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Humouring the Secular?

British Muslim Female Comedians and the Negotiation of Religious-Secular Binaries

in Religion and Gender
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Lucy Spoliar Radboud University Nijmegen Nijmegen The Netherlands

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https://orcid.org/0000-0003-0410-2816

Abstract

Since the early 2000s, a growing number of Muslim comedians have gained prominence in the UK and other Western contexts. Early scholarly interventions situated this comedy predominantly through the lenses of countering Islamophobia and ‘normalising’ Muslimness. This article traces the discursive entanglements of religion, the secular, humour and gender, which contribute to this ‘normalisation’ thesis. This lays the groundwork for a critical discourse analysis of material performed by British Muslim female comedians Fatiha el-Ghorri and Ola Labib, in which I explore four themes; constructions of different interpretations of Islam, portrayals of adaptive religious subjectivity, reversals of secular-religious hierarchies, and framings of sexual objectification and misogyny. Taken together, the material discussed paints a complex picture, at times humouring the secular, while also unsettling religious/secular binary arrangements of normalcy and disrupting imaginaries of secular-masculine humour.

1 Introduction

In recent decades, as sweeping pronouncements on the ‘humourlessness’ of Muslims have pervaded Western media, a growing number of Muslim comedians have taken to stage and screen in Western Europe and North America (Schweizer and Molokotos-Liederman 2022). In turn, several scholars of Islam in Western contexts have oriented their attention towards this phenomenon of ‘Muslim comedy’.1 Specifically, scholars have read the popularity of Muslim comedy within the post-9/11 landscape as a significant cultural intervention, denormalising Islamophobic stereotypes (Michael 2013; Zimbardo 2014). In some cases, this intervention is situated in terms of ‘normalising’ Muslimness, with ‘everyday’ humour and relatable topics acting as reminders of shared humanity (Aidi 2021; Morris 2023).

While these are useful readings, this model of ‘normalising’ Muslimness through relatability does not necessarily dislodge the norms structuring the discursive category of the ‘normal’ itself. Contrary to earlier theorisations that stand-up comedians are exempted from ‘expectation[s] of normal behaviour’ and so able to reexamine societal norms (Mintz 1985, 74), this article underscores the power dynamics at play in comedy performances, often structured around the expectation for the comedian to ‘prove’ normalcy and relatability to the audience (not to mention other gatekeepers in the comedy industry, such as agents and promoters). In the case of Muslim comedy, this norm of ‘normalisation’ often becomes entangled with a secular politics of ‘conditional belonging’ (Thonnart 2024, 2), in which Muslim comedians who are not (‘too’) religious and espouse ‘modern’ values become figures of ‘acceptable’ Muslimness (Kassam 2020). This risks further excluding Muslims who do not fit this mould and obscuring the normativities of secular Western discourses behind a veneer of neutrality and ‘normalcy’.

These patterns apply particularly to what is often described as ‘mainstream’ comedy. Rather than being a neutral, descriptive term, the notion of the ‘mainstream’ is implicated in a particular understanding of the ‘normal’, which typically reflects dominant societal norms. This imaginary of ‘normalcy’ contributes to setting audience expectations at a comedy show. As Black comedian Sophie Duker observes in an interview, ‘so much comedy … in the UK [is] still made for an amorphous, middle-of-the-road person that doesn’t really exist’ (Jamil 2022). While the ‘mainstream’—symbolised by this ‘middle-of-the-road’ person—may not ‘really exist’, it remains discursively significant, informing which themes are deemed ‘normal’, ‘legible’ or ‘marketable’ by comedians, promoters and commissioners (Conway 2017). The notion of the ‘mainstream’ is also used in academic literature on comedy to describe representations that reach wide audiences and/or represent dominant discourses (Abedinifard 2016; Morris 2023). At the same time, the ‘mainstream’ is not a static category, but is in a constant state of flux, tied to shifting conceptualisations of normalcy and difference.

While several earlier analyses have alluded to gendered representational dynamics in Muslim comedy, gender has seldom been taken up as a core category of analysis.2 However, discursive constructions of Islam, humour and the secular often operate along deeply gendered lines. In this article, I critically investigate how Muslim comedy engages with secular (and, in some cases, religious) notions of normalcy, taking a distinctly gendered approach. More concretely, I present an analysis of the work of two British Muslim female comedians in which gendered dynamics play a central role, alongside religion and secular normativity. Focusing on performances by comedians Ola Labib and Fatiha el-Ghorri between 2020 and 2025, the analysis in this article is guided by the following questions: How do these comedians represent their ‘Muslimness’ in their stand-up material? In what ways are secular discourses about Islam, gender, humour and the secular reproduced, contested, or otherwise engaged?

This article contributes to the existing literature in the field in three key ways. Firstly, drawing on postsecular feminist theory, critical secularism studies, the study of religion and humour, and comedy theory, this article advances a new thesis concerning the ways in which discursive constructions of humour as ‘masculine’ and humour as ‘secular’ intersect, forming an imaginary which I term ‘secular-masculine humour’. This clarifies the interventions made by Labib and el-Ghorri, not only negotiating British comedy’s secular normativity but also (at times) pushing the limits of ‘mainstream’ secular-masculine humour norms. Secondly, I build on the existing literature on ‘normalisation’ through Muslim comedy by tracing the ambivalent ways in which performances of ‘normalcy’ not only reproduce but also undermine dominant secular discourses. Thirdly, in my analysis, I introduce several themes which have not (to the best of my knowledge) been explored in the existing literature on Muslim comedy; namely, adaptive religious subjectivities and alcohol, reversals of secular-religious hierarchies in ‘mainstream’ comedy, and misogyny as a site of relatability crossing religious-secular binaries.

