Tori Piskin

Piskin grips the microphone close, talks at sprint speed, and unloads personal humiliations like she is spilling gossip to a stranger in a coat-check line. She will pitch her voice up, widen her eyes, and deliver an outrageous family secret before pausing with a dry smirk while the room catches up. When a crowd flinches at an overshare, she leans forward and doubles down, daring anyone to judge her more harshly than she already judges herself.

She works the circuit between New York comedy basements and West Coast clubs, building a following across live rooms and the podcast she hosts with her mother. It is the kind of act that shares space with the roast scene, where veteran comics respect someone who walks onstage with no defensive armor.

Her strongest sets treat misfortune with breezy vanity. In Prettiest Girl At The Special School, she talks about attending a Manhattan academy for students with learning differences, framing dyslexia as a social liability that ruined her dating prospects rather than a quiet sob story. Her jokes can occasionally trip over their own tempo, stacking punchlines so quickly that the sharpest lines get crowded out.

Growing up on the Upper East Side while navigating chronic Lyme disease and severe learning struggles gave her an odd vantage point. She plays on stage like someone who was handed an expensive life and never quite got the user manual.