Comedian Steph Tolev, originally from Toronto and a graduate of Humber's comedy program, opened for Bill Burr during his 2024 tour, while also releasing a Netflix special of her own last month. Tolev has packed The Danforth Music Hall on Dec. 19 for two back-to-back shows.Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
There are people who tell funny jokes and then there are people who are funny. For the latter group, humour is a personality trait − a dial they can’t quickly turn down to zero.
Steph Tolev is funny. The Toronto-born, L.A.-based comedian is naturally hilarious and outgoing, with an earnestness that sometimes resonates a little deeper than she expects.
“A lot of women come up to me after the show and say how refreshing it is to hear a woman talk about something like having hemorrhoids or their, er, downstairs bits,” Tolev said during an interview in Toronto recently. Sporting a heavy metal shirt and a shaggy mullet, she had been visiting friends in town before heading on tour. “I never thought my comedy could help people, that I could be the voice of something that’s relatable.”
This year has been a banner one for Tolev. Her X-rated comedy, delivered with a snappy high-energy gusto, has made her a hot act not just on the stage but also in Hollywood.
Her appropriately titled Netflix special Filth Queen premiered in June, and Tolev has been cropping up in a slew of TV series, including Hacks, Tires and Shifting Gears. She recently wrapped filming on a horror movie set to premiere in 2026, in which she co-stars, and she just released her 162nd episode of her podcast, Steph Infection.
Laura Proctor/The Globe and Mail
On Dec. 19, Tolev is returning to her hometown for a two-show evening of stand-up at the Danforth Music Hall.
Her observational material is inspired by what she encounters regularly, ranging from dating (she doesn’t date short guys “because they can’t see the flavours at an ice cream shop”) to her family.
“I’m at my parents’ house right now,” she says, “and I’ve already been writing five minutes on how they keep giving me the dog towels. They act like I’m not a guest in the house. I was like, ‘Mom, why does this towel smell?’ ‘Oh, that’s the dog towel,’ she tells me. I smell like a dog right now. I’m disgusting.”
When Tolev looks back at her formative Toronto years, she lauds the owner of Bloor Street’s Comedy Bar for giving her a platform. “Gary Rideout made a very amazing place for sketch, improv and stand-up, for people to just go and be themselves, and the alternative comedy scene really thrives there.” The venue enabled her sketch troupe Ladystache, with good friend Allison Hogg, to run a monthly show.
When it comes to stand-up, Tolev’s approach is to be as energetic as any live concert she enjoyed when she was living in downtown Toronto. “I went to a lot of rock concerts, like at the Big Bop and the Opera House, so I give off that lead-singer energy vibe. And when I do stand-up, I’m not going to sit on a stool. I’m not going to stand in the same spot.”
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After picking up steam with her solo act across Canada, Tolev moved to L.A. in 2016, and soon became a regular at the Comedy Store in West Hollywood. There and on her socials, she attracted the attention of U.S. bookers.
It was Instagram that changed her life. One morning in 2022 she saw her follower count surge by 500; she traced the sudden increase to superstar American comedian Bill Burr reposting one of her stories.
“I DM’d him a thanks for sharing my stuff,” Tolev recalls, “and then he said, ‘You had me laughing over here, and would you be up for helping me with something?’ ” It turned out to be Burr’s film Old Dads, in which Tolev landed a small role.
When Burr began his North American tour the same year, he asked Tolev to open for him at Toronto’s Scotiabank Arena. “The fact I was doing stand-up in one of Canada’s biggest arenas, it was one of the craziest sets I’ve done in my life,” she says, pausing before adding, “but to see my dad crying out there in the audience, that was distracting.”
Her father will actually share the stage with her on Dec. 19 at the Danforth Music Hall for a “dirty joke.” It’s a big deal, she says, “because I remember one of the first things I ever saw as a kid was a blow-up sex doll my parents had at a party. They used to tell me not to be inappropriate when I said something dirty, but I tell them that I say these things for a reason: You did this to me, it’s all your fault.”