The article will be structured as follows. I firstly contextualise Muslim comedy in Britain since the 2000s, and introduce Labib and el-Ghorri. I then trace certain important connections between dominant discursive trends concerning humour’s relationship to Islam, gender and the secular, which situate my analysis. Having done this, I present my analysis, subcategorised into four (related) themes; constructions of different interpretations of Islam, portrayals of adaptive religious subjectivity, reversals of secular-religious hierarchies, and framings of sexual objectification and misogyny. Throughout, my analysis foregrounds the ways in which the material discussed engages with secular discourses about Islam, gender and the secular itself, while remaining attentive to moments in which this material also implicates and, at times, interrogates dominant religious norms and discourses.

2 Contextualising ‘Muslim Comedy’

In 2000, when Shazia Mirza began performing stand-up comedy, she was often billed as the ‘only female Muslim comic’ not only in Britain but globally (Morris 2023, 63). Despite her rejection of the role of ‘THE Muslim female stand-up comedian’ (Tarlo 2007, 17), Mirza’s political satire and sarcastic rebuttals of popular stereotypes concerning Islam created ‘a stylistic model for Muslim comedy in Britain’ (Morris 2023, 63). In a career spanning over two decades, Mirza has remained a permanent fixture in British stand-up and is extensively discussed in academic literature on Muslim comedy in Anglophone contexts (see, for example, Amarasingam 2010; Gorman 2020; Lockyer and Pickering 2005). Alongside Mirza, the US comedy troupe Allah Made Me Funny has contributed to the popularisation of Muslim comedy since the early 2000s, performing at ‘mainstream’ comedy venues around the world, including across the UK on multiple occasions (Morris 2023, 63). Like Mirza, this troupe features routines about stereotypes and misconceptions about Islam (Thonnart 2016).

In the early 2010s, an increasing number of Muslim comedians gained popularity on British ‘mainstream’ comedy stages and screens. Among these were numerous male performers, such as Abdullah Afzal, Guz Khan, Tez Ilyas, Nabil Abdulrashid, Jay Islaam, Imran Yusuf and Humza Arshad, as well as several women, including Shaista Aziz, Zahra Barri and Sadia Azmat. In June 2015, coinciding with the beginning of Ramadan, the BBC launched a series entitled British Muslim Comedy. This was hailed by one reviewer as marking the ‘rise of Muslim comedy’ in British TV comedy broadcasting (Jones 2015). Since 2015, this increased visibility of Muslim comedians within the ‘mainstream’ British comedy scene has continued.

2.1 Introducing: Ola Labib

Ola Labib began performing stand-up in 2019, and made her TV debut in 2021 as an ‘emerging act’ for BBC Funny Festival (Labib 2021a). Since then, her sets have featured regularly in TV stand-up programming, and in 2024, she toured her debut show pOLArising across the UK.3 In 2025, she also wrote and starred in the TV sitcom pilot The Pharmacy (Channel 4 2025).

Early in her comedy career, Labib was often billed as ‘the only Black Muslim Sudanese female comedian’ on the British stand-up circuit (Backyard Comedy Club 2022). She also used this description on her Instagram and TikTok handles. However, during a podcast appearance in 2023, Labib half-jokingly remarked: ‘I hate that description! … It’s like the longest list ever!’ (Herring 2023). Now, Labib simply describes herself as a comedian. At the same time, one of the aims of her comedy is to challenge assumptions about Muslims:

Everybody’s assumptions on what a practising Muslim is like is gonna be based on TV and the media, and we all know what TV and media say about us, so I just wanted to be that change … [To say] that actually, this is what we are like.

Crawley 2024

2.2 Introducing: Fatiha el-Ghorri

Fatiha el-Ghorri began performing stand-up comedy in 2015. Five years later, her comedy featured on TV comedy programming for the first time for Comedy Central at the Edinburgh Fringe. She has since performed numerous times for TV comedy programming, including on Live at the Apollo in 2024.4 Additionally, she has featured as a writer and actress in several TV comedies, including We Are Lady Parts (Channel 4 2020), and her own BBC Comedy Short Donkey! (2025).

El-Ghorri is a British Muslim comedian of Moroccan descent, who was born and raised in the East London borough of Hackney, marked in her performances by her Cockney vernacular. Like Labib, el-Ghorri has at times been critical of the labels and expectations placed on her comedy based on her intersecting identities. As she puts it in one interview:

Sometimes I feel like people want me to represent them in a certain way. I can’t just be myself, I can’t be Fatiha … The Muslims want me to be a certain way, the North Africans want me to be a certain way, the British want me to be a certain way. It’s really hard sometimes. They put me in these boxes. I don’t put myself in them.

Howard 2024

Like Labib, el-Ghorri challenges the ‘boxes’ into which different audiences may place her comedy. This does not mean, however, that el-Ghorri rejects the possibility for her comedy to do representational work. In another interview, she explains: ‘It’s not just about being funny and people seeing my comedy … It’s about spreading a message, breaking down barriers and opening up conversations’ (as quoted in Graham 2020).

2.3 Situating the Comparative Lens: Method and Material

While Labib and el-Ghorri bring different lived experiences and backgrounds to their material, I draw (at times) comparatively on their performances in this article for several reasons. Firstly, both comedians gained a place in TV stand-up comedy programming within a similar timeframe. Specifically, I focus on material broadcast between 2020 and 2025. Following the push to diversify (televised) stand-up comedy in the 2010s, Labib and el-Ghorri can be contextualised as part of a new ‘wave’ of representation that is yet to receive much academic attention. While el-Ghorri and Labib are by no means the first or only female Muslim comedians working on the British ‘mainstream’ stand-up circuit, they are among the first (since Shazia Mirza) to become regular fixtures in TV stand-up broadcasting, which often reaches large audiences via YouTube and other social media.5 This is significant because, although stand-up comedy is rooted in live performance, TV performances imbue ‘status’ and help comedians expand their profiles (Tomsett 2023). Recorded performances can also be watched repeatedly, which has advantages for conducting in-depth analysis and implications for the material comedians choose to perform; comedians tend to perform tried-and-tested material, which they consider to have wide ‘mainstream’ appeal (Lockyer and de Benedictis 2023). Given my focus on the ways in which Muslim comedians engage with the secular norms and cultural repertoires associated with the ‘mainstream’, this televised material is insightful, in catering to the widest common denominator of ‘mainstream’ viewers.

