Over the past five weeks, you've watched several members of Bitches in Stitches make a series of increasingly questionable hair decisions.
We cut our own bangs. On camera. Then posted about it for everyone to see.
There were messages from concerned friends. There may have been alcohol.
Naturally, people had questions.
Or at least, not entirely. We know the trope. Women rarely cut their own hair because everything’s going brilliantly.
It’s about the feeling — the sudden conviction that changing something small might somehow change everything.
The irrational certainty that this is a brilliant idea.
The complete inability to leave well enough alone.
Which, now that I think about it, is more or less how we ended up where we are today.
The last year hasn't exactly been a masterclass in optimism:
I moved to London.
Spent 10 months applying for jobs. Collected rejection emails like they were Pokémon cards (seriously, tho — I was rejected over 100 times in less than a year).
Read the headlines about the world being on fire and the manosphere spreading like syphilis on a stag do. Tried to relax by doomscrolling, but my feed was mostly filled with memes and headlines about the world being on fire.
Opened LinkedIn.
Spiralled down a (sometimes) 12-hour Easy Apply/Workday/Greenhouse/Indeed rabbit hole.
Had a panic attack.
Closed LinkedIn.
Opened LinkedIn again.
The world felt exhausting. And after a while, I realised I hadn't felt genuinely excited about anything in a long time.
Not as a performer (thought I did get to do a couple of guest spots). As an audience member.
In three days, I saw dozens of shows — including two of my favourite comedians, Jenny Tian and KC Shornima.
The vibe of that entire festival was electric. There were thousands of weird, brilliant people running around a city because they believed in an idea.
And somewhere between the comedy shows, the chaos and the complete lack of sleep, I remembered why I fell in love with stand-up in the first place.
More importantly, I remembered why I love Bitches in Stitches.
Because some of the best things in my life have happened because of this community. Some of my closest friendships, favourite memories, and proudest moments.
The women in this group are the reason I get to do good things in the world.
Not in a group chat or Google Meet. Like, in the real world. On the same stage.
As close as our comedy coven were, some of us had never crossed paths in person. Those of us who’ve been lucky enough to travel somewhere and perform with the BiS chapter in that city will say, unanimously — there’s nothing like walking into a room of people you’ve not yet met in person, but knowing already that you belong there.
What would it take to get that feeling back, and make that joy contagious?
I couldn’t shake the thought.
But if you’ve read even half of one of my Substack posts, you know that I am i n s a n e.
I messaged the BiS group chat after taking a week some time to recover from Edinburgh. It was just meant to be a gushy brain dump about how much fun I’d had up there, but then I ended up “casually'“ dropping a big idea into a tiny tangent from our conversation:
What started as a joke slowly started sounding suspiciously like… a plan.
Then the replies started rolling in. And unfortunately, everybody seemed very enthusiastic.
A few of us hopped on a Google Meet to yap, and there were so many good ideas firing back and forth. It was hard to keep up! So at some point, I dropped them all into a Google Doc.
Then a planning deck.
And that’s generally when you know you’re in trouble.
Suddenly I had:
A 4-month calendar for key dates, timelines, and deliverables.
A marketing strategy.
A 70-page planning deck.
No venues. Then some less-than-ideal ones. Then an awesome one.
No budget. A crowdfunding campaign (which FYI, is still live if you’re feeling generous).
More than 60 guest performer applications to review.
Twenty-six guest performer slots to schedule across three weeks.
A growing backlog of WhatsApp messages beginning with “Quick question...”
Hired a videographer. Shot a trailer. Put it on hold for over a month because I thought we wouldn’t get a venue. Kicked it off again. Crashed my laptop trying to download the video files.
Got a sick trailer.
Hired a poster designer.
Fired a poster designer.
Found a better poster designer (and siiiick animator). Paid out of pocket.
Coordinated performers across countries and time zones. Herded them into filming teaser content. Edited it. Posted it.
All while producing BiS’ monthly shows in London, looking for work, interviewing for roles, getting rejected, getting hired and starting a new (and challenging) role.
Somewhere along the way, “Wouldn’t it be funny if...” became an operational reality.
Taking a comedy show to Edinburgh follows almost exactly the same decision-making process as cutting your own fringe.
The costs are just different.
Mate. Why wouldn’t I?
BiS exists because somebody took a chance on an idea that sounded ridiculous. And if you’ve ever had to manifest something that doesn’t even exist yet (and no one quite believes in) out of thin air, then you know it’s a hard, lonely road.
Then another person joined me. Followed by four more. And the six-woman show that many wrote off as a one-time fluke became something that I will cherish and fight for — for the rest of my life.
That’s how communities form. It’s how movements happen too.
Bitches in Stitches is coming to Edinburgh Fringe!
(Thank you to Isa and Back On Films for cutting this trailer!)
Glad you asked.
Are you ready for the single blurb that I backed with 70 muthafuckin slides of mania strategy?
Drumroll, please…
Bitches in Stitches: The New Grrrl Order is part stand-up show, part international reunion, and part proof that women probably shouldn’t be left unsupervised with a group chat and an ambitious idea.
Over three weeks at Edinburgh Fringe, we’ll bring together comedians from across the BiS universe — including performers from London, Hong Kong, Manila and beyond — for a rotating lineup of sharp, chaotic and gloriously unfiltered stand-up.
It’s about identity, ambition, anger, joy, friendship, bad decisions, good decisions, and the increasingly blurry line between the two.
It’s also about creating opportunities.
Every night, we’ll be joined by guest performers from around the world — giving 26 femmes and thems a chance to perform at the world’s biggest arts festival, many for the very first time.
Because if there’s one thing BiS has always believed, it’s that comedy gets better when more voices are in the room.
And honestly?
The world does too.
The older I get, the more I think community is just a group of people deciding to care about the same thing at the same time.
The world spent the last year giving me reasons to feel smaller. This project made me feel like I could do something great.
Now, for the first time in a loooong fucking time, I honestly believe something good might happen.
For real, though — and I know it sounds wankery but whatevs…
I am running on three hours of sleep a night, litres of Cherry Coke and mania that’s on the same level of bravado as the mediocre white man who gets promoted instead of you.
I am BROKE as a JOKE.
I am still finding rogue hair trimmings from those 2-for-1 wigs Arie David and I bought on Amazon around my flat.
But just like an ugly haircut can grow out with those bangs… I’m back, baby.
If you’re feeling stuck and in desperate of a change… want to know my advice?
See you in Edinburgh, Bitches! 🤘🏼🤘🏼🤘🏼
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