What our humor reveals about us
Hanna Kochehura has been in the stand-up scene since 2017. A linguist specializing in Dutch and English languages and literature, she approaches humor with the same analytical mindset she applies to texts. For her, comedy is more than laughs — it's a way to understand people's thoughts and feelings. She notes that Ukrainians have long turned pain into punchlines.
"For the Cossacks, there was no such thing as misfortune — just another adventure," says Hanna, bringing the Ukrainian ancestors as examples. "I've noticed that whenever everything is falling apart, we start joking about it. Take the Cossacks, for example — they had a tradition of mocking their enemies before battle to weaken their morale. Dig into our history, and you'll see this has always been part of who we are: laughing at the scariest things. When you make a joke about something terrifying, it's like reclaiming a bit of control. You're showing that you can still laugh no matter how bad it gets."
Hanna Kochehura. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
Hanna describes her comedy as "observational," rooted in the everyday realities around her. "You're constantly searching for humor in everything, but no matter what, our lives are inseparable from the war. It's the backdrop of everything we do," she explains.
Comedy, she argues, is a powerful tool for tackling tough subjects — even war. At every stage of Ukraine's fight, humor has shifted to reflect the public mood and the state of the country.
In 2022, just months after the full-scale invasion, a dimly lit basement hosted dozens of people seeking relief through laughter. On stage, a comedian asked, "What does your inner voice say to you?" Then she delivered the punchline that echoed the thoughts of millions: "F**ing Russians!"
That comedian was Nastia Zukhvala, who now proudly calls herself a "professional hater of Russians."
"No cultural expression exists without its historical moment," Nastia reflects. "In 2022, jokes about Russians were necessary — they helped Ukrainians process what was happening. It was about dismantling the enemy's image of strength, which made it easier to adapt. As time passed and the initial shock wore off, we started questioning whether these jokes were still appropriate. We still mock Russians, but the tone has shifted. Comedy isn't always about avoiding reality."
Hanna agrees, stressing that "comedy is inherently reflective — it's about something real. It's not just jokes for the sake of jokes; it's a commentary on social, economic, or societal issues. And all of these are tied to politics. Even if you try, it's impossible to be apolitical. I believe apolitical comedy is just a watered-down version of the real thing."
Humor, they explain, can both shape and reflect perceptions. When the war is central to your life, it colors everything — including what makes you laugh. Nastia believes this is tied to national identity:
"A national idea either exists or it doesn't. When it does, it becomes a lens through which you see the world. It's not just about creative work — it's in the little things, like refusing to buy tea sold in Russia. It's always in the back of your mind, shaping your actions. For me, it shows up in my humor."
Nastia Zukhvala. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
Nastia adds that humor has the power to shape how we perceive significant events and who we become as a society. However, while humor is part of our nature, it isn't always appropriate in every context.
"There are sacred topics that must be addressed with seriousness," says Zukhvala. "I see no reason to soften or dilute our national tragedies. The goal is to preserve the memory, not to make it easier to digest. The experience of enduring great tragedies should define our future — how we act — and the direction we take. That's why it's so important to leave these tragedies intact, not diminish them, and convey them to people who may never face them directly."
Jokes that shape our values
"Humor is powerful — it can even serve as a propaganda tool. When we laugh at something, we don't approach it critically. We tend to analyze less when entertained, and we naturally trust someone who makes us laugh," Hanna explains.
What we consume through media, television, and cinema shapes our values and priorities, and entertainment content plays a significant role in this process. For years, TV shows bombarded audiences with jokes about "typical" Ukrainians obsessed with lard, dumb blondes, nosy mothers-in-law, and "funny" Ukrainian accents. But have we managed to move beyond this distorted, caricatured image of Ukrainians?
"Right now, we're re-evaluating everything, and it's far from over," Hanna says. "For a long time, we were fed an inferiority complex — the idea that everything of ours was bad, that we had no humor, no culture, nothing of value. Only now are we realizing as a society that this was propaganda designed to reinforce the image of us as the 'younger brother' [of Russia]."
Hanna Kochehura. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
Whether consciously or not, the creators of such content ingrained generations of Ukrainians with gender stereotypes, feelings of inferiority, and the illusion of "brotherly" ties with Russia.
"Through humor, you can push and normalize all kinds of narratives," says the comedian. "For instance, domestic violence — people often think it's fine to joke about it because everyone does. But these jokes stigmatize entire groups of people. Take the trope of the drunk husband getting beaten by his wife. If you keep seeing the same narrative over and over, it starts to feel like that's just how things are — and that it's okay."
Zukhvala recalls that it was revolutionary when Kvartal 95, a TV program led by then-comedian and now-President Volodymyr Zelensky, first aired. Over time, however, it lost its appeal, especially among younger audiences who "are the first to pick up on trends and crave something less clichéd."
Svitlana Nemonezhyna, a director and comedian who began her career in 2015, has witnessed the evolution of Ukrainian stand-up and its audience firsthand. She observes that audiences have matured over the years. For instance, in Kyiv, sexist jokes no longer fly without backlash.