In total, this article draws on analysis of ten televised performances (five by each comedian) accessed in recorded format and ranging in duration from 5 to 15 minutes per set.6 This analysis was conducted through several phases. Firstly, all ten performances were transcribed and coded using the qualitative coding software Atlas.ti to identify key themes and humour techniques, taking a bottom-up approach. I then selected a number of illustrative examples for each theme and conducted a critical discourse analysis of these examples. At this stage, I paid particular attention to the ways in which this material interacts with secular imaginaries about Islam, gender, and humour, and identified ‘normalisation’ as a relevant theoretical lens. In the next section, I situate these imaginaries and clarify their relationship to my analysis.

3 Islam, Gender and Humour’s Secular Grain

As scholars in the study of religion and humour have observed, there is a prevailing assumption that religion and humour are mutually incompatible or, at best, ‘odd bedfellows’ (Schweizer 2022, 11). This discourse of ‘humourless religion’ is particularly firmly embedded with regard to Islam. Over time, the trope of ‘Muslim humourlessness’ has ‘taken on a life of its own, dwelling mainly (and tautologically) in repeated references to its existence’ (Schweizer and Molokotos-Liederman 2022, 3). This racialised discourse has intensified in recent decades, following several infamous transnational ‘humour scandals’ including the Jyllands-Posten and Charlie Hebdo cartoon controversies (Kuipers 2011, 64). However, its historical precedent can be traced back to colonialist discourses which repeatedly constructed ‘Arabs’ (interpellated as Muslims) as ‘humourless’ (Mahamdallie 2021).

Imaginaries of ‘humourless religion’ (and specifically, ‘humourless Islam’) are connected with a co-constitutive framing of humorousness as a marker of secular subjectivity. In a rich theoretical reflection on comedy, religion and the secular in the British context, sociologist Simon Speck argues that humour has come to be constructed as emblematic of ‘secular modernity’, as a mode of discourse through which ‘modern’ subjects can demonstrate ‘secular’ traits such as self-reflexivity and critique (Speck 2019, 234). In a critical discourse analysis of the work of several of the most prominent male Muslim comedians in the US context, religious studies scholar Samah Choudhury (2020) comes to a similar conclusion. Building on sociologist Giselinde Kuipers’ (2011) notion of ‘humour regimes’, in which humour operates within its own discursive mechanisms with their own rules and norms, Choudhury (2020, 111) argues that these male Muslim comedians adhere heavily to ‘secular regimes of humour’. In other words, their ‘Muslimness’ is made legible to hegemonic secular schemas through discursive markers including ‘normal’ performances of sexual liberalism and distancing themselves from religious beliefs and practices (Choudhury 2020, 223).7 These discursive markers coincide with several themes discussed later in this article; namely, sexuality and religious beliefs and practices. However, in Labib and el-Ghorri’s comedy material, the dynamics of ‘normalisation’ through alignment with secular norms that Choudhury identifies are variously echoed, complicated and (in the latter part of this article) reversed.

Expanding on Choudhury and Speck’s theoretical work, I locate how discursive constructions of humour as secular are gendered. Alongside Muslims, another group that continues to face charges of ‘lacking humour’ is women (Tomsett 2023). As critical studies scholar Kristen Anderson Wagner (2011, 35) observes, 19th and 20th century critics often recycled the claim that ‘femininity and a sense of humour are mutually exclusive’. This persistent assertion hinged on an association of humour with traits discursively constructed as ‘masculine’ such as rationalism, critique and aggression (Anderson Wagner 2011). While this gendered ‘humourlessness’ discourse may appear unrelated to the construction of humour as secular, I argue that discursive constructions of humour as ‘masculine’ and ‘secular’ intersect. In Religion, the Secular, and the Politics of Sexual Difference, Linell Cady and Tracy Fessenden trace the emergence of a gendered binary model of religion/secularism in the post-Enlightenment era, in which religion came to be associated with femininity, emotionality and the private sphere, while the public sphere was imagined as a ‘masculine domain’ of rationalism and secularism (2013, 9). This gendered construction of religion/secularism operates along strikingly similar lines to gendered discourses on humour. Values such as ‘rationality’ and ‘critique’—discursively constructed as both masculine and secular—are imagined as integral to ‘good’ performances of humour. Here, constructions of humour as ‘secular’ and ‘masculine’ converge, forming an imaginary of ‘secular-masculine humour’ as the norm.

Responding to the framing of ‘humourless women’, feminist cultural scholars in the 1980s and 1990s began to explore the potential of ‘women’s humour’ to subvert dominant gendered norms and ‘[reclaim] female subjectivity’ (Gilbert 2004, 147). More recent scholarship continues to posit comedy as a feminist tool for ‘speaking truth to power’ and disrupting the norm of the comedian as a (white cis) male (Lockyer and Benedictis 2023). Rarely, however, have religious women in general, or Muslim women in particular, been included in these discussions. This oversight carries traces of a dominant secular understanding of religious subjectivity as incompatible with critique or subversion of dominant gendered norms (Cady and Fessenden 2013). It can also be contextualised in relation to a broader tendency within gender studies in Western European contexts to overlook religious and postsecular feminisms and the subjectivities of religious women (Hawthorne 2017). The framework of ‘secular-masculine humour’ offers a theoretical intervention in response to this oversight, asserting that if secular and masculine imaginaries of humour are closely linked, scholars exploring how female comedians negotiate gendered norms would do well also to pay attention to secular normativity.

