“There’s no room for dignity”: Esther Manito brings Slagbomb to Edinburgh

---

“There is no room for dignity or grace,” says comedian Esther Manito, describing the phase of life her new show Slagbomb captures. “It’s one shit show after another.”

The British–Lebanese comic — familiar from Live at the Apollo and The Stand-Up Sketch Show — brings her latest tour to Monkey Barrel Comedy tonight. Slagbomb is Manito’s sharpest mix yet of the domestic, the political and the profane: a midlife reckoning full of childcare chaos, body horror and Essex resilience.

The awkward sandwich years

Manito calls the material “the awkward sandwich years”, that compressed middle period when everyone wants something from you. “You’ve just gotten to the point where you accept the pressures of motherhood,” she says. “You’re dealing with all the embedded insecurities of being middle-aged and all of a sudden your parents need you in a way they haven’t before.”

Her portraits of domestic disorder are recognisable, even when they verge on the absurd. What makes them sting, she says, is how familiar they are. “It’s a weird phase of life and we never talk about it.”

“Dignity is overrated”

Across Slagbomb, Manito dismantles one of her least favourite illusions: composure. “I think dignity is hugely overrated and fetishised with women,” she says. “It’s a way of telling us: wow, you can run the house, sort the kids, look good and we never hear you complain — how dignified. It’s essentially a way to silence women.”

Her tone is brisk, not bitter. “We’re in the Trad Wife era,” she continues, “bombarded with images of people juggling family life and filming it all so we can feel bad about ourselves 24/7. Joy!”

If Hell Hath No Fury, her previous show, owned her anger, Slagbomb digs into its aftermath — what happens when the rage becomes a kind of resource.

The line between punchlines and pain

“The comedy writes itself. It has to,” Manito says when asked how she balances jokes with experience. “You find you’re going about your life in safety and security and every now and then there’s a hard reminder that loved ones are in very different situations and it humbles you.”

She’s referring partly to family still in Lebanon — a background that keeps her material grounded in perspective. It’s, as she puts it, “a constant reminder that the world is much bigger than your own chaos.”

She resists the confessional label. “I never wanted to do the ‘this is my truth’ show — I don’t think that’s authentic to me or my family. I want to relate to women and for them to relate and find funnies in my stories.”

Manito is proudest when the humour lands across experience. “I’ve had women say, ‘I don’t have family in a war zone, but when my dad was dying the kids were so bloody oblivious.’ That’s what I love — that shared recognition,” she says. “I love the bond it creates between you and the audience.”

Arab, Essex and unbothered

Manito’s identity as an Arab Essex woman is sometimes treated as a curiosity. She’s over it. “The assumptions that come from people are only telling them and not my responsibility,” she says. “I’ve had to deal with those who are desperate for you to tick boxes for their virtue-signalling agenda, as well as those who’ve been groomed to think negatively about your demographic.”

Early in her career, she thought she had to present her background in a palatable way. “Now I’ve found joy in just telling stories about my life,” she says. “These involve my family and my opinions — people might have their preconceptions challenged, or they may not, who knows?”

“Motherhood is the most ingrained form of misogyny”

Few comedians describe parenthood with her mix of candour and defiance. “Motherhood is the most ingrained form of misogyny in our culture,” Manito says. “When mothers talk about it, their commentary is scoffed at or dismissed.”

For her, speaking about it on stage is political, not indulgent. “It’s essential in any oppression that there’s space to be vocal and find solidarity — it’s the only way to form unity,” she says. “I have a passion and rage which makes me love spewing stories on stage, and I love the parents who are sitting there nodding and laughing.”

Owning the chaos

That sense of liberation — emotional and physical — runs through Manito’s trajectory. “And my last show Hell Hath No Fury! Yes, my world has changed, and it was during #NotAllMen I really leant into what I wanted to talk about and I felt this lift, like I was no longer performing, I was just ranting and I loved it,” she says.

The shift was also bodily. “I’m a very animated, sweaty woman and I’ve been made to feel gross and disgusting in the past. I felt pressure to be refined so that I could be palatable,” she says. “Suddenly stand-up allowed me to enjoy the chaos — and that made it more fun.”

Solidarity and survival

Comedy, she says, isn’t always an easy circuit for women. “You need to be surrounded by women who will have your back,” she says. “We get a lot of criticism and the circuit isn’t always a safe space. Having women who understand the environment you’re in is essential to keeping your sanity.”

Her current collaborators include Shappi Khorsandi and Lily Phillips, with whom she co-hosts podcasts. The conversations are as raucous as her stand-up. “It’s that mix of venting, laughing and pushing back — all of it feeds the work,” she says.

Becoming the Slagbomb

So what exactly is a slagbomb? Manito laughs. “A slagbomb is someone who loves her family but has zero intention of trying to be perfect,” she says. “She just wants a moment’s peace, a true-crime documentary, a glass of cava and to sit with no bra in her Crocs. She tries to focus on stuff that actually matters.”

She’s aware that self-acceptance can sound sentimental — and makes sure it doesn’t. “I’m not preaching balance or calm,” she says. “I’m just saying there’s comedy in the collapse — and that’s where most of us are living.”

Featured Image: ESTHER MANITO by Steve Best

---

---

Slagbomb plays Monkey Barrel Comedy, Edinburgh tonight. For details or further tour dates, click here.

---