Esther Mantel is a mother, a comedian, and a pioneer – yet she questions why motherhood itself isn’t considered fertile ground for comedy. In a world where the most blatant sexism in comedy feels like a relic of the past, she believes a subtle, insidious bias persists, specifically aimed at mothers.
“There’s something about motherhood that remains the acceptable face of misogyny,” Esther revealed, reflecting on years navigating the industry. She describes a frustrating imbalance: unequal labor, relentless judgment, and a dismissive attitude towards the realities of raising children. Too often, she’s found, simply wanting to *talk* about motherhood is met with disinterest, effectively silencing women’s voices.
Esther’s journey began with a baby and a toddler, leading to appearances on prominent shows like Stand Up Sketch Show and Live At The Apollo, even becoming the first female comedian to grace the stage of the Dubai Opera House. Despite her success, she quickly discovered that her experiences as a mother weren’t always welcomed material. Critics seemed almost repulsed by the subject matter.
Early in her career, an agent, with what she assumes were good intentions, questioned how her comedy would evolve alongside the demands of raising two young children. It was a question she suspects would never be posed to a male comedian. This encounter became a stark realization: her motherhood would be a constant point of scrutiny, a hurdle to overcome rather than a source of strength and material.
Even a decade later, the industry subtly pushes back. The prevailing view, she explains, is that new comedians should focus on “fresh” topics. “Mums can be fun,” she counters, challenging the notion that exploring motherhood is somehow creatively limiting. “It shouldn’t just be that you can’t cover a topic that’s been done before. Why not?”
Her latest show, *Slagbomb*, is deeply personal, a raw and honest exploration of her current life. It’s a show born from embracing mess and mayhem after years of striving for a polished, “adult” existence. The stories are anecdotal, real, and resonate with a powerful truth.
At the heart of *Slagbomb* is the experience of being a “sandwich carer” – simultaneously caring for children and aging parents. This is a reality for 1.25 million people in the UK, a staggering 68% of whom are women. It’s a demanding, exhausting role often hidden in plain sight.
“The whole show is basically just a meltdown about how it’s a very undignified period of life,” Esther admits. Yet, within that vulnerability lies a surprising connection. Women consistently share their own stories with her after performances, finding solace in the shared experience, creating a temporary community built on honesty and recognition.
But Esther believes this very relatability is what makes her work less appealing to industry gatekeepers. “To be exciting, topics have to be in trend or in vogue,” she observes. “Motherhood is not of interest and it’s not exciting, whereas, your ethnicity, that’s exciting, that’s what we want to hear about.”
She bristles at the expectation to be defined by single aspects of her identity. “I’m not just somebody who’s half Arab, I’m not just somebody who is half English, I’m not just somebody who’s a mother. I’m all those things and they all play huge parts in my life.” The complexity of her experience is often flattened into a marketable label.
Esther has repeatedly been told what she *shouldn’t* talk about on stage, a restriction rarely placed on her male counterparts. Male comedians aren’t typically reduced to two-word definitions like “hot mess,” nor are they subjected to the same level of compartmentalization by critics.
She points out the double standard in presentation. While she takes pride in her appearance, her physicality on stage – her expressive faces and energetic movements – is often viewed as “undignified.” “People think, ‘What box are you going in?’” she explains. “Women have that more than men.”
This resistance extends to her exploration of clowning, a traditionally male-dominated comedic form. While a man’s “sweaty and ugly and spitty” performance is celebrated as artistic temperament, a woman’s similar physicality is often deemed inappropriate. She’s been criticized for lacking class, having poor posture, and swearing too much – criteria rarely applied to male performers.
“I just think that’s so interesting that the criteria for a clown is class?” she muses, highlighting the absurdity of the expectation. “You never sit there and be like, ‘Oh, finally, a man who comes on stage and talks like James Bond.’” Esther Mantel continues to challenge these expectations, bravely sharing her truth on stage, one unapologetic story at a time.