3.1 Different Interpretations of Islam and ‘Cultural Translation’

When discussing Islam in their material, both el-Ghorri and Labib repeatedly juxtapose different interpretations of Islamic practices, beliefs and ethics. In contrasting different interpretations of Islam, el-Ghorri and Labib unsettle the portrait of homogeneity which dominates Western European discourses on Islam. At the same time, the ways in which different interpretations are portrayed in their material carry traces of a secular arrangement of Muslims on either side of a ‘good/bad’ binary, depending on their (mis)alignment with ‘normal’ markers of secular modernity and ‘Western values’ (Mamdani 2004).

In Labib’s material, this dynamic is often structured around a juxtaposition between her ‘liberal’ religious ethics and her mother’s ‘strict’ religiosity. For example, in one set, Labib (2021b) explains that she was ‘obsessed’ with Eminem as a teenager, but her mother would not buy his merchandise, deeming his music ‘haram’ (impermissible). Labib delivers the word ‘haram’ with an exaggerated eye role and mimed quotation marks, making it clear that she does not share her mother’s assessment. Here, playing on a mundane disagreement between a teenaged girl and her mother, Labib implicitly reflects the heterogeneity of their interpretations of Islamic ethics with regard to popular music.8

In another performance, Labib (2023) develops a similar narrative that positions her as culturally ‘integrated’ and ‘liberal’ in contrast with her mother, who is ‘very devout’ and speaks little English. The juxtaposition in this case is established through a story in which Labib ‘translates’ the popular British tabloid talk show The Jeremy Kyle Show9 for her mother:

You can imagine how awkward it was for me translating some of the words from The Jeremy Kyle Show to her. Like one time we were sat there watching Sharon blame her infidelity on the fact that she was [‘drunk British’ voice] ‘absolutely wasted’ and my mum turned to me and she was like [impersonates Sudanese accent] ‘Ola, what does wasted mean?’ I was like, ‘Oh, it’s like when you drink so much that you can’t tolerate any more’ [laughter] … And then Sharon announced that she had, in fact, had a threesome … My mum looks at me, waiting for a translation … How was I supposed to translate a threesome to a woman that would have a heart attack if she knew that I knew what sex was? [laughter]. And guys, I’m married, ok? [laughter].

Here, the joke is structured around ‘translation’, initially framed in terms of a language barrier. However, it soon becomes clear that it is not only a matter of linguistic translation but also of translating (perceived) British cultural practices around alcohol and sexual norms (heavy drinking and sexual liberalism) into terms acceptable to Labib’s ‘very devout’ mother.

In an analysis of the Canadian sitcom Little Mosque on the Prairie (CBC 2007–2012), communications scholar Kyle Conway theorises ‘cultural translation’ as a model through which minority communities are rendered—or render themselves—intelligible to the majority (Conway 2017, 11). In Labib’s material on ‘translating’ The Jeremy Kyle Show for her mother, it is the cultural norms of the British mainstream that need translation. At the same time, the structure of the joke around the popular British TV show The Jeremy Kyle Show embeds the material within a cultural framework legible to the British cultural mainstream. This is signalled in the first line of the joke, when Labib assumes the audience knows the show (‘You can imagine’). In an analysis of ‘activist Muslim comedy’ in the US context, Fadi Hirzalla and Liesbet van Zoonen (2016, 274) identify sexuality as one of the main topics through which Muslim comedians align themselves with ‘shared values of modernity’. This humour is sometimes structured around a contrast with ‘other’ Muslims (often of an older generation) who are not ‘modern’ and are therefore ‘ “closed off” to sexuality’ (Hirzalla and van Zoonen 2016, 271). In Labib’s material on The Jeremy Kyle Show, a similar construction can be recognised. Labib’s ability to talk about threesomes contrasts her mother’s potential ‘heart attack’ if she learns that her daughter knows what sex is. At the same time, the tag ‘And guys, I’m married, ok?’ implicitly positions Labib’s sexual knowledge within the context of marriage and therefore in alignment with dominant Islamic sexual ethics.

In her material, el-Ghorri also discusses various interpretations of Islam. In one set, for example, el-Ghorri explains that different Muslims interpret what is haram differently.10 To illustrate this, she references the ‘pork line’, explaining that some Muslims go to nightclubs and engage in pre-marital sex but draw the line at eating pork and criticise her for her ‘improper’ portrayal of Islamic piety in her comedy. Here, el-Ghorri disrupts a secular imaginary of Islamic practice as homogenous and positions herself as a critical voice on the (perceived) hypocrisies of some Muslims. In describing the inconsistencies of religious practices among British Muslims, el-Ghorri’s material may also be relatable to ‘mainstream’ British audiences who (know people who) espouse ‘Christian values’ without going to church, or celebrate some Christian festivals (such as Christmas) but not others. El-Ghorri’s approach shares certain characteristics in this regard with Shazia Mirza’s early comedy material, in which Mirza discussed the (perceived) hypocrisies of some British Muslims criticising her for performing comedy as a Muslim woman, while being lax in their own religious practices (Amarasingam 2010, 471).

