I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. Specifically, I’m just a girl, waving a picket sign in front of a studio exec, asking him for fair pay. Picture John Cusack holding a boom box that blasts “What do we want? Contracts! When do we want them? Now!”
I write for late-night comedy but I’ve always seen my life through film tropes. And these past two and a half months since the Hollywood writers’ strike began have made me feel like I’m trapped in the labor-dispute version of a rom-com. If the metaphor sounds like a stretch, please remember: I’ve been picketing in 90-plus-degree New York, so I’m operating on heatstroke logic.
Like many rom-coms, we start with two lovers searching for the thing that will complete them. In She’s All That, Rachael Leigh Cook thinks that all she needs is to paint, but she also needs a good prom date and contacts; Freddie Prinze Jr. thinks all he needs is to win a bet, when what he really needs is to win the love of a good woman in overalls. Or in American Pie, Jason Biggs thinks he needs a foreign-exchange student who doesn’t believe in underwear, but what he really needs is an innovative flute player who believes in camp. In my rom-com, the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers is the dumb jock, or maybe Mr. Big—the guy who fails to see that he just needs a smart writer by his side.
Hollywood writers, and now actors, have gone on strike for many reasons, but one of the most pressing is the studios’ eagerness to downsize writers’ rooms and begin finding ways to replace writers with artificial intelligence. AI—she’s young, she’s fun, she’s willing to do whatever you want at any hour of the night. AI is Sarah Jessica Parker in a miniskirt, and the writers are the First Wives Club still trying to save the marriage.
I see the appeal of a computer that can churn out 50 jokes about Mark Zuckerberg’s new abs. But I can do that too! I am a joke machine—and so are my colleagues. But unlike AI, I’ll also throw in a few jokes about Zuck’s Caesar haircut and slide in a reference to Meta ruining democracy. I can bend and snap! (Which is why I need health insurance.)
I always wanted to write for television. I quit a steady job teaching high school and spent all my savings on Upright Citizens Brigade classes and all my nights at open mics at bars that have now turned into luxury dog spas. After more than a decade, I got my first steady gig on NBC’s A Little Late With Lilly Singh. To extend the rom-com metaphor: I was smitten, but NBC just wasn’t feeling it. After months of ghosting, I was told there would be no Season 3. Heartbroken and in need of a rebound, I went to bed with branded content, writing snarky replies for hot dogs and face creams with irreverent personalities. It was fun but it wasn’t serious. Late-night television still had my heart.
Finally, I got a job on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. I cried more the first time a studio audience laughed at a joke I’d written than I did at my own wedding. But (cue Carrie Bradshaw’s Sex and the City voice-over) I couldn’t help but wonder … what was up with that residual check for $1.08?
Residuals are what I get paid if an episode re-airs somewhere, and it’s the other main sticking point motivating the strike. Studios are refusing to pay adequate residuals for content that runs on streaming platforms. The difference between what I get paid if my episode airs on NBC’s Peacock versus on NBC proper is the difference between The Devil Wears Prada Anne Hathaway pre– and post–Stanley Tucci. Residuals are what sustain writers as they go from project to project. Without them, writing stops being a profession and turns into a gig, which is how you lose not just a guy but 10 writers in 10 days.
I guess it’s now time to address the villain, because even a romance has to have one: corporate greed. Like Sarah Michelle Gellar in Cruel Intentions, corporate greed is a heartless hottie gaslighting you into thinking she’s a good girl. Don’t let the cross necklace fool you; it’s full of cocaine. Studio execs would lose a fraction of their wealth if they met our demands. When accounting for inflation, writers’ pay has declined by 14 percent in the past five years. Ten years ago, 33 percent of TV writers were paid at the minimum rate; now half are. This makes it harder for me to stay in the business and for younger writers to break through. Not investing in talent is what Pretty Woman’s Julia Roberts would call a big mistake. Huge.
I’m so grateful to the writers, actors, and producers who brought the romantic comedies I love into the world. When Harry Met Sally taught me how to love and how to eat a sandwich. Mrs. Doubtfire showed me the power of family and drag. Love & Basketball was the only time I’ve enjoyed watching sports. My heart breaks when I think about all of the great art currently on hold because of the studios’ dismissal of the writers’ and actors’ needs.
I’m still hopeful this drama has a happy ending. And that’s why I’m standing at the top of the Empire State Building with a red rose in my hand and a pencil behind my ear, waiting for a fair deal.