Fluffy at the Vanguard

Gabriel Iglesias, as we all know, is a (quite) portly Mexican-American comedian, certainly among the most popular stand-up comics of any genre or characteristic, and the greatest Latino comedian of our generation.

He is commonly known as "Fluffy", as in "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy", and Americans know him well from his comedy specials (recorded stand-up sessions) aired on Netflix.  He has many of these available, and they are funny by any standard of humor.  

His comedy is a storytelling style, vignettes from his life, his family, his touring, and layered over everything is his being Mexican-American, with many asides in Spanish, though quite understandable even for those of us who don't speak the language.  But I don't need to get into it; everyone pretty much knows who Fluffy is.

The state of American comedy is really what this is about.  Fifty years ago, you could do ethnic jokes with relative impunity.  Polish jokes were common and perfectly acceptable, although the same exact joke would be told by Northerners to make fun of Southerners, or Nova Scotians to make fun of Newfies, or Minnesotans and Iowans to make fun of each other.

Then woke-ism happened. It became impossible for a comedian to leverage ethnicity, not his own and certainly not anyone else's, for his humor.  Comedians were kept off college campuses for perceived insensitivity to this or that favored group.  Were he still performing, the now 97-year-old Tom Lehrer would certainly not be getting away with singing "National Brotherhood Week."

At its worst, it took comics of the stature of Jerry Seinfeld and Dave Chappelle to take a courageous stand.  They would point out that comedy is often an art exaggerating the more stereotyped attributes of groups; at the same time the left was making group affinity ultra-important and ranting about "diversity."  

Seinfeld and Chappelle were prominent in pointing out that the protection of such sacred cows would lead to the demise of comedy. They needed to look no further than the pathetic performance of the hosts on most late-night talk shows, who were destroying the Johnny Carson legacy.  Succumbing to the woke mob, and sympathizing with them anyway, their monologues turned into leftist pap, devoid of comedy.

It took a few comedians with "FU money" -- successful enough to be able to say what was actually true without fear of cancellation -- to put a line in the sand and defend the integrity and freedom of comedians to say things that were truly funny, even if they might be a little offensive, and that the offended just needed to grow a pair. 

Ultimately, the revolt against the incompetence of the left, under Joe Biden and whoever was telling him what to do, led to the 4-year delayed re-election of Donald Trump.  Trump, of course, is part entertainer, meaning that his competence blends with a personality contrast with Biden to attract younger supporters.  Those younger Americans had already had enough of unfunny "comedy", particularly political attempted humor. It was pretty hard to be funny talking about now-president Trump when he was making eggs and gasoline affordable again, deporting illegals, and actually answering questions often and honestly.

So it was quite something when "Fluffy" recently released his latest comedy stand-up special, a live stand-up recorded in Miami and available on Netflix.  The something wasn't just that he did an hour-and-twenty-minute routine, far longer than the typical recorded stand-up show.

No, the "something" was that at the very start, Gabriel Iglesias, who is popular enough -- and self-deprecating enough -- to say whatever he wants and tell whatever stories he wants, made a little disclaimer to the huge audience.  He said, in so many words, that his audience should not expect the usual political garbage that most of them weren't going to want to hear.

His stories were going to be about things that were actually funny, and were not going to get half the audience to want to leave.  He was going to be Fluffy, and tell Fluffy stories, and make Fluffy jokes.  No one was going to tell him how he had to think.  No one was going to be able to cancel him.

It was almost ninety minutes of pure funny.  Political correctness was not an issue.

When it was over, and I had a chance to think about it, it was clear that he had indeed been funny as all-get-out without having to be political, just as promised.  And it became equally clear that his disclaimer and the subsequent storytelling were at the vanguard of what is hopefully a new era in comedy -- making jokes and telling stories that are actually funny, without the attendant political crap. 

Fluffy at the vanguard.  Who'd-a thunk it? 

Copyright 2025 by Robert Sutton.  Like what you read here? There are over 1,000 posts from Bob at www.uberthoughtsUSA.com and, after four years of writing a new one daily, he still posts thoughts once in a while as "visiting columns", no longer the "prolific essayist" he was through 2018, but still around. Appearance, advertising, sponsorship and interview inquiries cheerfully welcomed at bsutton@alum.mit.edu or on Twitter at @rmosutton.