3.2 Adaptive Religious Subjectivities: Alcohol and Everyday Religion

Alongside contrasting different interpretations of Islam, both el-Ghorri and Labib portray religion through an autobiographical lens of adaptive, pragmatic and dynamic approaches to Islamic ethics, in response to everyday contingencies. This portrayal is often related to the ubiquity of alcohol within comedy spaces and in British society more broadly. Premises where alcohol is served are an integral part of the stand-up comedy scene, as common venues for open mic nights at which many, if not most, comedians begin their comedy careers. As el-Ghorri remarks in one interview: ‘When you first start performing doing open mic nights, a lot of it is in pubs and obviously Muslims don’t drink, so that’s a part of [the challenge]’ (as quoted in Graham 2020). Similarly, Labib notes that what one interviewer describes as the ‘very boozy world’ of stand-up comedy presents social and professional challenges (Crawley 2024).11

In many of her sets, Labib begins by stating that she has never been in a pub before. As a comedian who has now been working on the stand-up circuit for six years, Labib’s unfamiliarity with the pub setting is no longer biographically true. However, its repetition serves to reiterate the implicit exclusions of the pub space. Labib’s remark that she has never been in a pub before provides a set-up for a variety of punchlines, such as ‘[sarcastically] Yeah—great one to have on my CV [laughter]’ (Labib 2020) or ‘I’ve never been in a pub before … Well, neither have a lot of you lately, so I guess we’re all feeling a bit Muslim at the moment, aren’t we? [laughter]’ (Labib 2021b). In the first punchline, Labib plays on the irony of having to go to the pub to advance her career. In the second, she references the Covid-19 lockdowns, during which pubs and bars in Britain were closed. The quip ‘we’re all feeling a bit Muslim’ playfully draws the audience into Labib’s religious subjectivity, through a shared sense of discomfort on re-entering pub spaces after the Covid-19 lockdowns. The wording of this joke also constructs Muslimness in dynamic, affective terms as a ‘feeling’ experienced on a spectrum (‘a bit Muslim’), to which everyone can relate. This construction unsettles the secular conceptualisation of religion as ‘a doctrine that you can either have or not have’ (Jansen 2022, 597).

In another performance (2022), Labib portrays an adaptive approach to Islamic ethics through a discussion of (not) drinking alcohol. She introduces the topic by complaining, feigning envy, that other communities had a ‘support system’ growing up that she did not:

You guys had a support system that I’ve seen get you through rough times, family problems, work problems … I didn’t have access to that support system because [pause], um, well, alcohol’s haram so … [laughter].

By withholding that she is talking about alcohol, Labib allows the audience to develop their own ideas about what this ‘support system’ might be. She also implicitly positions her audience as non-Muslims who drink alcohol (‘you guys’), and marks the normalisation of binge drinking culture in Britain. She then goes on to describe how her not drinking alcohol is interrogated:

The British are always surprised when I tell them I’ve never drank. ‘You’ve never drunk alcohol?’ [Impersonates a dramatic gasp]. ‘No.’ [incredulous] ‘Not even a taste?’ ‘No.’ ‘You’ve never even had a sip? Oh no!’ I’m like, ‘calm down!’. But no, I’ve never drank alcohol but I can’t pretend I haven’t been tempted—of course I’ve been tempted but I know what the rules are: no drinketh of the devil’s liquid. [Laughter]

In his analysis of British comedy, Carl Morris argues that British Muslim comedians often reflect on Islamic practices through ‘playing for comedic value on the misapprehensions and discombobulation of a wider non-Muslim public’ (Morris 2023, 15). In the material quoted above, Labib does just this; through repetition, she reflects the persistent nature of the question ‘You’ve never drunk alcohol?’ When she confides in the audience that she has ‘been tempted’, this lens of temptation might be read as a mode through which her abstention is rendered relatable to non-religious audience members. Labib also frames ‘the rules’ of her religious commitment humorously through comically archaic language that may have Biblical connotations to (culturally) Christian British audience members (‘drinketh’).12

Later in the same performance, Labib elaborates this theme of temptation further, in the context of an Islamophobic attack that took place when she was twelve, in which a man approached her, pinned her against a wall and poured a can of cider over her head. She explains:

I was in shock—I didn’t even know how to process it, and as soon as it started to sink in, I did what anyone in my position would have done … [Looks tearful, then leans back and dramatically mimes licking cider off her chin; smacks lips]. The Lord said ‘don’t drinketh’ but He didn’t say anything about don’t licketh, so … [laughter].

Stand-up material often tackles serious or traumatic experiences, which can create a sense of trust and intimacy between comedian and audience (Double 2017). These moments of seriousness build tension, which heightens relief and laughter at the punchline. This pattern is followed in the joke above, in which, when Labib describes being attacked, the audience falls silent. Labib then reconstructs this experience through the humorous lens of relatable opportunism (‘I did what anyone in my position would have done’) as a chance to taste cider through a ‘loophole’ in religious proscriptions. In this example, in contrast with the normative framing of religious discourse as ‘humourless’, a comical portrayal of adaptive religious ethics in response to an incident of racialised violence brings the show back to a humorous register.

Like Labib, el-Ghorri also plays on an idea of ‘dynamic’ Muslimness in the context of (not) drinking alcohol in pub spaces. For example, in one performance (2022), she jokes that she had the following exchange with the bartender:

So I went up to the bar and I said [gruff, Cockney accent] ‘Can I have a Jack Daniels?’ And he looked at me like I was a dragon or something [laughter]. And I was like [aggressive] ‘Hurry up, innit … hurry up’. And then he poured it and he gave it to me and I said [pause; hesitantly] ‘Is it halal?’ [Laughter].

