When the Joke’s on Us: Cringe and Carry On

Let’s be honest: not every joke ages well—and some were born stale. I’ve been around long enough to know the difference between a malicious jab and a punchline aimed low because it’s easy. I’m also a woman who’s worked in restaurants and bars, dealt with the sexist jerks and belligerent drunks and a full spectrum of “just kidding” comments. So when a man makes a cringey remark about women or anything else that lands somewhere between eye-roll and “oof,” I usually just… let it go. Feminism, for me, isn’t about swinging at every pitch. It’s about knowing when it matters—and when it’s just not worth the energy.

The Setup: Jokes That Miss

Recently, a new friend shared a clip that poked fun at a place we’d visited—a place with overpriced, uninspired food and nowhere to sit. It was an easy target. The bit turned into a broader roast of vegans and veganism in general, and while it wasn’t mean-spirited, it was very clear who the intended audience was: folks (mainly men) who think oat milk is some sort of communist plot, kale is for goats and soy gives you moobs. Sure, I laughed a few times. But I also winced. Because I’ve heard this song before.

Some jokes feel like they’re aimed at you even when they’re not malicious. They’re just… predictable. (I’m shocked the term “soy boy” wasn’t used.) These are the kind of jokes that make you sigh and say, “Really? We’re still doing this?”

A Woman’s Radar: Malice vs. Ignorance

I think most women have developed a finely tuned radar for intention. It comes from years of navigating comments, “compliments,” and innuendo. We know the difference between a guy who’s trying to be funny and one who’s trying to put us in our place. Between someone being cheeky and someone being a creep.

So no, I’m not offended by every off-color joke. But I’m not blind to the patterns either. Humor has a way of revealing what people really think when they think they’re just being funny. And sometimes, that glimpse can be a little… unsettling (or even saddening).

Feminism with a Filter

Feminism isn’t about being perpetually outraged. At least, not for me. I don’t have the time or the energy to react to every cringe-worthy remark. I’ve worked in places where flirtation was currency and thick skin was a survival strategy. I’ve rolled my eyes, played along, and occasionally weaponized my own humor to deflect or disarm.

But here’s the thing: after enough years, it just gets tiring. Not shocking. Not infuriating. Just… exhausting. The endless balancing act of deciding whether it’s worth it to speak up, stay quiet, laugh it off, or walk away. And the older I get, the less tolerance I have for performing that dance. I’m not here to be anyone’s straight man, eye candy, or punchline. I’m not here to educate every guy who never bothered to update his jokes. I’ve already put in those years. That labor. That grace.

It’s not that I’ve become bitter. I’ve just earned the right to expect better.

Cringe, Context, and Compassion

There’s a kind of grace in letting someone know they’ve crossed a line without turning it into a public shaming. And there’s power in choosing when to be silent—not out of fear, but because you’re simply not giving energy to something that doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes, that’s the strongest move you can make: the quiet dismissal, the internal eye roll, the refusal to let it stick.

There’s also grace in accepting people the way they are—especially when you’ve seen enough to know they’re probably not going to change. That doesn’t mean excusing bad behavior or letting things slide forever. It just means recognizing your own limits. Your time. Your peace. You get to decide who’s worth the conversation—and who’s just background noise.

And then there are those moments when you do laugh—because sometimes, the ridiculousness is just too on-the-nose not to. There’s a strange freedom in being able to see it all clearly, chuckle at the absurdity, and keep walking with your sanity—and your dignity—intact.

The Closing Wink

The world’s changing, and comedy is changing with it. Slowly. Unevenly. Sometimes painfully. But it is changing. The jokes that once passed without a blink now land with a thud. The audiences are shifting, and so are the expectations. What used to be shrugged off is now questioned. And that’s a good thing—even if it makes some people uncomfortable.

I’m still here through all of it—laughing when it’s funny, rolling my eyes when it’s not, and occasionally reminding someone that the joke isn’t as harmless as they think. Not because I want to ruin the fun, but because I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between a laugh that brings people together and one that pushes someone out. Humor doesn’t have to punch down to be sharp. It doesn’t have to be cruel to be clever.

And maybe the real evolution isn’t just in the jokes themselves—but in how we choose to respond. With discernment. With a touch of grace. And yes, sometimes with a deadpan really?