Living for the Dead star Roz Hernandez shares exclusive audiobook excerpt
Roz Hernandez (Getty Images)
Trans comedian Roz Hernandez is set to release her debut audiobook – Peeing in an Empty Bottle: And Other Glamorous Shenanigans of an Almost-Famous Transgender Comedienne on the Road – on 23 June.
The book, narrated by Hernandez and released through Simon & Schuster, tells her story of a self-produced tour around the country, a summer of stand-up and surviving on the road.
Bringing comedy and documentary-style audio to the memoir genre, listeners can expect to travel from Stonewall to unexpected pockets of queer community in the US.
In an exclusive sneak peek for PinkNews, Hernandez talks about being a trans comedienne in the current landscape.
By Roz Hernandez…
It’s February of 2025, and I’ve never been more transgender. In the eyes of the law, I am a woman. Hair no longer grows where I don’t want it to, everybody that I meet calls me “she;” and the only male clothing I own are a few items that have been left behind from the volunteer work that I do with the straight-identifying male community. Donald Trump has just been sworn in for a second term, and his campaign spent millions of dollars on advertisements that specifically attacked people like me. Christian nationalism is on the rise, and the movement’s top priority seems to be ending the acceptance of transgender people.
Meanwhile, I have a set tonight at a comedy club in LA, because traditionally, those are where comedians are supposed to perform. I’ve just arrived at my destination, and I do not want to go in. I eat my last few bites of my Taco Bell cheesy bean and rice burrito from the dollar menu for sustenance—by now, I have mastered the artform of eating while driving from gig to gig. I take a swig of my Mountain Dew Baja Blast, a drink that I like to believe my abuela’s abuela would have made for my ancestors in the old country. On this night thereis a big issue: I just don’t feel like talking about anything. Being trans isn’t funny right now, and the only joke that I’m excited to do is a new one about sleeping with a man who had a crucifix necklace on. As a niche star, I’m not the only act on the bill, and I can’t guarantee that anybody in the audience will know my vibe ahead of time. This makes me nervous. I’m on year twelve of making audiences laugh as a stand-up comedian, so my skills are sharp and my voice is strong. But at the same time, it feels harder than ever to do my job. Jokes about transness and religion are now hot-button political statements that could put me in physical danger if the wrong person heard. I just want to make people laugh.
Just a few years ago, things looked very different, and the world was clambering for opportunities to embrace trans identities. We were the “it” girls. Ts Madison, Laverne Cox, the stars of the FX series Pose, Transparent, even Caitlyn Jenner became household names. Trans people were in commercials and gaining massive followings on social media. The door was opened for our voices to be heard, but over the past year or so, that door has been slammed shut and dead bolted twice, honey. I feel like an ex-girlfriend looking through the door’s peephole, trying to convince you that I deserve another chance. I’ve had great momentum leading up to this point; I was on lists of up-and-coming comedians, I have the respect of many of my comedy heroes, I host a successful podcast on a great network, I even was cast as a star of a TV show on a major streamer (a reality TV show, but a TV show). But the culture has shifted, and I get the feeling my gender identity is preventing me from achieving more mainstream success.
There are many different types of transgender women. I happen to be one that traveled the gay-boy to drag-queen to trans-lady pipeline. My days as a full-time drag queen in Los Angeles were crucial for me as a gateway to connect with my femininity. I spent a few years doing sets at comedy clubs in full drag for ten dollars or less, and then driving myself over to the gay club to get real money.
Comedy is my passion, and I’m proud of my queer identity, but to tell you the truth, it was challenging for me to do stand-up looking like that. Drag is all about artifice, at least the way I was doing it. The hair, the name, the boobs—it’s all fake. So for me to perform, telling audiences stories about my everyday life without context, something was off. I remember talking about going on a date once, and during the joke, I realized that these people thought I went on dates wearing gaudy costume jewelry and a two-foot-tall wig.
So I stepped away from the persona and went full time. I ditched the wigs and grew my own hair out. I needed to figure out who I really was, and not hide. It certainly wasn’t pretty at first, but it was real. People began to hear me and understand who I am, which is something that I never really experienced. I became beloved by dozens of gay people and straight ladies with bangs.
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