Hot Mic is a column by Leah Abrams documenting, spotlighting, and reviewing live comedy in NYC.
Last month, my friend Critter Fink (the writer and comedian behind the Simple Mic) invited me to a party eloquently called, “F** & HAG PARTY.” The rules were simple. Show up as a duo; look awesome; have a drink; gab. An ode to the unparalleled, unstoppable power of hagdom — the symbiosis, the solidarity. Or, as Critter and his friend Allie put it on the invite: “A celebration of the union between gay guy and amazing girl.”
What is it about “gay guy and amazing girl” that makes such a magnetic appeal? Throughout history, the joint creative forces of our foremothers have birthed some of our longest-lasting cultural artifacts: the Mona Lisa, the Wizard of Oz, the Scientific Method, and Bravo. And comedy is no exception. From the early days, duos of gay men and fabulous women (gay and straight, cis and trans) have held a gorilla grip on audiences across stage and screen. Think Judy Garland and Vincente Minelli; Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz; Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke; Joan Rivers and that one gay guy from Fashion Police. More recently: John Early and Kate Berlant, Rupaul and Michelle Visage, Pat Regan and Catherine Cohen, Janine and Jacob from Abbott Elementary, Benito Skinner and Mary Beth Barone, and the stars of The Other Two.
Today, one duo is staking their claim in the center of this powerful mantle. And they trace their lineage even further back, all the way to the first-ever “gay guy and amazing girl” (or, in their telling, horny slut and power bottom): Adam and Eve. Welcome to the world of A Twink and a Redhead.
The twink and redhead in question: Grant Gibbs and Ashley Gill, a pair of roommates and childhood best friends who first gained TikTok notoriety in 2022 with their eponymous bop. They’ve since used the platform to play adult Disney swingers, a sexually confused “straight” couple who met at a Lady Gaga concert, and horny Panera-goers online, always highlighting Gibbs’ trademark thigh-clapping and Gill’s grating, high-pitched giggle. Now, tens of millions of views and dozens of popular songs later, they’re taking it up a notch with a full EP, including their latest single, Heterosexuality.
I went to see their live show celebrating the album at Brooklyn Comedy Collective, which was part of the 20th annual New York Comedy Festival. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical of how the schtick would transfer. I’ve seen enough musical comedy duos flop onstage to fill ten columns, but I usually prefer to keep those to my Notes app. And the crowd was full of 20-year-old, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed gay-girl duos, one of whom came up to me before the show and confidently said: “Are you a writer? I can tell by your notebook.” The energy was so high that you could almost forget we live in a dystopia. Not promising for a cynical critic in a bad mood.
But I stood corrected. Gibbs and Gill are so charming, replete with such radiating star power, that I left the show feeling like I had witnessed the beginning of a rocketship rise, not just in comedy but far beyond. Rather than perform a simple medley of their songs, they took us on a cinematic romp through their origin story — complete with Voice of God narration and six intense costume changes.
“Our story begins in 2011,” the narrator said. “Osama bin Laden is dead. Melissa Gorga has joined the cast of the Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Enter: Our heroes Grant and Ash, bouncing in an inflatable castle at the sixth-grade carnival, where the real Gibbs and Gill really did meet. They reveal how they bonded over their shared love of Club Penguin, Twilight, and the Hunger Games — and how Ash thought Grant was sooooo sexy in his skinny jeans and infinity scarf. What followed over the next sixty minutes was a story of unrequited love for the ages; a near-perfect spoof of the Disney Channel Original Movies (think Lemonade Mouth and Camp Rock) on which Gill, Gibbs, and their fans grew up.
I was struck by how much the show resonated with the crowd. I can count on one hand the number of standing ovations I’ve seen at comedy shows outside of arena tours, but when Gibbs and Gill performed their viral “Panera,” about getting fucked in a Panera Bread, the audience literally stood up and sang along, cheering and applauding for such an extended time that they had to pause the narration track. “BJ Maxx” was equally popular, as was “Heterosexuality,” a country ballad in which Gill imagines herself happily married to the closeted Gibbs, living on a ranch, and standing by her man.
After the show, I went backstage to ask Gibbs and Gill if they had seen the Lucy/Desi, Judy/Vincente comparison. Sure, they said. But their real inspiration isn’t a duo at all, it’s a trio: 2000’s comedy super-group The Lonely Island. Point one for the hetero men, I guess. Maybe this really is Trump’s America.
The songs sound ridiculous, but there is something sharp about their satire: skewering the illogic of growing up in an era where you might tenuously believe — from Glee and Harry Potter fan-fic and Lady Gaga’s Born This Way — that gay might actually be OK, but everything else in your life is steeped in the heteropatriarchal violence of American hegemony. A time when you could be really, really into Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games and in the same hour, hear that “anal is God’s greatest loophole” in your church youth group.
How to make sense of such contradictions? The duo offers one possible answer: Find a really good friend and creative partner, clap your thighs, and together, thirst after Don Cheadle, to whom their closing number is dedicated. I reached out to Cheadle’s PR firm for comment on the Don Cheadle tribute song, but have yet to receive a response.
You can listen to their full EP, A Twink and A Redhead, on Spotify, Soundcloud, and Apple Music.