In this joke, el-Ghorri plays on her ability to switch between different personas and the bartender’s confusion at the contradiction of a hijabi Muslim woman ordering alcohol. In switching from a Cockney accent to the persona of an ‘innocent’ Muslim, who does not know whether whiskey is halal, el-Ghorri blurs the boundary between these two figures. El-Ghorri also uses this comic device of juxtaposing ‘pious’ and ‘impious’ personas elsewhere in her material. For example, in another set (2023), she contrasts dating situations in which she finds it expedient to exaggerate or downplay her religiosity:

You know when you go on a date with someone, and they like you but you don’t feel them, innit, and then they try to kiss you and I’m like ‘Oh, no, no, no—Allah wouldn’t like it, no, sorry’ [laughter]. But if they’re fit, I’m like [growling] ‘Come to me!’ [laughter]. And they’re like [worried], ‘No, Fatiha, we’re Muslim, we need to wait until we get married’. And I’m like [growling] ‘Who is Fatiha? My name is Fiona [laughter]. I’m only wearing this [gestures to hijab] cos it’s raining’ [laughter].

Here, el-Ghorri frames her faith as a useful tool in handling unwanted sexual advances (‘Allah wouldn’t like it’). She then upends this performance of pious modesty with an exaggerated performance of sexual desire, disavowing (perceived) markers of her Muslimness (her name and hijab). As with ordering a Jack Daniels and then asking if it is halal, el-Ghorri plays on her ability to shift between different personas, implicitly complicating secular framings of Muslim and non-Muslim (gendered) subjectivities as static and binary. Her expressions of sexual desire (a common thread in her material) can also be read as disrupting the ways in which Muslim women are ‘routinely denied recognition of any sexual agency’ (Michael 2013, 234).

In the examples throughout this section, ‘adaptive’ religiosity is represented in everyday contexts outside the normative bounds of the explicitly ‘religious’. In an article exploring anthropological discourse on the ‘everyday Muslim’, Nadia Fadil and Mayanthi Fernando (2015, 74) note that the everyday is often constructed as a space in which norms ‘fail to take hold’. However, the authors go on to argue that the everyday should instead be understood as a normative frame (Fadil and Fernando 2025, 74). Here, they cite Charles Hirschkind’s (2014) suggestion that what is discursively framed as ‘everyday’ in Western contexts bears ‘a strong affinity to what has conventionally been called the secular’, normatively associated with questions of contingency and pragmatic concern.

As the study of lived religion attests, religion is not apart from, but embedded within, everyday life and its contingencies (McGuire 2008). Nonetheless, the construction of the ‘everyday’ as secular remains a prevalent ‘commonsense’ framing. Notably, humour is often also associated with the everyday (Aidi 2021). If the everyday is imagined as ‘secular’, this reflects another intersection through which secular regimes of humour may operate latently. In their humourous presentations of religious practices within everyday life, el-Ghorri and Labib simultaneously disrupt both these normative frameworks of the everyday as secular and of humour as secular. Furthermore, anthropologist Samuli Schielke (2022, 350) notes a scholarly tendency to ‘project Islam as a perfectionist ethical project of self-discipline at the cost of the majority of Muslims who—like most of humankind—are sometimes but not always pious and who follow various moral aims and at times immoral ones’. The material discussed in this section also disrupts this projection, deploying humour to portray religious subjectivities characterised not by perfectionism but by flexibility, pragmatism and creativity.

3.3 Islam as Superior: Reversing Secular Hierarchies?

In the sections above, I have discussed the thematisation of Islamic practices and ethics through the lenses of adaptive religious subjectivity and contrasting different interpretations. While disrupting certain secular paradigms about Islam, gender and humour, this material also implicitly mirrors prevailing secular logics and models of ‘normalisation’ regarding ‘good’ Islam (as liberal, individualised and adaptive). In the following sections, I trace two further dimensions of el-Ghorri’s material, which are more disruptive to the imaginary of secular-masculine humour, beginning with her positive framing of Islamic beliefs and practices, juxtaposed with the (perceived) superficiality or vacuity of British secular culture. In one illustrative example, el-Ghorri (2020) discusses being teased for being fat in school:

They used to say to me, ‘did your mum call you Fatiha because you’re fat?’ Yeah, laugh it up. You’re going to hell anyways, so … [laughter] I used to be like, ‘Listen, yeah, Fatiha is the first chapter in the Qur’an … It means the beginning or the opening … [scornfully] What does your name mean, Lisa?’

Here, el-Ghorri’s response—‘laugh it up, you’re going to hell anyways’—plays with the idea of eschatological punishment and spiritual superiority as ways of dealing with fat shaming. She then juxtaposes the religious significance of her own name with the perceived lack of meaning behind the common British name Lisa.13 This material can be interpreted as implicitly reversing a dominant secularist narrative in which ‘Western culture’ is imagined to be historically or culturally richer than ‘Islamic culture’ (Ahmed 1992, 245). El-Ghorri’s explanation of al-Fatiha also acts as a pedagogical moment in her material, from which audiences unfamiliar with Islam may learn something about the Qur’an.

In another thread running through her material, el-Ghorri talks positively about prayer and faith through the comical lens of explaining her youthful complexion. Again, this material plays on a juxtaposition between el-Ghorri’s religious subjectivity and the audience’s (perceived) impiety to comic effect. In one performance, for example, el-Ghorri (2022) announces her age, then plays on the audience’s (assumed) perceptions of her youthful appearance:

So guys, I’m 40 years old … I don’t look it, innit! Yeah, see what happens when you pray five times a day! [laughter]

This joke positions el-Ghorri as a practising Muslim who regularly performs salah and frames this practice of daily prayer humorously as a way to appear younger. Here again, in a reversal of dominant narratives of secular modernity—according to which people ‘ought to be secular’ and ‘free’ themselves from religious strictures (Keane 2012, 159)—el-Ghorri’s religious subjectivity is playfully constructed as ‘superior’ in relation to those who do not enjoy the anti-ageing benefits of praying five times a day. This framing also echoes a growing body of research applying a medicalised lens to uncover possible ‘health benefits’ of Islamic practices such as sujood (prostration during prayer) (Eman and Aslam Rao 2025).

