Pat Harrington interviews the Comedian, Writer and Performer Gwen Coburn about her Fringe show Sad Girl Songs
1. Connecting Myth to Modern Reality
Sad Girl Songs explores how women have been punished for men’s wrongdoings from Ancient Greece to today, including Medusa’s story. What inspired you to connect your own experience to figures like Medusa, and how do these myths help shine a light on modern gender violence?
I was diagnosed with PTSD a few years back, and suddenly all these patterns started clicking into place – not just in my own life, but everywhere I looked. I kept hearing variations of the same story from women around me: we get hurt, we speak up, and somehow we become the problem. Then I started reading about Medusa with fresh eyes, and I realized she wasn’t the monster – she was the victim who got turned into a monster for what happened to her. That’s when I understood that these myths aren’t ancient history; they’re the blueprint we’re still following. Medusa gets assaulted in Athena’s temple, and Athena punishes… Medusa. It’s like the world’s oldest victim-blaming story, and we’re still telling it every day.
2. A Different Ending
You’ve said that your story “isn’t unique” but that this version “ends differently.” Without spoiling anything, how does Sad Girl Songs subvert the old narrative of women bearing the consequences of men’s actions?
Without giving too much away, I’ll say this: in the old stories, women like Medusa are gorgons whose visage will turn you to stone. But what if that’s not where the story ends? What if we look anyway?
3. Influences and Comparisons
Your show has been compared to performers like Hannah Gadsby, who blend raw honesty with comedy. How do you feel about those comparisons, and did any particular artists influence your style of turning personal trauma into something both funny and challenging?
Being compared to Hannah Gadsby is incredibly flattering – Nanette changed how I saw comedy and my ability to exist in it. I think we’re both interested in the idea that comedy doesn’t have to just make people laugh; it can make them think, make them uncomfortable, make them reconsider things they thought they knew. I’ve definitely loved the work of Rachel Bloom for her discussion of mental health and exploration of musical genre. I also just love watching people tell earnest stories through their craft, whether that’s comedy, circus, magic, or theater. On an unrelated note Hannah Gadsby is the reason I got my CPAP machine for sleep apnea, so lots to be grateful to them for.
4. From #YesAnd to #MeToo
The show is rooted in your experience of an abusive relationship with your improv teacher — when “#YesAnd becomes #MeToo.” What made you decide to transform that painful time into a comedy show?
First, I had to deal with it every other way I could. Therapy, journaling, medication, screaming into pillows – all important steps. But what made me want to write about it was seeing other women who had left comedy having had a similar trauma. Comedy was the only thing that felt like it could take this isolating experience and turn it into something that could connect people. Plus, I had already used jokes to survive through it, I wanted to write new jokes on the other side of it. And a thoughtful, dark joke can be wildly empowering. There’s something about being funny about things that aren’t supposed to be funny.
5. The Aftermath of Speaking Out
Beyond the abuse itself, your story also focuses on what happens after. You’ve spoken about a “functional exile” you faced after coming forward. What do you want audiences to understand about the reality for survivors who speak up, especially in creative industries?
The thing nobody tells you about speaking up is that it’s often just the beginning of the story. After I came forward, I lost work, lost friends, lost opportunities – not because anyone explicitly said “we can’t hire her,” but because suddenly I was “difficult” or “dramatic” or “a liability.” What audiences need to understand is that real change requires reparative justice, which is a much larger commitment than most organizations are willing to make. It’s not enough to just remove the abuser and call it solved. You have to rebuild trust, address the systems that allowed abuse to happen, and actually repair the harm done to survivors – which means ongoing support, career rehabilitation, and structural changes. But reparative justice is expensive and complicated and requires admitting that the whole system was broken, not just one bad actor. Most places would rather just quietly shuffle people around and hope the problem disappears.
6. Navigating PTSD
You’ve been open about being diagnosed with PTSD. How did that shape the show’s development and your approach to comedy? How did you move from using comedy as armor to using it as a genuine tool for healing and connection?