"Before the full-scale invasion, I went to a show where a comedian joked that a woman's place is in the kitchen — and the audience booed him. I was so happy to see that our stand-up audiences had become something we could rely on," she recalls.
Svitlana Nemonezhyna. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
Despite progress, headlines occasionally explode with news of another comedian making offensive jokes about female soldiers. Why does this keep happening?
"Comedians often rely on clichés — they grab familiar structures and stereotypical material to get an easy laugh," Svitlana reflects.
"At its core, it's a lack of professionalism in comedy and a lack of personal growth and humanistic values. These comedians say whatever they think will get a laugh, but offensive jokes go viral quickly, especially in a society that's already on edge about sensitive issues," says Nastia.
What's worse, she adds, is how the media amplifies these controversial moments, distorting not just the perception of Ukrainian stand-up but also how Ukrainians see each other. A bad joke from one comedian shouldn't define an entire field of humor or a nation.
"There's potential for more women in comedy"
Each woman in this story has spent years honing her craft to be recognized as a professional comedian. Hanna started with open mic nights in a small bar; Svitlana took out loans as a student to travel to regional competitions of League of Laughter, a Ukrainian comedy contest show; and Nastia, passionate about comedy, avoided taking side jobs.
Through every performance — successful or not — they searched for their voice and developed unique styles.
In 2017, Hanna Kochehura, a newcomer to the stand-up scene, grabbed a microphone for the first time. The bar where it happened has long since closed, but she vividly remembers her nerves.
"I thought I was going to die. But I didn't — everything turned out fine," Hanna says, dramatically exhaling as if to prove her survival.
Her first performance was almost a success; the audience smiled, and her desire to perform grew stronger. But the next few performances — second, third, fourth — were disasters.
"I cried and said I'd never return. But I did," says Hanna, who later won the Ukrainian Stand-Up Festival's Best Female Comedian award. At the time, though, she questioned whether to keep going.
Nastia Zukhvala shares her setbacks and advises others not to base their self-worth on one lousy show.
"Once, I completely froze on stage because I cared so much about the performance," the comedian shares. "The stress paralyzed me. But it ended up being one of the most valuable lessons — I realized the world wouldn't end. It was painful, but it wasn't the end of my career."
She found strength in focusing on her identity, and what she could do was stay herself. Your humor and personality aren't something you can leave at home like a suitcase. They're always with you, she says.
Nastia Zukhvala. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
Early in her career, Nastia chose the stage name Zukhvala, which means "defiant" in Ukrainian. This was a deliberate expression of the qualities she wanted to embody and project.
"When I started, women in comedy were met with skepticism. I played roles: the sweet, smiling girl or the cranky old lady — everything exaggerated. The first performances were an attempt to fit in, an attempt to be," says Nastia. "Choosing that name was like giving myself permission to be bold on stage. It wasn't just a persona; it was a declaration that I might say things you don't agree with or present them in a way you might find uncomfortable."
Although Ukrainian stand-up brought a fresh perspective, it wasn't free from stereotypes and deeply rooted social norms.
"I didn't think being a woman interested in comedy would be a problem. But it was a surprise when I realized people doubted me because of my gender," Nastia recalls.
She often heard comments like, "Men don't like women who joke and act like this. For your own good, you should be more modest."
"I figured I'd just be destined for solitude, but there was no way I was giving up comedy. Women in traditionally male-dominated professions often have to work harder to earn recognition," she says.
Hanna also remembers not meeting other women comedians because clubs rarely booked two women for the same comedy night. "There was this notion that 'women's humor' was something specific," she says.
Svitlana Nemonezhyna, a former League of Laughter participant, recalls the audience's skepticism toward female comedians between 2016 and 2018. When a woman stepped on stage, expectations were low: "But then you make them laugh with jokes about tights, and they're pleasantly surprised — 'Wow, that's funny for a girl.'"
As a quiet child, Svitlana had her first taste of comedy in high school. During a comedy game in the 10th grade, she improvised her lines, making her team laugh. She soon became the team captain and head writer.
In stand-up, she realized modesty could be a disadvantage. "During brainstorming sessions, I'd pitch a joke and get silence. A man would repeat the same joke louder, and everyone would laugh. I don't want to fight or outshout anyone, but comedy is about power, and sometimes you have to assert it."
She's inspired by younger generations of women comedians who offer new representations of women — strong and assertive. "When a woman's humor comes from a position of strength, it shocks people," she says.
Svitlana Nemonezhyna. Photo: Underground Stand-Up Club
"Humor is about how you express yourself, and it was considered not really a 'woman's thing.' Because it draws attention to women, makes them stand out, and gives them the opportunity to defend themselves," says Nastia.
Svitlana adds, "I've been on the jury of student comedy leagues a few times. I've seen female students write sharp, witty jokes, and male judges complain: 'Why were you so aggressive on stage?' I'm glad younger comedians are breaking stereotypes and proving women can be anything they want to be."
She believes the future of women in comedy is bright.
"I believe in supporting the potential in its early stages with love. Love and acceptance are what creativity needs; it's the best motivation. This is where a person blooms. Only in love can something grow. And this resource is in the hands of the audience," says Svitlana.
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