3.4 Dating and Relatable Misogyny: Bursting the Secular Bubble?

I now turn to a fourth theme through which secular/religious binary imaginaries are often produced; dating. Dating and relationships are themes along which boundaries between subjects are often constructed within secular discourse. The choices subjects make about who, how and when to date are framed as reflective of their alignment with (or estrangement from) ‘modern’ values (Cady and Fessenden 2013). When secular societies are discursively constructed as ‘emancipated’, claims of women’s sexual emancipation are often pointed to as ‘evidence’ of this (Scott 2017). In this section, I argue that el-Ghorri disrupts these scripts of secular modernity as sexual emancipation in her material on dating and, in doing so, unsettles the discursive construction of humour’s critical mode as ‘secular-masculine’.

During one performance, el-Ghorri (2021) announces that she is ‘single and ready to halal mingle’. In adding halal to a colloquial phrase typically used to connote casual dating, el-Ghorri parodically merges two frames often imagined as oppositional. She continues:

Muslims have got dating apps, right? You’ve got Tinder, we’ve got Minder [laughter] … You’ve got match.com, we’ve got Muzmatch, right? [laughter]. And it’s different platforms, same [emphatic] shit [loud laughter; applause].

Drawing repeated analogies between non-Muslim and Muslim dating apps, el-Ghorri disrupts the dominant framing of Muslim approaches to dating as ‘other’ (Ahmed 1992). While a certain idea of difference is upheld in the construction of the joke, between ‘you’ (non-Muslims) and ‘we’ (Muslims), in her criticism of both varieties of dating apps (‘same shit’), el-Ghorri underlines similarities rather than differences.14 This sets up a broader thread in el-Ghorri’s material on dating, in which these similarities between Muslim and non-Muslim dating apps centre on shared experiences of misogyny and sexual objectification.

Across various sets, el-Ghorri includes anecdotes about receiving sexually objectifying messages on dating apps, to which she responds with feigned misunderstanding and sarcasm. For example, in her Russell Howard Hour set (2021), she describes—with furrowed brow and disgusted tone—a message that she received on a dating app from a man with the crude, comically alliterative username ‘Bilal Big Bollocks’. Impersonating a stern, ‘masculine’ voice, she imitates this man telling her that he is looking for ‘a woman that’s good in the kitchen and good in the bedroom’. After a pause, she responds faux-flirtatiously: ‘Oh honey, I’m a beast in the bedroom … I can sleep 12 hours straight [laughter; cheers]’. Here, through a facetious performance of misunderstanding, el-Ghorri ridicules the misogynistic and sexual overtones of this man’s message. With jokes like this one, el-Ghorri articulates a form of ‘resistant femininity’ that fails ‘to recognize the cathexis—that is, the desires—of a dominant masculinity’ (Abedinifard 2016, 238). Furthermore, el-Ghorri’s humorous resignification of misogynistic messages in her material simultaneously unsettles specific gendered and racialised discourses which frame Muslim women as ‘oppressed’ and marks the ubiquity of (hetero)patriarchy in the secular British mainstream. El-Ghorri might also be interpreted as deploying something akin to self-deprecating humour (in ‘failing’ to meet certain ideals of gendered comportment) (Gorman 2020). However, she revises this self-deprecating script by reframing her ‘failure’ as a mode of resistance to sexual objectification and misogyny.

By marking the relatability of misogynistic and sexually objectifying discourses within the British secular mainstream, I argue that the material discussed in this section disrupts binary constructions of ‘oppressive Islam’/‘sexually emancipatory secularism’. Specifically, this material reverses the patterns traced within Choudhury’s model of secular regimes of humour. Rather than comedic success in the ‘mainstream’ hinging on the comedian performing alignment with secular imaginaries of sexual emancipation (Choudhury 2020), (hetero)patriarchy and misogyny are marked as ‘normal’ features of dating in contemporary Britain. Furthermore, in describing her own experiences with Muslim dating apps, el-Ghorri does not portray Islam as ‘the pious other of secularism’ but marks patriarchy and sexual objectification as a point of commonality, traversing entrenched religious/secular binary imaginaries (Schielke 2022, 354).

4 Conclusions

In this article, I have analysed the ways in which comedians Fatiha el-Ghorri and Ola Labib negotiate the messy web of secular imaginaries about Islam, gender, humour and the secular itself. What emerges is a rich, complex picture of comedy material that goes against the secular comedic grain through processes of resignification, comic reversal, and relatability outside the bounds of secular and gendered norms, while also echoing, at times, dominant secular constructions of ‘good’ Muslimness. This tension might be read as holding up a mirror to the broader tensions of contesting secular normativity while performing within a framework in which that normativity remains dominant. As Choudhury (2020, 11) puts it, ‘the comedian has room to critique certain power structures while still very much remaining subject to them’.

In my analysis of el-Ghorri and Labib’s material on religious beliefs and practices, I explored several prominent threads. Firstly, I traced the ways in which both comedians differentiate between their religious subjectivity and those of other Muslims. Secondly, I explored portrayals of religious practices and ethics as adaptive and responsive to everyday contingencies, taking material on negotiating alcohol consumption as an illustrative theme. These constructions of flexibility and of diverse religious interpretations implicitly disrupt a longstanding secular framing of religion in general, and Islam in particular, as static and homogenous. At the same time, such representations of Islamic religious practices risk being co-opted to reproduce logics of ‘normalisation’ by (re)constructing normative framings of ‘modern’ religious subjectivities, as those marked by individualism, ‘modern values’ and resistance. This is not a critique of the comedians discussed in this article, but rather of the secular politics of exceptionalism that often works on public representations of ‘liberal’ Muslims in the West, a politics in which ‘good’ Muslims prove their ‘modern’ subjecthood through liberal, individualistic expressions of religiosity and a ‘good sense of humour’, while ‘bad’ Muslims whose faith does not take this shape are further marginalised (Mamdani 2004).

