But Chloe Reynolds says that polarising debate is making working the circuit tougher

With everything going on in politics around transgender issues, the last thing I want to do is add to the endless online shouting match. 

So instead, consider this an open letter about my own path into stand-up – and what it’s meant to me as a trans woman trying to find her place.

I began performing under what now feels like very dated labels: ‘cross-dresser’ or ‘transvestite’. At the time, comedy was my way of coming out sideways. I didn’t have the right words yet, but I could get on stage and basically say: ‘Look, something’s been troubling me for a long time, and this is the best way I know how to process it right now.’

It’s not glamourous. I’d finish work at 5pm, spend an hour and a half getting ready – sometimes in pub toilets – then drive an hour each way for five minutes of stage time. But it got me out into the world. If I’d been glued to my phone following online discourse, particularly in the last couple of years, I might have been too scared to enter these scenarios.

What I found instead was that the real world, by and large, was welcoming. Sure, there were the odd arseholes, but those early gigs built a resilience that served me well later. Once you’ve bombed in front of 50 strangers, your football friends’ disapproval and rejection just feels like something you can shrug off.

When I started, online discussions about trans issues weren’t common or well-known. Where I was from in rural Staffordshire, stereotypes were simple: the only openly gay man in town was the hairdresser.  

The majority were tuned out of the trans debate, we were only really speaking to cosmopolitan city and liberal bubbles (which a majority of the country hate, by the way).  A large part of the nation switched off. They didn’t see themselves as having a stake in the conversation – and as a result, became even less likely to listen.

On stage, I wanted to speak to that middle ground. Not the die-hard culture warriors on either side, but the people in between – the majority, I believed, of Britain.  For many audiences, I was the first trans person they’d ever met and my favourite trick has always been to win people over with kindness – a sort of silent assassin with a punchline.

But the middle is shrinking. Polarised politics have pushed people into corners. These days, I find more promoters – people who’ve booked me successfully before – hesitating, worried their audiences won’t be ‘ready’ for me. At one recent gig, I mentioned I was trans within the first thirty seconds and immediately clocked arms folding, whispers, and a few walkouts (the remaining 19 minutes 30 were as fun as you’d imagine).

For PR purposes, most of my gigs go well, and the circuit has given me friendships, confidence, and more joy than grief. Yes, I’ve been introduced as ‘a woman, with a twist…’ and had one act follow me once and apologise to the audience, calling me ‘a gimmick’. But those moments usually come from comics projecting their own frustrations, and they’ve been the minority.

What matters more to me are the communities I’ve been welcomed into – amazing female led nights like Femmes and Thems, Bitches in Stitches, and the Women in Comedy Festival, where I’ll be doing my solo show next month, Being part of those spaces has been personally affirming and professionally huge for me. I know how all that could change, but for now, I’m grateful to be included while I can.

Comedy has changed my life. It gave me a way to step out into the world before I even had the right words for myself. It’s given me resilience, friendships, and a stage where I can be both funny and unapologetically me. And that, to borrow the language of that one act, is no gimmick.

• Manchester’s Women in Comedy Festival starts on Friday and runs until October 12, with Reynolds’ work in progress show at Tiki Hideaway at 5.30pm this Saturday.

Published: 29 Sep 2025