Stand-up inspired by negative or even middling reviews tends to be a mixed bag, sometimes tonally too recriminatory or doubling down on the issues identified. And so it proves with Urooj Ashfaq’s sophomore show. The Indian comic was crowned best newcomer in Edinburgh for her 2023 debut but latched onto criticism of that show that called her “conservative”.
This affront gives How To Be A Baddie its pique and attitude, with Ashfaq’s irritation with the label still palpable after countless tour dates. However, while she argues convincingly that definitions of edgy and safe comedy differ greatly in India and the UK, and even with a certain amount of tongue-in-cheek, the “baddie” persona she projects here always feels a little too forced.
She splits the show into three distinct sections that she points out wouldn’t play well at home. Though she’s an avowed atheist feminist liberal, she retains a committed interest in astrology, comparing the pseudoscience to Islam in a playful, gently provocative manner. Then there’s the One Direction erotica she penned as an adolescent, as she makes funny but eminently reasonable arguments about the distinctions between her naïve fantasising and the rather more route one approach of porn. Finally, she closes with the indignity of her haemorrhoids.
It’s all subject matter that could cause a stir in her homeland, where the authorities regard comedy with a censorious eye. And her offence to the powers-that-be and online bigots is undoubtedly exacerbated by her gender. Yet teasing these taboos as she does, Ashfaq never convinces as a true transgressor, being too winsomely charming and seeking of the audience’s appreciation.
She doesn’t explore the psychological depths of her fanfic too deeply, beyond it being the longings of a hormonal teenager. She notes the darker implications of her desire to be “sold” to Harry Styles and his bandmates as a group but doesn’t linger long upon this. Instead, she reads out her adolescent lusting with a mix of cringing affection for her younger self and in-the-moment wryness, eliciting amusement from the gap between the two.
Ashfaq has always been talkative, evidenced by the tactics her teachers used to to try to curb her garrulousness. Yet they were clearly set to fail as she illustrates with the story of a school row sparked by an insult hurled at her sister. The extremity of the slur gives the anecdote a bit of frisson. And she matter-of-factly raises Indian parents’ proclivity for corporal punishment, enjoying the discomfort it provokes in a British audience. Ultimately though, the routine would benefit from more gags, the edginess alone not truly justifying the bit.
To end, the story of an intimate medical procedure is a standby of stand-up for a reason, the opportunity for self-deprecation pushed to self-abasement too good not to share. Her story features some of the cliches of the genre, not least being recognised as a comedian just as she’s at her most vulnerable. Yet Ashfaq delivers the tale with enough knowing wit and an effective call back for this closing anecdote to satisfy, completing her UK tour on a solid footing, consolidating her burgeoning reputation on at least two continents.
Reviewed on 29 November 2025 | Image: Contributed
Unlikely baddie tales