In the latter half of the article, focusing particularly on el-Ghorri’s material, I identified two threads which are less assimilable into the norms and ideals of secular subjecthood. Firstly, el-Ghorri’s facetious construction of Islam as ‘superior’ acts as a reversal of the logics of secularism generally and of imaginaries of secular-masculine humour specifically. Secondly, her representation of sexual objectification and misogyny while dating as a relatable theme to ‘mainstream’ audiences disrupts positive imaginaries of the secular as sexually emancipatory and marks new possibilities for deploying relatability to unsettle religious-secular binaries and the discursive framework of secular-masculine humour as distinctly critical. More broadly, the running thread of ‘antagonism’ and resistance to gendered norms in el-Ghorri’s material aligns with an imaginary of humour as a site of critique, while disentangling humour as critique from being necessarily the preserve of the secular and masculine.

To conclude, el-Ghorri and Labib are among a recent generation of British Muslim comedians carving out spaces within the ‘mainstream’ to speak about their religious subjectivities and (to varying degrees) to engage with and unsettle secular normativity and the discursive construction of humour as secular and masculine. While this remains a process of negotiation that cannot be entirely disentangled from existing norms and discursive mechanisms, these humorous self-representations have begun the work of interrogating and expanding the potential for British stand-up comedy to act as a space for postsecular feminist expressions of humour and critique in the future. Such postsecular feminist modes of humour might, in due course, reveal a ‘mainstream’ in which the norms and assumptions attached to the imaginary of secular-masculine humour can become the butt of the joke.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my supervisors Karin van Nieuwkerk and Mariecke van den Berg, colleagues Kamel Essabane, Muhammad Allam and Lena Richter and the anonymous peer reviewers for their invaluable feedback on earlier drafts of this article. Thanks also to all participants at the Muslims in the UK and Europe Symposium 2025 (CIS, Cambridge) for their questions and engagement with this research. This article is part of the project ‘What’s So Funny? (Self‑)Representations of Jewish and Muslim Women in British Comedy Entertainment’ (project 21000196) of the research programme NWO PhD in the Humanities 2021 which is (partly) financed by the Dutch Research Council (NWO).

1

The term ‘Muslim comedy’ is used by numerous scholars to describe comedy performed by Muslims in North America and Western Europe in recent decades (Liederman 2024). Taken uncritically, this term might imply a homogenous genre rendered ontologically distinct from other comedy by its ‘Muslimness’. I use it in this article rather to denote a ‘multifaceted, elastic and shifting’ category (Thonnart 2024, 3).

2

For a notable exception, in which American Muslim women’s stand-up performances are explored through the lens of queering Islam, see Michael (2022). Choudhury’s (2020) dissertation also takes up gendered discourses as a key focus, exploring constructions of Muslim masculinity in US comedy. Other studies, including Thonnart (2023), Michael (2013) and Amarasingam (2010) mention gendered dynamics in Muslim comedy more briefly.

3

‘Debut show’ denotes a comedian’s first extended show (typically 45 minutes to an hour in length), for which tickets are sold individually rather than as part of a line-up.

4

Live at the Apollo is one of the BBC’s flagship televised stand-up programmes, and has been a regular TV fixture in Britain since 2004. A guest slot on Live at the Apollo affords comedians wider visibility and advances their careers (Double 2014). Fatiha el-Ghorri is the first Muslim woman to feature on the programme.

5

For example, el-Ghorri’s performance on The Jonathan Ross Show has over half a million views on YouTube.

6

I also attended three live performances by each comedian in 2022–2024. These were longer ‘work-in-progress’ shows between thirty and forty-five minutes in duration. Here, I observed some of the same material live. It is beyond the scope of this article to compare these performances with the comedians’ televised material, but observations at these live shows inform my understanding of the physicality of the comedians’ deliveries.

7

Choudhury’s analysis examines racialised frames of South Asian Muslim masculinity as sexually ‘deviant’, which comedians negotiate by emphasising their attraction to white, non-Muslim women and their alignment with liberal feminist understandings of sexual emancipation (Choudhury 2020, 120).

8

This joke echoes broader debates regarding music and Islamic ethics among British Muslim communities. Approaches range from interpreting all music with instrumentation as impermissible to listening to mainstream secular popular music (such as Eminem). For a detailed discussion of this topic, see Morris (2023, 120–127).

9

This show was a regular fixture on ITV broadcasting for almost fifteen years, centring (melodramatic and sometimes controversial) family dramas and relationship issues.

10

This example is taken from a live performance, attended 31 March 2023 at Clapham Grand, London. I have seen el-Ghorri perform variations on this material in several other live performances.

11

There are exceptions to this ‘boozy’ world, in recent initiatives established in the UK to cater towards Muslim audiences and comedians, such as Funny Muslim Ladies and Halal Fried Comics, where halal snacks and/or meals are served, along with alcohol-free drinks. Venues such as town halls, theatres, and hotels provide alternatives to the ‘conventional’ pub stand-up venues for these events.

12

The term ‘drinketh’ is also used in some English translations of the Qur’an.

13

The name ‘Lisa’ is of Hebrew origin and literally translates to mean ‘God is my oath’. However, its historical and religious significance will likely be unknown to mainstream contemporary British comedy audiences.

14

El-Ghorri’s use of the expletive ‘shit’ for comic effect also contrasts the tendency of some Muslim comedians to avoid swearing in their comedy to uphold their understanding of ‘halal humour’ (Liederman 2024).

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