by ⭐⭐⭐½
In her hot perimenopause summer phase, Tiff Stevenson understands she cannot control the weather or a piece of her own hair that wants to go its own way, but at least she’s still got a firm grasp on wordplay.
So she blesses us with the imagery of rebranding manicuring as fingering. And perhaps she can even manifest herself an award. Hot girls manifest actual currency and free gifts with their hotness, while on the other end of that line, lonely men tend to manifest o’s.
Stevenson was once one of those “hot girls” and regales us with a tale of what it’s like on the inside, or what it was like being treated like a VIP during the 2000 Monaco Grand Prix. But a quarter-century later, she’s dealing with a show-business industry that still insists women remain sexy forever. It sure looks easy if you’re Salma Hayek. But for most everyone else, it’s exhausting. And even though Stevenson has lost two stone, she’s left with a pouch of skin to remind her.
There’s a full pouch of gags in the middle of her hour, one-liners that serve as her own post-coital thoughts.
But her overall message, no matter how much she wonders if she can download her soul into a puppet, asks us to question whether we’re doing more harm than good when we claim we’re ending sexism by eliminating hot-girl jobs. After all, Stevenson herself was once a ring card girl and an IndyCar grid girl. There’s a wild hypocrisy or paradox to be found watching women pay others to teach them in pole-dancing classes while bemoaning the existence of actual strippers. “Body control wrapped in progressivism,” Stevenson calls it.
Tiff Stevenson: Post-Coital plays Monkey Barrel’s Hive 1 through Aug. 24, 2025.
