I Know You Are, But What Am I?

On October 10, comedian Shane Gillis hosted Saturday Night Live and used his monologue to say that women at the gym now dress like “whores.” The backlash was immediate. Actor and writer Dan Levy posted on Instagram, saying that short shorts don’t make women whores; they make the men calling them that misogynists.

Gillis’ comment couldn’t have come at a worse time. The country was in a heated argument over the Cornell case, a civil lawsuit in which a former student (Jane Doe) alleges that seven men drugged and raped her at a fraternity party. Underneath the debate sits an old question: whether a woman’s appearance and choices make her responsible for what happens to her. Gillis’ joke hit right at the heart of it.

Same insult, different stage

Last November, aboard Air Force One, Bloomberg’s Catherine Lucey asked President Trump about an Epstein email. He pointed at her and said, “Quiet, piggy.” The White House didn’t apologize. Instead, it accused the reporter of unprofessional behavior. This wasn’t the first time Trump used that word. Former Miss Universe Alicia Machado has said Trump called her “Miss Piggy.”

Name-calling isn’t exclusive to men. Discussing the Cornell case, podcaster Megyn Kelly described the woman at the center as “not the most attractive gal.” When singer Olivia Rodrigo voiced her support for Jane Doe, Kelly called her a “know-nothing moron” and told her to shut up and stick to singing.

Name-calling aimed at a woman’s body can be especially harmful. Objectification theory holds that when women are repeatedly reduced to how they look, many begin to watch themselves through that lens, a habit linked to shame, anxiety, and depression (Fredrickson & Roberts, 1997).

"Sticks and stones" was always a lie

I was taught that names can never hurt me. The research says otherwise. In a 2006 study of 554 young adults, psychiatrist Martin Teicher at Harvard’s McLean Hospital found that childhood exposure to parental verbal aggression had moderate to large effects on depression, anxiety, and dissociation (Teicher et al., 2006). A follow-up found that verbal abuse from peers was tied to higher psychiatric symptoms and measurable differences in the brain’s white matter (Teicher et al., 2010).

What makes a name hurt depends on what it targets. Psychologists distinguish between criticizing behavior and judging the self. Research on shame and guilt shows that feeling bad about something you did tends to motivate repair, whereas feeling bad about who you are is more closely linked to depression, anxiety, and defensive anger (Tangney & Dearing, 2002).

Here are two examples:

• “What you did was selfish” criticizes behavior.
• “You’re selfish” converts criticism into a verdict on who you are.

Context matters too

Teasing and nicknames can be affectionate or cruel depending on the relationship and the intent behind them (Keltner et al., 2001). A name does the most damage when it’s unwanted and targets something central to identity.

I learned this in sixth grade. A classmate started calling me Smelly Spinelli. It caught on, and eventually I was just Smelly. It didn’t do much damage, because I never thought of myself as someone particularly malodorous. The name described a smell I didn’t have.

What cut deep was being called queer. That name didn’t describe something I did. It named something about who I was and turned it into an indictment. Every time a classmate called me queer, I became smaller and smaller. Because I believed that if I became small enough, the word couldn’t hurt me.

Who says it matters

Social psychologist Thomas Ford calls this prejudiced norm theory. Many people with prejudiced views tend to keep them quiet because they fear social disapproval. Disparaging humor lowers that fear. The joke frame signals to everyone listening: It’s OK. Relax. I’m only kidding.

The kids who called me queer didn’t create the prejudice in that classroom. They provided everyone else with permission.

Ford’s work suggests comedians deserve the scrutiny they get, because the joke frame is uniquely disarming. But humor isn’t the only way to grant permission. Status does it too. After the 2016 election, Americans judged it more acceptable to express prejudice toward groups Trump had targeted (Crandall et al., 2018). When a president or a podcaster uses a slur, the message is clear: “People like me say this all the time, and nothing happens.”

I know you are, but what am I?

Shane Gillis should be held accountable for what he said, and so should the producers who aired it. But we can’t hold a comedian accountable for degrading women without seeing the bigger picture. We live in a culture where name-calling has become the grown-up version of the playground comeback. It flows from the podium, the podcast, and the press gaggle, and each insult makes the next one easier.

Words do real harm to the people they target and quietly shift what the rest of us accept. So, by all means, criticize comedians. Then turn the same scrutiny upward, toward the people whose words carry far more weight.

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