Getting diagnosed was this weird relief, like finally having a name for why my brain was doing what it was doing. Before that, my comedy was very much about deflecting, keeping people at arm’s length, being funny so I didn’t have to be vulnerable. I was writing satirical songs about feminist issues I deeply cared about, but I was couching them in a “Sad Girl” character that punched down at myself. As if to say, “no worries though, I’m sorry I brought it up.” The PTSD diagnosis forced me to get real about what I was feeling and why I was mocking myself onstage. I realized I didn’t want to just survive my trauma; I wanted to transform it into something useful. So I had to learn how to be funny in a way that invited people in instead of pushing them away. It’s scarier, but it’s so much more meaningful.
7. Being Brutally Honest
You describe Sad Girl Songs as “brutally funny and brutally honest.” How do you protect yourself emotionally when you’re sharing your own trauma on stage? Were there boundaries you set for what to include or not include?
Writing and performing a piece about my own PTSD experience definitely comes with challenges – honestly, acting in general can be tricky with PTSD, so I have specific routines and tools to help me recenter after shows. I also made sure not to write anything into the show that I hadn’t already worked through in therapy, so I can feel safe genuinely connecting with my audience without worrying about re-traumatizing myself. At the end of the day, this is a story of hope and empowerment, and I love being able to share that with people.
8. Finding Humor in the Dark
How do you find humor in dark places? Can you share an example of how you turned a particularly painful moment into a comedic one that audiences really respond to?
I have one song called “Thank You For Not Murdering Me” which is about that thing all women do where we assess what our risk of being murdered is in a situation, or assess after the fact how a situation could have turned out differently and more murdery. Audiences recognize that feeling even if they’ve never articulated it, and there’s this laughter of horror but also relief. The humor comes from naming the absurd reality we’re all living in but pretending is normal.
9. Musical Comedy
Songs like “You Should Know Where the Clit Is” and “Daddy Issues Boyfriend” stand out for their cheeky, satirical bite. What role does music play in getting your message across — does it soften the blow, or make it hit harder?
Your girl loves a genre. Music gives an extra element to a joke, it’s an added aspect to subvert or emphasize an expectation. I love that extra layer it adds and how that expands the horizons for jokes. Plus this way I can tell my parents I AM using my graduate music degree after all.
10. Bumble Songs
You also turn real-life dating app profiles into songs. What made you want to include these, and what do they reveal about modern dating and gender expectations?
I love these songs. During the pandemic I used to take the aggressive or absurd dating profiles sent to me by friends and make them into songs to post- complete with my terrible home-made drag outfits. I put them in the show because they make me laugh, and also because underneath the silliness there’s often a threat (some more explicit than others) that these men are making to women publicly.
11. Mythology and the “Sad, Sexy Baby” Venus
You set your personal story against figures like Medusa and Venus. What do these ancient icons mean to you, and why bring them into a modern feminist comedy?
We tell women these mythological stories about women that sexualize them, shame them, and scare them. We tell these stories TO CHILDREN, and we gloss over the deeply harmful messaging embedded in calling Ovid’s Medusa a monster, or in Botticelli’s bodacious Venus skipping from birth right into sexy womanhood. That’s wild to me.
12. Working with an Intimacy Coordinator
Your director, Kayleigh Kane, is also an intimacy coordinator. How did that shape the creative process, especially when handling such sensitive material?
Working with Kayleigh has been incredible because she’s a super collaborative director, and she’s also an intimacy coordinator. She understands consent and boundaries in this really deep, practical way. We worked together on rewrites of the script, design, even the practices of getting into and out of Sad Girl Songs mode before and after shows. She helped me figure out what parts of my story the show actually needed versus what parts of my life weren’t necessary to tell this particular story honestly. There’s a difference between being authentic and putting every detail of your experience on stage – we’re telling a specific story that serves a purpose, we’re not sharing everything that ever happened to me.
13. Audience Reactions
How have audiences responded to the mix of raw honesty and dark humor? Have any reactions surprised you, or stuck with you?
The responses have been incredible. I’ve had people come up after shows and share their own stories, both of similar relationships, reporting in the workplace, or developing PTSD. One guy told me he realized he was going to evaluate how to better address power dynamics in his relationship. That’s the dream response – when comedy actually changes how people think and behave. The fact that people leave wanting to be better humans is everything I could ask for.
