it acceptable, and that emboldens us to join in.

In other words, humour helps to create the culture that we all live in, including the social rules about what is and isn’t acceptable within that culture. That may seem harmless to those making the jokes, but for those who find themselves repeatedly cast as the punchline, the cumulative effect can be exhausting.

In 2016, Perez and Greene examined the response to a rape joke directed at a female audience member during a live performance in Hollywood. Their analysis found that the dominant framing and interpretation of rape jokes reinforced patriarchal ideologies among those present and encouraged denial of the real-world implications of misogynistic humour. This effect was found to be particularly true in cases where the comedian or their audience subsequently defended the joke.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that everyone who laughed at Shane Gillis' monologue is misogynistic. Nor does it mean that one joke causes violence against women. However, the idea that humour exists in a vacuum, detached from wider social beliefs and behaviours, is just as difficult to defend.

Two Models of Masculinity

This situation presents two very different models of masculinity. The first, the monologue by Gillis, is rooted in objectification. It works by inviting the audience to evaluate women's bodies and clothing, and use those judgments to create derogatory labels for women. The underlying premise is that women are there to be observed, assessed, categorised, and judged. Their role in the joke is not to be fully human participants in society, but simply objects of male commentary.

The second model, exemplified by Levy's response, is rooted in accountability. Rather than inviting audiences to scrutinise women, he asked men to scrutinise themselves and the attitudes that make objectification seem normal. He asked why some men feel entitled to describe women using degrading sexual labels and then explicitly framed misogyny as a men's issue rather than a women's issue. He argued that men need to defend women more actively and challenge objectification when they encounter it. In these two very different models of masculinity, only one leaves women better off.

For decades, women have described the harms of sexual objectification, harassment, double standards, and violence. Yet such concerns are often dismissed as overreactions or interpreted as evidence that women "can't take a joke." When men challenge misogyny, the conversation starts to change, and the issue can no longer be reduced to female sensitivity. Instead, it becomes a discussion about norms, respect, and accountability. Speaking out may not make life easier for the men who do it, but it helps create safer, fairer environments for the women who live and work alongside them.

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