14. Shared Experiences
So many people can relate to stories like yours. Have audience members shared their own experiences with you after the show?
All the time, and it’s both heartbreaking and incredibly validating. What I’ve realized is that almost everyone has some version of this story; I think of it a bit like a feminist everyman story. Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but they understand what it feels like to blame themselves for their own hurt, or to have their reality questioned, or to feel like they have to protect other people from their own trauma. The conversations I have after shows remind me what my hope was when crafting the show – that people feel that their stories are being seen and heard.
15. What’s the Takeaway?
What’s the one thing you hope people take away from Sad Girl Songs? What conversations do you hope they’re having on the way home?
I want people to leave feeling less alone. Whether they’ve experienced something similar or they’re just trying to understand the world we’re all navigating, I want them to feel like we’re in this together. The conversations I hope they’re having are about consent, about how we support survivors, about what stories we tell and what stories we believe. But honestly, if they just leave feeling like they’ve been seen and heard and entertained, that’s enough. Sometimes helping someone feel less alone is the most radical thing you can do.
16. Comedy as Education
Some of your songs, like “You Should Know Where the Clit Is,” are both funny and educational. Do you see comedy as a tool for sex ed or myth-busting too?
Absolutely. Comedy is one of the most effective teaching tools we have. Plus, if I can leave audiences humming the anatomical parts of the clitoris, why wouldn’t I?
17. Humor and Trauma
You’ve said before that your comedy has been described as “genuinely upsetting, in a good way.” Why is that the vibe you embrace — and how do you balance making people laugh while sitting with uncomfortable truths?
Did I choose the vibe, or did the vibe choose me? Idk man, but it’s a pretty accurate description of how I come off. I think the best laughs come from when we’re brave enough to sit with the truth. I don’t look for uncomfortable avoidance-laughter, I look for the jokes and laughs that come when you break the tension of avoidance.
18. Creating Safer Spaces
What changes would you like to see in the comedy world — or the wider performing arts — to better protect people from abuse and support survivors?
We need systemic change, not just individual actions. That means clear reporting structures, restorative justice practices, and support systems for survivors that don’t require them to be “perfect victims.” It means believing people when they come forward, and not making them prove their trauma to access help. But it also means understanding that when someone reports, they need ongoing support – people with trauma and PTSD have access needs that organizations need to take seriously. Asking someone who’s already been traumatized and afraid to share their story to sign an NDA in exchange for being heard only retraumatizes them. If we’re serious about creating safe and fair spaces, we need to spend more time thinking creatively about new solutions instead of defaulting to the same broken systems.
19. Bringing It to the Fringe
This is your first Edinburgh Fringe. How does it feel to bring such a deeply personal, American story to an international audience? What are you most excited — or nervous — about?
I’m excited to see how the show translates across cultures. I suspect the themes do, because patriarchy is pretty universal. I’m nervous about whether British audiences will get my references or find me funny, do you all know what Trader Joes is or should I say Tescos? Please advise. I’m also curious about what conversations this might start in a different context. The story might be specifically American in some ways, but the underlying issues about consent, trauma, and survival are everywhere. Plus, I’m really looking forward to discovering the coziest bookstore and tea shop in Edinburgh, if you see me give me your recs!
20. What’s Next?
After Edinburgh, what’s next for you and Sad Girl Songs? Do you want to keep touring it, record it, or move on to new projects that push these ideas even further?
I’m definitely interested in recording it at some point, I think it could reach people who might not be able to see it live. I’m also slowly getting the songs produced and recorded, which is exciting! I love writing plays and comedy – last year I wrote an award-winning fake Tennessee Williams play set in a Quiznos- and I hope I’ll meet people at Fringe who like the same sort of jokes I do. But for the meanwhile, I’m just focused on telling this story as well as I can, as many times as it feels useful. If it keeps starting conversations and making people feel less alone, I’ll keep doing it. That’s what matters most to me.
You can buy tickets for Sad Girl Songs here
